Cash lines up his cue to break as I walk over to stand next to Rhett.
Touching his arm to pull his attention away from the game, I speak quietly so his brothers don’t hear. “You going to tell me what got you all weird today?”
“I—” he starts.
“Stripes,” Cuts through whatever he was going to say as Cash continues. “Y’all are solids. Who’s first?”
Rhett leans over the pool table—lining his shot up—his shirt riding up a little, showing off his happy trail. My dick jumps at the thought of following that down to see what I’m working with.
Leaning my cue against the table, I turn around to adjust myself and grab my beer.
He sinks the first ball into a pocket and maneuvers around the table, leaning down, bent over the table in front of me. Taking a chance, I hold my breath, unsure if this is going to tip the scale or not, but I can’t help it.
While Rhett’s lining up the shot, I lean over his shoulders, my thigh touching the back of his leg before commenting, “A little more to the left and you should get it in the hole.”
His breath hitches at our proximity before he recovers. “Yeah, thanks. I got it.” He shrugs me off and I back up.
Of course, the asshole doesn’t listen to me and instead misses his shot. I shake my head, then take a swig of my beer.
“Shit,” Rhett mutters before straightening up.
Dawson is up next, and with a precision that all of us lack, he sinks four balls with ease.
“Damn, kid, I get it now. I would have put my name in the hat to be your partner too if I would have known.”
Turning to Rhett, I say, “You’re a shit partner and gave me no warning that your little brother is a shark. Thanks a lot, man. I thought you were better than that.”
He cracks a smile—a real one—chuckling a bit, right along with his brothers.
The look makes my heart skip a beat. How the hell do I make him look like that all the time?
“My bad. I thought everyone in town knew how good Dawson is, so I just assumed you’d know too.”
He takes a sip of his beer, and the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I did not, so thanks a lot, Golden Boy.” I shoulder-check him playfully as I set up my shot on the other side of the table.
Right before I send the ball spiraling toward the pocket in front of him, I look up, catching his eye. “Also, you should smile like that more often. It looks good on you.”
He bristles, but doesn’t say anything as the ball sinks into the pocket.
The night goes on, and I continue with my smart-ass comments while eye-fucking Rhett Thornwood, watching as he pretends to not be affected. But he’s fucking delusional.
I mean, come on, when the corner of his lip tilts upward, or when his neck flushes, I want to pounce on him.
Cash forces shots of Jack Daniel’s on us since we keep losing, and that lets Rhett loosen up a little more, even allowing him to open up and act a little more natural around all of us.
I didn’t know Rhett Thornwood just needed a few shots of whiskey.
We finally win a game, which means Cash has to do the shot this time.
Rhett looks at me, grinning ear to ear, as Cash downs the shot in one go.
“Fucking finally!“ He laughs, holding his hand out for a high five.
Slapping my hand into his, Cash shouts, “Shots. Everybody, shots.”
Dawson excuses himself to the bathroom, and Rhett and I get roped into it.
Cash sets the shot glasses in front of each of us, saying, “Bottoms up, bitches.”
