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“Show-off.” She tips her beer to her lips.
“That’s nothing. Enjoy the view.”
I position my next shot, and although I have an easy ball right down the right side of the table, I purposely pick a trickier shot just to tease her. I bend forward right in front of her and hit the ball so it banks off one side and into the pocket on the other side. When I stand, her eyes are still where my ass was.
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “We don’t need to talk between every shot,” she says when I open my mouth.
With a grin, I line up my next shot. Although it should be an easy one to knock in, I somehow misjudge the dimensions and it bounces out of the pocket the same way it did to her.
“Oh, my turn so fast?” She jumps off the barstool and gets some chalk, running it down the length of the stick with both her hands.
I clear my throat and adjust my stance to make room for the half chub that’s now between my legs.
“You okay, Van? Something in your throat?” Her hands run up and down the length of the pool stick.
“You play dirty.” My voice is gravelly with need.
She smiles and slides by me. “Excuse me.”
Her breast brushes my chest, and my hand reaches out to stop her by the hip, but at the last minute, I remember she isn’t mine yet and I let my hand fall back to my side. She sets up her shot, bending forward in her dress. Fuck, I wanna slide my stick up the back of her dress so I can see her panties. I bite my lip.
She continues to run the table. I get one last chance at victory, but when I get to the eight ball, I miss the shot by a millimeter, setting her up with a perfect shot.
“What pose will you do for me, I wonder?” She stares at me while hitting the ball in.
“You beat me. Let’s go two out of three.” My cell phone interrupts us, and I step away to answer it. “Hey, Nate. Yeah, last couple left about a half hour ago. Thanks.” I hang up. “We’re closing even earlier than expected, miss. You’ll have to take your hustle somewhere else.”
She laughs. “Oh, you assumed I couldn’t play because I’m a girl?” She puts her stick back and I cage her against the wall while I put mine back.
“I would’ve posed regardless,” I say.
“And I would’ve gone on a date.”
For a moment, we stay there, my lips an inch away from the bare skin that I want to taste so badly. But I pull myself away, knowing she needs space. I’ll have to be happy with flirting for tonight.
“Come on, I’ll take you home,” I say, picking up her beer bottle and bowl of pretzels.
As the snow falls, the two of us don’t hurry back to our apartment, and when she almost slips in her heels, I grab her hand and don’t let go the entire walk.
If she minds, she doesn’t say anything. Thank God because it feels better than I thought it would. That should scare me, but for some reason, it doesn’t.
Seventeen
Brinley
The girls are eating their breakfast in front of the television because I’m their cousin, not their mother, when Van walks out of his room in those damn gray sweatpants with no shirt. At least he has underwear on this time because there’s no outline.
He stands in the doorway and rubs his eyes. He had a late shift last night, so the girls and I didn’t see him before we all went to bed in my room. He looks at them with a confused expression as though he woke up in the wrong apartment.
The twins stare at him, then each other, then back at him.
“Who are you?” Abby, the more direct twin, asks.
I laugh and pause while packing up our s’mores stuff. “This is my roommate, Van. Van, these are my cousins, Abby and Allie. We’re going camping tonight, remember?”
He nods and winks at them. God, can he ever stop flirting? “Hey, girls. I’ll be right back.”
He heads into his bedroom and comes back out while putting on a shirt. I love watching his muscles constrict as he slides the fabric over his body. I miss the view of his chest the minute it’s covered. What must it feel like to slide your hands down the planes of his chest…
