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Her eyes slammed into his, her grin instantaneous. “What do I get if I win?”
He swallowed back the offer that sprang to his lips. Whatever she wanted, he’d give it to her. Did she know how much she got to him? That standing here so close, her scent pulled at him, willing him to step closer—and touch her. “What does a woman like you want, Poppy White?”
Her brows, and her temper, were up again. “A woman like me? Meaning?”
He stepped closer, letting his arm brush against her as he reached for a pool cue. He felt her shiver. Hell, he shivered, too. Touching her was like touching fire. Fluid, electric, alive. His voice was rough when he spoke. “Strong. Independent. Smart. Determined.” He stared down at her. “Beautiful. Sexy.”
Her lips parted, her flush deepening.
“All good things,” he finished. “An original.”
She blinked, tearing her gaze from his and circling the pool table. “Rack ’em up. Or do you want me to?”
He chuckled and placed the pool balls into the break, centered them and stepped back. “Ladies first.”
Her smile was impish, and fifteen minutes later, he knew why. She’d beaten him without giving him a single shot. “I figured out a few ways to earn money on the circuit,” she explained.
He held up his hands in defeat. “That was impressive.”
She kept on smiling. “It was, wasn’t it?”
“So what do you want?” he asked. “You won, fair and square.”
Her gaze fell to his lips, lingering just long enough to have him shifting in his starched jeans. “I’ll let you know.” She put the pool cue back on the rack.
“She just handed you your ass.” Deacon arrived, handing his longneck to Poppy. “So she deserves the beer. Deacon Boone. Glad to meet a woman who can knock this cocky son of a gun down a peg.”
Poppy took the beer, laughing. “I’m not going to lie. It’s nice.”
Deacon nodded. “I take it you know him?”
She shrugged. “Sort of. Used to, anyway. I’d sit in the corner and watch him. I don’t know what was more disappointing—that he went home with someone warm and willing nine times out of ten...or that so many women are so damn gullible.”
“I like her,” Deacon said. “What’d you do to lose this one?”
“What can I say, I’m an idiot.” Toben shook his head. “Remember it all too well.”
She snorted. “Right. I broke your heart. It took you a whole...week before you were out trawling again.”
Toben stared at her, remembering just how quick he was to stumble into every bar—hoping she’d be there. When she wasn’t, he’d drink until he could almost believe the woman he took back to his hotel room was enough. And every damn morning, he’d wake up wishing Poppy were next to him so he could beg her to stay. “I’m not sure my heart ever got over you, Poppy.”
“You’re Poppy?” Deacon groaned.
But Poppy was studying him.
“It took him six months to sober up. Damn hard work, dragging his passed-out ass from hotel room to hotel room so he could sleep it off.” Deacon paused. “Guess you weren’t doing much drinking, though. Where’s the boy? Rowdy?”
“He’s home with his aunt and uncle,” Poppy said, her gaze staying fixed on Toben. “They’re leaving in the morning.”
“Nice of them. Considering you’ve had Otis and Dot for...?” Toben asked. Her brother-in-law seemed okay. The sister, he wasn’t sure about.
“A couple of weeks,” Poppy answered. “It’s going to be awfully quiet once they’re gone.” But she didn’t look disappointed.
“When’s Mitchell headed out?” he asked, studying her right back.
“No idea,” she answered, her attention shifting to the window.
His gaze followed, but Mitchell wasn’t there. He was inside, carrying two longnecks toward the pool table. He nodded at Toben and Deacon, apparently not the least bit bothered by their presence. So why the hell did Mitchell being here bother Toben so much?
