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It lands neatly.
“So, when you said you’d played pool before…” Charlie begins.
“It would probably be more accurate to say I have played quite alotof pool before, yes.”
He shakes his head at me, good naturedly. “‘Colors.’ Very cute.”
The eight-ball placement really does have me in a tricky spot. I crouch, trying to find the angle. And to also not lose my balance.
Is it me, or is the room spinning, just a little? “There was a pool table in the basement of my parents’ house,” I find myself telling him. “I didn’t go out much.”
“Well, where was there to go out in Hayworth? Someone’s basement? A field?”
I wouldn’t know.
Between the drinks at the wedding and the beer, I’m properly tipsy now. I nod to where Charlie’s standing, which is where I need to be for my shot. “Excuse me.”
He steps out of the way, but barely. I position myself, with one hundred percent certainty he’s checking out my ass. The ball drops into its pocket.
When I straighten, I smile up at him. He’s still very, very close. “You’re not a sore loser, are you, Fox?”
Charlie gives me a loaded half-smile. “Oh, you think I’m losing in this scenario?”
I lift up and kiss him. It’s impulsive and probably foolish—a surprise to even me. My mouth is on his before I fully realize what I’ve done.
But Charlie surprises me more. His fingers grip my hair before I can think to pull away. He kisses me back hard, zero to intense in fifteen seconds. The heat sweeps through me so fast and so completely that I grip onto him for balance. But then, this probably how all of Charlie Fox’s many flings feel—knocked off their feet.
As fast as it started, I step backward. “Sorry.”
He clears his throat, looking a bit dazed. “No, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I say, with a breathy laugh. “I started it.”
We stand there for a moment, my head spinning. Because if I started it?
He definitely finished it. Perfect score.
10/10, would kiss again.
But Charlie clearly doesn’t feel the same way, because he steps back, putting even more distance between us. “This probably shouldn’t happen again,” he says, looking profoundly awkward.
“Right!” I blurt.
“We just got… Carried away.”
I gulp. I was about ten seconds from throwing myself into his arms and begging him to carry me to bed.
So, yeah. “Definitely.” I agree. “Best to keep it professional.” I look around the bar, searching for a simple way to pretend the last five minutes didn’t happen.
But, no. I think I’ve ruined the easy fun here.
“I should get home.” I blurt.
“Yeah. Of course,” Charlie says, shifting uncomfortably. Great. Clearly, I crossed the line. I’ve driven charming Charlie Fox to one-word answers. But to be fair, he dialed things up by about six hundred degrees.
He settles the tab, then steers me outside and puts me in a car. He seems to have recovered faster than I have, giving me a genuine smile.
“See you next weekend,” he says. “Should be an fun one—the yacht wedding and then the Renaissance Faire theme.”
