Page 31 of Nothing At All

“Fuck that guy,” he muttered.

I wasn’t sad to be walking away to be alone with him. I liked Lacey and Josh well enough, and Vic seemed okay, despite her choice of hookups, but I wanted to be with him.

We claimed one of the tables, and I sank into being with him. We were well-matched – he was good, attributing his skills to Wednesday night youth group, and I’d grown up playing with Daddy at our basement table. So while I was a little sad we didn’t get to have him cage me to “teach“ me like in the movies, playing was fun and relaxing.

Soon, we settled into our second game. I lined up my cue to shoot the three to the corner pocket. “Tell me about that dating rule?”

When I missed, he moved in for his turn with a shrug. “It’s just a thing. Picked it up hanging around Chuck. His grandaddy used to say it all the time, and it stuck.”

Sliding my fingers along the smooth wood of the table rim, I eyed him, the flex of muscles in his shoulders. “And you live by it?”

With another shrug, he sank his five ball. “Maybe? Didn’t matter until I met you.”

I stilled, pressing my fingertips hard into the wood.

“I was busy with school and stuff, then getting started with the PD, so I wasn’t really looking for anyone.” He squinted and took aim at the six. The cue ball clacked off it with a sharp snap, and the ball spun into the side pocket. He lifted his intense gaze to mine. “Then I met you.”

“You did not think about marrying me the first time we met.” People didn’t do that. Dating was how you figured out what you wanted, hence why Daddy joked about my dating at least ten different men before getting engaged. And he really wasn’t joking.

“Well, no, but if you hadn’t been you . . . I mean, I know what I can’t live with.” He straightened, long fingers around his cue stick. “If I’d seen any of that, I wouldn’t have asked you out.”

I stared at him. I’d had plenty of dates who’d turned out to be not what I could live with.

And we’d been dating for months.

Did that mean he was thinking about marriage?

My breath stopped in my throat.

Surely not.

We were dating. Enjoying being together. Practicing.

It’s not like you’re going to marry the guy.

Oh, my God. What if he was? What if I hurt him? My stomach cramped.

“You okay?” Concern glinted in his eyes, a darker blue in the dim light of the bar. “You just went pale around your lips.”

“Just . . . my stomach’s empty.” I moistened my upper lip, a hint of nausea twisting in my throat. “And it’s hot.”

“Oh, hell, I didn’t think about that. Sorry, baby.” He reached for my cue and hung it up with his. He racked up the table fast and directed me toward a table. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

With me ensconced at the table, he went to put our order in at the bar. I watched him go, panic fluttering at the base of my throat.

Okay. I needed to slow down. He wasn’t proposing, and people did date to get married.

I just . . . hadn’t planned on him.

When I thought about my life, it was about doing so well on my route that I got offered metro sales. Saving a down payment so I could buy a house or condo in Atlanta. Getting married someday. Maybe having a kid one day.

I hadn’t planned to settle in the rural end of the state.

I hadn’t planned to meet a man so all in with me he took my breath.

I didn’t want to hurt him by not being as invested–

The word sunk in.