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Ty struts over, presenting me with a new glass of cabernet. “Fucking impressive, Lettie. Can you play pool?”
“Pool?” I question after a sip of wine. “Why?”
“Where were you the past ten minutes?” He smirks, his gaze snagging briefly on the willowy girl perched at the bar—or more specifically, Rena’s bare thighs.
Same could be asked of you, Tytan.
He refocuses on me with staunch resolve. “Grab a stick and clean the damn table.”
Oh, so pool it is.
Cash racks the balls with renewed confidence. “Lady’s pick on order.”
I take a slow drink, nonchalantly saying, “You can break.”
He scatters the balls perfectly, choosing stripes and making several shots, while I catch a conversation between Ryker and Ivy.
“Will you be attending the Dalton Montgomery sentencing next Friday?” Ivy asks.
“I’ve seen enough of that fucking dick for ten lifetimes,” he spits, every word ripe with venom.
“You could always visit him,” she goads. “He’s in good health. He could live for another fifty, sixty years.”
That draws an ominous chuckle from Ryker. He guzzles his last shot of whiskey, tipping his head. “He could. You never know. The damnedest shit happens in prison.”
Cash misses during that cryptic sentence, so I’m up. While I don’t quite run the table, I make a better dent than he did. We go back and forth until it’s toe-to-toe for the eight ball. We’ve each missed once, but he lined it up perfectly for my shot. It almost kills me to do it.
Sensing my internal struggle, Cash grits out, “I swear to fuck, if you throw this game, it’ll be my actual balls in those goddamn pockets, girl. Do what you came to do.”
A cacophony of jeers and laughter flares through the game room, which grows more prominent when I sink that eight ball.
“Someone should play ‘Luck Be a Lady,’ ” I say with a Rena-inspired curtsy. “But you were a worthy opponent, Mr. Noire.”
Ivy rushes me with a hug, and I swear it’s like we’re transported to the dive bars we inhabited years ago in college, crushing those guys too. Seconds later, Rena crashes into our celebration, sweetening the moment even more. This night has been more fun than I’ve had in ages.
We spend the next couple of hours drinking, chatting, and sharing stories. The only snag is when they reminisce about Ivy and Wells’s wedding. It stings to be the only one in the room who wasn’t there even though, aside from the bride and groom, I deserved to be there most. But I swallow that along with another swill of wine, and soon, it’s time for goodbyes.
Leaving isn’t as seamless as expected though. Gage is lost in an animated discussion with Cash, and as I saunter out with the others, Wells, Ty, and Ivy get held up by Ryker, asking about his friend, Mercy.
So, it’s Liam and me in the hallway, awaiting the elevator. He’s been far nicer tonight, but I think that has something to do with Ivy, so I won’t hold my breath. This silence is more deafening than a blaring siren. Awkward.
The bell dings, and when the doors open, I twist to see how our party is faring, but Liam grabs my hand, yanking me inside. That renders me completely speechless, as does him pushing the red Stop button once those doors close. The box jolts to a halt, and in a flash, he’s pinning me against the wall. His lingering gaze cages me as successfully as his formidable frame.
He threads his fingers into my hair, swiping his thumb across my cheekbone. Searching. “Was this you tonight, Carver?”
The question seems similar to what he asked my first night here. I still don’t understand it, but I’ll answer anything if those hazels keep drinking me in.
“It’s all me,” I whisper, giving the only answer I can.
His face falls into what resembles disappointment. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
The thought that he actually wants to know me fans that earlier spark into an inferno, compelling me to add, “Most of it is me.”
The truth—sometimes, I’m not sure where the expectations end and my soul begins. It’s muddy and tangled. And so lonely. But with Liam’s eyes on me, his hand gripping my hip, and his ski-lodge musk permeating the air, the all-familiar hollow ache seems somewhere far away.
I’ve only ever hated him because he hated me. If he didn’t, I would … do nothing because it doesn’t matter. I have a role to fulfill, and he’s content with his. So, I’m not sure what the point of this is, but no matter how futile, it seems I’m momentarily a slave to this connection.
He nods to my honesty with a heavy breath, dusting his thumb over my lower lip as he continues cradling my head. “Good girl, Ace. Now, we’re getting somewhere.”
