"You're sure this shirt isn't too much?" I ask, smoothing down the simple blue blouse I've paired with my most comfortable jeans. Nothing fancy, nothing that screams “I’m trying to impress you." At least, that's what I tell myself. The soft cotton feels almost apologetic against my skin, as if it knows I'm betraying something.
I've worn this top a hundred times before—togrocery shopping, to Liam's speech therapy appointments, to lazy Sunday brunches with Reeves—but today it feels like a costume, a deliberate choice to appear casual when everything about this situation is anything but. My fingers fidget with the second button, wondering if it's too high or too low, if the slight v-neck reveals intention or indifference.
"It's fine," Reeves says, his voice tight. "I just hate that I can't be there to make sure that rich prick keeps his hands to himself."
I apply my foundation with careful strokes, trying to keep my hand steady. "Greg will be there the whole time, watching like a hawk. You know how loyal he is."
"Yeah, well, Greg isn't me." Reeves stands and paces the small confines of our bedroom. "I should cancel lunch with Jimmy, and do a quick pop-in.”
"Don't be silly. You've been planning this for weeks." I reach for my mascara, avoiding his gaze in the mirror. "And you're not allowed there. Besides, it's just pool. That's all it is. "
But we both know it's more than that. The electricity when Caine stands close to help with my stance, his breath warm against my neck as he positions my arms just so. The way my skin tingles when our fingers brush across the smooth wood of the cue, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
The heavy silences between shots feel loaded withunspoken words, thick with possibility and danger. Those moments when our eyes meet across the green felt and time seems to stretch like taffy, pulling us toward each other despite everything that should be keeping us apart.
I hesitate, lipstick tube in hand. Reeves is watching me so intently that I almost put it back. But what's a little lipstick? It's just a swipe of color, barely noticeable really—except Reeves notices everything lately.
His dark eyes follow the movement as I uncap the tube, the rich berry shade catching the bedroom light. My fingers tremble slightly. It's ridiculous to feel guilty over something so trivial, but the weight of his gaze makes my stomach knot. I tell myself it's just about looking professional at the bar today, nothing more. But deep down, I know exactly who I'm putting it on for, and it isn't my husband.
I apply it quickly, a flirty red shade that is way too conspicuous.
My red hair is down in loose waves, just as Caine requested. The strands catch the morning light that filters through our small bathroom window. I used to hate this color, wished for something more ordinary when Julie's perfect blonde waves got all the attention.
Now it's part of my identity—my ‘Jenny’ trademark at the bar, the first thing Liam reaches for when I lean down to kiss him goodnight. I tuck a loose strandbehind my ear, my fingers still trembling slightly as I recap the lipstick and slide it into my pocket.
"Your hair looks nice down,” Reeves says, coming up behind me. His reflection meets mine in the mirror. “Always makes you stand out in a crowd."
I nod, wondering what Caine will think when he sees it. The guilt surges again, hot and uncomfortable under my skin. It's like a fever that won't break, this constant awareness of my betrayal.
I reach up to touch my hair self-consciously, fingers trembling slightly against the strands that Reeves just complimented. The same hair that Caine might even touch later.
Reeves helps me out of our front door, his large hand gentle on my arm. "I should get going. Jimmy's waiting." He kisses me, a lingering press of lips that feels like a claim. "Be good," he adds with that devilish grin that first made me fall for him years ago.
That smile still does things to me—crinkles the corners of his dark eyes and reminds me of late nights at college parties when he'd look at me from across the room like I was the only person worth seeing. I reach up and brush my fingers against his beard, feeling the familiar scratch against my skin.
"Tell Jimmy I said Hi," I say, trying to ignore the weight in my chest. Jimmy's been booking bands for the pool hall since before we took over, and he's one of the few connections keeping our weekly live music night afloat.
"Be good, Jenny Bee," he says once again before sliding into his truck.
I force a smile. "Always am."
CHAPTER TWELVE
I push through the pool hall door, the blast of warm air a welcome relief from the cold March chill. My eyes immediately find Caine at his usual table, bent over a shot with that intense concentration that makes my stomach flip. He hasn't noticed me yet, and I take advantage of the moment to watch him.
The way his body moves when he plays is something to behold—fluid and controlled, each gesture precise. His face is a study in focus, brows drawn together, lips slightly parted. I wonder what those lips would feel like against my skin, what his hands could do if they weren't wrapped around a cue. The thought sends heat rushing through me that has nothing to do with the pool hall's heating system.
I am such a whore. I obviously have some pent-upsexual frustrations to deal with. I should watch some porn and masturbate like Liza does.
I pull off my winter hat, combing my fingers through my hair to tame the static. My heart hammers against my ribs as I stand there, waiting for him to look up. He's so absorbed in what he's doing—lining up a complicated bank shot—that he doesn't see me for the longest time.
When he finally does, his reaction is worth the wait. He freezes mid-stroke, cue suspended in air, his jaw actually dropping. I've never seen him look anything but composed, and the sight of him momentarily speechless gives me a surge of power.
I walk toward him, nervousness making my steps unsteady. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I've never seen from him before.
"Damn, woman. You look fucking amazing.” The words tumble out before he catches himself. "Sorry. That was... inappropriate."
The curse word sounds strange coming from his usually controlled mouth, but it sends a thrill through me. I've never heard him swear before, and something about the rawness of it makes my pulse quicken.
