"Fuck, that was hot," Liza whispers. "I wonder if he's single, because I'd let him do anything to me… and I mean anything."
I shake my head.
Caine and Reeves shake hands. I can tell Reeves is secretly pissed, but is holding his emotions in check. As he should. I mean, the guy is our landlord.
Afterward, Caine slowly makes his way to the bar, leaning casually against the counter.
Just the sight of him sitting at the bar makes me uncomfortable. My heart is beating a mile a minute, and I don’t understand why I’m reacting this way.
"So," he begins, eyes locking onto mine. "How long have you been working here?" His words are obvious, yet they don't come off as a come-on somehow. Not sure how he does that.
"Well…" I say, a little breathless, doing the math in my head.
I realized I wasn't cut out for college when I was twenty-one and got knocked up. I quit the program, and Reeves being who he is, helped me get my bartender's license and gave me a job at the hall.
“About four years. I think I mentioned before… my husband owns the place. Well, he and I own it, I guess.”
Caine stands a little taller. “Yes… I remember… your husband owns the place."
I smile. Look who's acting awkward now. "Yeah… I just said that."
He laughs. "I'm sorry… "
The man is officially at a loss for words.
"You're a pretty good shooter," Liza pipes in. "That was hot."
I shake my head yet again.
"Actually, you just met my husband," I point out. "You just kicked his ass."
"Yes… I know."
A long beat follows. We're both at a loss for words.
"What's your poison?" Liza asks him.
He smiles. "I'll have a gin and tonic."
"Coming right up," she says. It's a good thing she's around, because I'm useless as a bartender right now.
I fumble for words under his gaze, but manage to ask about his career as both a pro player and our landlord.
His smile is slow and knowing as he answers each question smoothly. Apparently, he's been shooting pool since he was just three, standing on a rolling stool.
"So you had your own pool table at home?" I ask, desperately trying to learn more about him.
Yes, we had a designated pool room on the lower level," he explains, and I immediately gather that he was a rich kid. Must be nice.
And then he tells me how he's helped grow his father's development and property ownership business. Yes, definitely rich.
"What about you?" he asks, seemingly tired of talking about himself. “tell me about yourself.”
I get distracted by the yellow glint in his green eyes. God, the man is gorgeous. "Well, I grew up poor-ish. I mean, we didn't starve, but I definitely didn't have my own pool table at home. I don't think we could have fit it in our little apartment,” I joke.
"So you don't play?" he asks.
"Oh… I play," I tell him. "I actually love the game. I've been playing for as long as I've worked here, but I'm just not that good at it. And lately, between taking care of my kid and working here, I don't have time to play." My words drift off as I think about Reeves, and how he still finds the time to play. Why is that?
