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His eyes scanned hers. “And you’re not the least bit curious about whether we’d be good as … something else?”

She lifted a hand to his broad chest, and shook her head. “Not really.”

He winced as though she’d hit him, but it was light-hearted. “You wound me, honey.”

“I’m sorry,” she smiled, and sipped her beer. “Want to keep playing or do you need to go home and lick your broken hearted wounds all better?”

He laughed. “You’ll keep, Smith.” He sobered for a moment, dropping his face closer to hers. “But if you ever change your mind, I’m more than a bit crazy about you, you know.”

Her heart thrust against her rib cage, but it wasn’t from attraction or desire. It was because, out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen something familiar. Someone who looked, for the briefest moment, like Syed. Her features masked, she tilted her head sideways, chasing the oasis, and then she froze.

It had been no mistake.

He was unmistakable.

And he was unmistakably perched at the bar, his body angled towards her, his eyes glued to her face.

“Shit.” She bit down on her lip and immediately stepped backwards from Dave as though she was doing something wrong. Something illegal.

“What? Change your mind already?”

“No,” she shook her head quickly. “I, um, I just … you know what? I’m not feeling great suddenly. You mind if I head home?”

“Seriously, I don’t actually reckon I can beat you in pool, Sarah. You’re the undisputed queen of the town.”

Her smile lacked commitment. “Really, I just want to head home.”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, honestly,” she shook her head. “I’m good.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not going to let you make your own way.”

“She already has company.”

His voice, so distinct, so accented, so masculine, was somehow strangely discordant in the pool area of Larry’s.

Sarah closed her eyes softly, as the reality of her situation sunk in.

“Sarah?” Dave moved closer, shielding her from Syed’s gaze. “This guy a friend of yours?”

“No,” she mumbled. “I mean, I know him. I … it’s fine, Dave.”

Syed almost hoped the blonde man challenged him. Syed was itching for a chance to pummel his pretty-boy American face. But Sarah, perhaps realising how fraught the situation was about to become, turned to the lumberjack and smiled brightly. “We go way back. I’ll be fine. I’ll even trade you a rematch at pool if it helps.”

“Is it a rematch if we didn’t technically play?” He asked, but his eyes were still running over Syed with undisguised suspicion.

“Okay. Best of three,” she winked, and stepped away from him.

“Sarah? Text me when you get home, okay, babe?”

She nodded jerkily. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for the drink. Drinks. Too many drinks.” She lifted a hand to wave, and then turned, staring at Syed with a jumble of emotions she couldn’t disentangle. “Let’s go.”

He put a hand in the small of her back and it fit perfectly, as though it had been designed for her. She kept her head low as they weaved through the patrons. Iron Oaks was a small town, and Sarah spent a lot of her time working at Larry’s. There weren’t many people she didn’t know, and she didn’t feel like getting pulled into conversation.

Something was combusting inside of her, building up hotter and hotter and threatening to burst pure plasma rage all over the place. She’d have preferred not to have an audience for that. Not more than an audience of one, anyway.

The night air was fresh on her face; it slapped her with the steel of realisation, chased swiftly by indignity. “What are you doing here?”

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