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“Ladies first,” Hamish says to Simone. “You break.”
Simone shrugs and throws me a wink over her shoulder before turning back to the old Scot. “Your funeral, old man.”
Then, with a flourish and more confidence than I’ve had in all my life, Simone lines up and hits the pack of balls hard enough to make me jump. The satisfying crack of the balls snaps across my skin, and the balls explode outward. Two of them drop into pockets, and Simone blows on her nails.
Mac chuckles, moving his hand to brush the small of my back. His broad, warm palm makes heat pool low in my body, and I do my best not to let my heart run away from me. “Are you always this nervous?” he asks, his thumb making a slow sweep across my spine, his eyes dancing as he glances down at me.
I study the strand of tousled hair that falls down over his temple, a bit of silver gleaming in the low light of the bar, and I shrug. “Only when I’m about to make a fool of myself.”
“It’s a week to try new things,” he replies, and I know he’s talking about pottery and pool, but it really, really sounds like he’s talking about something…else.
His hand stays where it is, thumb making slow, steady movements over and back across my skin. His thumb is near my spine, but his other fingers feel dangerously close to my jeans. To places so private, they haven’t been touched in a long, long time. It’s making my head spin.
I watch Simone miss a shot and whisper a curse under her breath, then Hamish lines up and hits three balls in a row. Then, he leaves me with the white on the opposite end of the table as all our balls, with all my targets hidden behind the boys’ balls.
I bite my lip, not moving from my spot even though both Simone and Hamish look at me expectantly.
“Your turn,” Simone says with an encouraging smile.
Just then, Fiona, Candice, and Jen wander over. Simone gives them a quick recap, and Fiona lifts her glass. “Go Trina! Are you stripes or solids?”
“Solids,” I answer, still not moving from the wall.
Mac hasn’t moved his hand either, and his thumb keeps stroking, slow and steady. It’s erotic, that touch, sending every thought fleeing from my head as heat builds low in my stomach. Back and forth, soft but firm, feeling his big, warm hand pressed against my skin. I think, given enough time, I could probably come from it. From him touching the small of my back. My skin feels tight, prickly. All I can do is throw back a gulp of my drink and tear myself away from him. The space where his hand was a moment ago burns. I want more of it. More of him.
I line up for a shot that Hamish helpfully points out for me, and then promptly miss.
Mac grins. He holds out his hand for the cue, his fingers brushing mine while he takes it from my hands. Then I watch his corded, muscular body lean over the table to expose a little strip of skin on his lower back, the arms in his muscles stark against the green felt beneath them.
And he pots a ball.
“Well, we know who the dud in this round is,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be teaching me?”
Simone just laughs and takes her position when it’s her turn. I find myself at the bar, ordering a round for everyone, then watch Hamish do his thing.
My turn again already. When I stand next to the table, pool cue grasped in my hands, I bite my lip and look at the battlefield. I don’t have high hopes.
“Here,” Mac says as he sets his fresh beer down and approaches. “I’ll help. You’re keeping too much tension in your right arm. Line up for that shot.” He points to one of the balls and waits for me to position myself.
I feel him move behind me, his fingers leaving trails of fire over my hips as he shifts me over slightly, repositioning the pool cue. His hand on my elbows is like a brand, squeezing gently to get my attention.
“Good,” he says quietly. “Relax.”
“Kinda hard in this position,” I say, glancing over my shoulder in frustration.
Oh. Big mistake.
Mac is standing just inches from me, his hips near my ass, one hand on the waistband of my jeans while the other still grips the pool cue. Words fail me. I don’t want to admit to myself how good it feels to have him behind me like this, or how much it turns me on to be bent over this table with him behind me.
Especially when he’s looking at me like he’s thinking the same thing. Hooded eyes, dark gaze. After a beat, he nods to the table. “Take the shot, Trina.”
I turn back around, still so intensely aware of every inch of him so close to me. But I take the shot and to my surprise, I pot a ball.
Simone whoops, and all the girls cheer. I start laughing, standing and leaning back slightly into the warmth and strength of Mac’s chest.
He puts his hands on my shoulders and leans his lips close to my ear. “Nice shot.” A soft squeeze of my upper arms with those sinful hands, and he steps away from me.
I miss my next shot, but that’s less because I suck at pool and more because my brain is scrambled. But still, when I slide onto a barstool next to Fiona, my eyes across the pool table on Mac, I can’t help but smile.
