I walked across the street.
Azrael was back at the motorcycle, hands dark with grease again, not looking up when I stopped in front of him.
"You've been on my property," I said.
He glanced up. “Yes."
I smirked at him. “I never asked for your help."
"I know,” he shrugged, and continued tinkering with his bike, that was all steel and chrome.
"So why?"
He wiped his hands on a rag and finally looked up at me. "It bothered me."
"What bothered you?"
He sighed. “The loose railing."
I stared at him for a moment and laughed, because there was genuinely no other response available to me. "No."
He looked confused in a way that seemed completely sincere. "What?"
"You." I shook my head. "You bother me."
"I bother you," he repeated, like he was turning the words over to examine them from all angles.
"Constantly," I said, before turning on my heel and walking my ass back home. And as I did so I absolutely did not think about how nice his hands had looked covered in grease.
What if they were covered in your slick, a little voice had teased.
The pool hallwas called Cue's and it was exactly what a pool hall in a town called Blackthorn Ridge should be. There was warm amber lighting, classic rock from a jukebox in the corner, and a bartender who knew everyone's name. I had been there approximately three minutes when one of the regulars, a cheerful older man named Dale, waved me over toward the tables.
Azrael’s ass was already there. He was lining up a shot with the unhurried precision he seemed to apply to everything, and he didn't look up when I walked over. Dale clapped me on theshoulder and told me Azrael was impossible to beat, which I believed immediately and completely.
"She's with me," Azrael said, still not looking up.
I stopped. "So we're making decisions for me now?"
He took the shot. The ball dropped cleanly. "No."
"You just told everyone I'm with you."
"I told them you're playing with me." He finally looked up. "There's a difference."
I rolled my eyes. “That's not better."
He handed me a cue without comment.
Sighting, I took the stick from him and lined up my first shot, missed it by a humiliating margin. While I was considering whether to blame the cue or my own complete lack of pool skills, I felt him step up behind me.
He didn't touch me.
He was just there, close enough that I was aware of his height and his warmth and that my ass lined up perfectly with his crotch. I also became aware of the fact that he smelled unreasonably good for someone who had been working on a motorcycle two hours ago.
"Relax your shoulders," he said, his voice low enough that it seemed to rumble.
Down girl,I mentally told my coochie.
