Liza greets me at the hall—my co-bartender, my best friend, my partner in crime.
“Hey, girl.”
I smile. “Hey.”
“You look tired again.”
I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
“Still beautiful, but tired. I worry about you.”
“No need to worry.”
She’s chipper as usual. We’re both twenty-five, but she looks it and acts like it. Me, on the other hand…
It’s only past noon, and the place is dead as usual.That’s okay because I’ll be busy calling suppliers and going over the bills for the next hour.
Once I get the dreaded office stuff out of the way, I’m back in my favorite spot—the bar. I wipe the last glass and tuck it neatly into the refrigerator, the cool air brushing against my face. The quiet hum of the pool hall feels comforting, a refuge from the chaos of life outside. Just me and Liza, a few flickering neon signs, and the faint echoes of classic rock.
The door chimes jingle, pulling me from my thoughts. I look up, expecting one of our daytime regulars, but my breath catches.
He steps in—tall, confident, and dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that somehow feels out of place here. He glides rather than walks.
Who is this guy? My heart races a little as I take him in—dark wavy hair, olive skin, large eyes scanning the room with a lazy charm. He has this energy that feels electric and pulls me in instantly.
“Hey there,” I manage to say as he approaches. My voice trembles slightly, and I’m momentarily shaken by my reaction to this stranger. I mentally kick myself for being so ridiculous. But in my defence, it’s been a long,long time since I’ve seen a man this hot — we’re talking movie star hot.
He pauses just a few feet away, an amused smile spreading across his lips. “Hello there.” His voice is smooth, low—a velvety whisper that curls around my senses.
“Uh... hello.” I’ve got nothing else. I’ve been rendered speechless.
He extends his hand with a slow grace that makes me feel like I’m caught in a moment too surreal to be real. “I’m Caine… Caine Hall.”
I shake his hand too quickly. “I’m Jenna. Jenna Sullivan.” I’m not sure why we’re being so formal, with the last names and all, but I’m rolling with it. It’s definitely a first, though. Usually, the patrons at the hall lazily set their oversized asses on one of the stools and flash me a smile with a ‘I’ll have a Coors Original’ or some variation of that.
I fumble for the tray of billiard balls below the bar. “Looking to play?” I ask while trying to sound casual, but feeling like I’m stumbling over every word.
He raises a brow, clearly intrigued. “Sure. I’ve got some time to kill.”
As I hand him the tray, my fingers brush against his, and I don’t hate it. What in the hell is wrong with me?
“Any table you wish,” I say. “The place is dead right now.”
He smiles as his gaze dances around the space. God, the man has the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen. “Nice setup you have here,” he remarks casually.
“Thanks,” I mumble, trying to regain composure but feeling more flustered with each passing second. I am pathetic with a capital P. Here I am—nervous and awkward in front of this man who seems completely at ease. I feel like an utter fool. Iaman utter fool. He probably gets this a lot. I’m sure I’m not the only one who reacts to him this way.
When he picks the closest table to play, my heart does a little dance — this means I can ogle him better. I vow to be discreet about it. I certainly don’t want to come off as creepy… though I am.
I wipe another glass, holding it up to catch the dim light filtering through the blinds. Get it together, I scold myself. He's just another customer. A devastatingly handsome, magnetic customer who moves like a dancer and speaks like honey... but still just a customer. I try to focus on arranging the glasses behind the bar, anything to pull myself away from his very distracting presence.
I watch him play. He moves with a slow, calculated grace that makes it impossible to look away. His long fingers cradle the cue, and he lines up his shot with an intense focus that sends a shiver down my spine. Every movement is precise, almost like a choreographed dance.
He takes the shot, and the ball rolls smoothly acrossthe green felt before sinking into the pocket with a satisfying clink. A small, confident smile plays on his lips as he straightens up, eyes briefly flicking in my direction. I quickly avert my gaze, pretending to busy myself with cleaning a spot on the counter that doesn't exist.
I sneak another glance. He's perfection. The way his light brown hair curls just right at the ends, how his dress shirt stretches across his shoulders when he leans over the table. (Yes, he’s removed his suit jacket, and damn….) The slight arch of his back as he lines up another shot sends heat rushing to my cheeks.
I know I’m overreacting, but it's been a long time since we've had such a hottie in the hall. Most of our regulars are rough around the edges, but this guy...he's in a league of his own. I shake my head and smile to myself, feeling like a teenager with a crush.
