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He retreats a step and sweeps out his arm for me to move in front of him and make my way around the table. I examine the options on the felt, then send the two easily into the far-left corner pocket. Shifting to my left to where the cue ball rolled, I quickly do the same to the five and seven into the right and side pockets. I knock down the three and six next, then aim for the one, my last remaining solid, but it ricochets just to the right of the pocket, breaking my run.
With an annoyed huff, I rise from my slumped position on the table to find him staring at me, his eyes hooded and dark with something I can't quite figure out.
Definitely not anger.
It almost looks like he’s impressed.
He inclines his head toward the table. “You're a shark.”
I lean against the cue, feigning innocence. “Excuse me?”
He grins and approaches slowly, like a panther stalking its helpless prey, waiting to pounce, and stops in front of me. With our gazes locked, he wraps his hand around mine on the cue, the contact sending a sizzle of heat through my arm and between my legs.
“I said”—he leans closer—“you're a shark. You played me.”
This time, I don't fight the satisfied smirk. “Maybe.”
“Who taught you how to play like that?”
“My dad.”
He nods slowly. “So, you have no intention of giving me your name, then?”
I chuckle and shake my head. “It's probably better that we don't do that whole thing, right?”
If I told him, it would change everything, and this flirtatious banter is working up to something that will be combustible. I don’t want anything to interfere with that. Finding out who I am would be like throwing a bucket of ice water on this smolder, and that’s the last thing I want.
A good explosive release would do us both some good, I think.
Those blue eyes watch me for a second, trying to process my words. “Yeah, you're right.”
“But you can call me Jack.”
One of his dark brows rises. “Jack, hmm?” His gaze darts over to the Jack and Coke on the table. “Creative.”
He’s quiet for a moment, likely trying to come up with something as “clever” as the name I just gave him. “You can call me Nolan.”
“Nolan, huh?”
“Uh-huh.”
It isn't his real name, and I don't want it, anyway. This can never be anything more than one night, so there isn’t any use in getting to know each other like that. Anonymity is the only thing keeping me from being dragged back to the last place I want to be right now. There’s a reason we chose this bar tonight—because it’s the last place they’d ever look for me.
Tonight, I can just be Jack.
“So, Jack”—he steps into me until our chests brush against each other, tightening his hand on mine around the smooth wood. “Now that you've handed my ass to me, I don’t think we need to finish the game, do you? It's time we get out of here.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“I do.” He nods toward the door of the bar. “You notice your friend hasn't even come back for you?”
What?
It takes a second for me to process what he just said.
Where the hell is Felicity?
I rush back to the table and pull out the burner phone I’ve been using today to find a text from her.
