Play It Safe(9)

“Two hundred, one game,” he pushed.

Darn.

Two hundred I could stretch a long way.

“Thanks, but no,” I repeated, found the ball I wanted to take, leaned over the table, took it and it went down.

“Five hundred, best of three,” he went on and my eyes went to him.

Five hundred was another week. Five hundred was a lot of money. Five hundred wasn’t breathing easy but it was breathing easier.

I still wasn’t going to buy his kind of trouble.

“Seriously, no offense, but I’m looking for a quiet night. Just me, a beer and the table.”

He grinned. Short-cropped dark hair. Plaid shirt that wasn’t bought at a western wear store but in the designer section of some posh department store and not the one across from the front of the courthouse. Jeans not faded. Soft hands.

He worked a desk. Daddy was probably in the manager’s office.

“All right, gorgeous, I’ll buy your beers, five hundred, best of three.”

I sighed. Then I stated the obvious, “I’m really good.”

He grinned.

Totally cocky. His grin was nothing like Gray’s. It didn’t warm his eyes. He had no dimple to make his male beauty cute. I wanted to curl my lip but I didn’t.

“You haven’t seen me.”

Double entendre.

He kept talking. “Got a pool table at home, have since I was a kid.”

Well la-dee-dah.

And he wasn’t done. “I’ll give you a run for your money.”

I studied him then my eyes went through his friends. Two were watching. One was bent over their pool table pretending he wasn’t listening. Cocky Guy was the best looking of the lot, knew it and so did they. They were his sidekicks and probably had been since junior high.

Five hundred dollars.

We’d wasted three days with nothing to show for it.

It would be easy and it would double our bank.

Tomorrow, we’d be gone.

Hells bells.

“Best of three, you buy my beers,” I agreed.

He smiled and his eyes got lazy. He thought he was in there. He wanted to watch me leaning over a table. Then he thought he was going to take my money. Then he thought he’d likely get me drunk then take me and he also thought I’d remember it happily for the rest of my life.

Idiot.

“Janie! My girl here needs a beer!” he shouted and I looked toward the bar.

Then my chest seized.

Gray was sitting on a stool at the bar on the side closest to the pool platform, Janie was at the bar opposite him but his back was to her, his boots to the rungs, his eyes on me.

Darn.

I turned my attention to the table.

“Got a name?” Mustang’s resident playboy asked and my eyes went back to him to see he was pulling balls out of the pockets.

“Yup,” I answered and said no more.

He waited. Then his face grew confused. He didn’t get me and what he didn’t get was that I seemed immune to his charms. He thought a girl like me took one look at a boy-man like him, his looks, his clothes, his obvious money and my dreams would soar even though he had no intention of giving me anything other than a couple of beers and a little attention.

Yep. Idiot.

I went to the chalk and put it to the tip of my cue.

He kept trying as he racked the balls, “Been in town long?”

“Nope,” I answered, putting down the chalk.

He looked at me. “Staying in town long?”

“Nope,” I repeated and Janie came up with my beer. I looked at her, took it, smiled and muttered, “Thanks.”

“You bet,” she replied then got closer in that way girls can do, that was to say without looking like she was and she whispered, “Careful.”

I caught her eyes as she moved away and slightly tipped up my chin.

Then I took a sip of my Corona.

Then I looked at Cocky Guy. “Flip to break?”

“Ladies first.”

Total idiot.

“Seriously, flip to break,” I said again.

He pulled the rack off the balls and grinned. “You go, honey.”

I studied him and tried not to think of Gray watching me. But I knew he was. In fact, I knew everyone was.

As usual, I didn’t disappoint. I broke and then approximately seven minutes later, I pocketed the eight ball and there were three extremely difficult shots where I knew Cocky Guy thought he had me but I made without hesitation.

I went back to my beer and took a sip, put it down on the shelf on the wall and stated, “This time, you break.”

He wasn’t looking cocky anymore. He was looking pissed. Not only did I clear the table in seven minutes, I didn’t look at him once.

Then I moved around the table, pulling out the balls. He made me rack them this time. He moved to the head of the table, watched me and waited. I set them up, pulled the rack away and went to my beer.

He executed a solid break. Then he downed three balls. He wasn’t bad but his options dried up and he flubbed the fourth ball.

I took a sip of beer, stepped to the table and in approximately seven minutes, cleared my stripes and pocketed the eight ball.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered.

I lifted up, put the butt of my cue to the floor and said, “Best of three. Five hundred dollars.”