I don’t have walls up when it comes to women. Never have. I didn’t have a fucked-up childhood or any damaged relationships that have scarred me for others. But that doesn’t stop Stella’s voice from creeping into my mind in the silence of midnight to tease me about how easy it is for me to fall in lust with someone. And that has me stepping back some from Beaux and this newfound camaraderie, holding my emotions a tad closer to the vest, preferably protected by Kevlar, to prevent more ache in my heart already saddened by Stella’s death.
But regardless of how much I tell myself to take that necessary step back, I can still feel myself slipping deeper into whatever this is between Beaux and me. I mean fuck, I want to have sex with her again – that’s a given – but since that first-time buildup has already happened between us, we have this oddly fascinating connection now. It’s like since we know how explosive the physical side of things is between us that we almost fear igniting that powder keg again unless we figure out if we can actually handle it.
And God how I want to handle it before I handle her, because I know the next time we connect, there will be no turning back. Both physically and where my heart is concerned. I know myself well enough that this feeling I have inside isn’t going to allow me to stay behind the Kevlar for too much longer.
But I’m pulled from my thoughts as a soft smile turns up her lips and reaches her eyes. At the sight a warmth spreads through me. And with the quality time we’ve spent together lately, I feel like even though we are in this room filled with colleagues, we are having our own private conversation without speaking.
She slides her eyes over to the empty pool table, and when I roll my eyes in response, her laugh crosses the distance between us. She knows I detest pool just about as much as she hates Scrabble, but we’ve learned to compromise to pass the time. Shaking my head, I rise from my seat while she walks to the far wall and grabs the cues and the rack for the balls. Out of habit and because, shit, how can I not look, I take in the curve of her hips and the muscles in her shoulders as she grabs the sticks for us.
“Ready to lose, Pulitzer?”
“Someone has to let you win so you don’t pout,” I tease as she picks up a ball and pretends like she’s going to huck it at me despite the smirk playing at the corners of her lips.
“You talk a good game. Too bad you can’t play one.” My laugh comes freely, our banter a reliable form of entertainment as we sit in limbo for the next story on the horizon.
We take our shots, and balls fall in the pockets while she hustles me like usual as we tease and walk that fine line of flirting without flirting: a brush of a hand on a lower back, a lean in with a comment in a lowered voice, eyes hungry for the next look from the other. All the while cautious of the eyes watching around us, ready to make assumptions that don’t need to be made.
“You’d better watch your back, rookie,” I tease as I glance at the table, well aware that there are a lot more of my solids on the table than her stripes. “I’m making a comeback.”
Her laugh rings out above the chatter, echoing off the cheap tile floor in the lobby. “You couldn’t beat me if you tried.” She sits with her hip on the edge of the table, distraction at its finest because who cares about aiming my cue at little solid balls when I could stare at her instead?
“I’m in complete control here,” I murmur as I line up my shot.
“Ha. I’ll let you keep thinking that,” she scoffs, knowing perfectly well that comment will rattle any man.
Our eyes lock, so many words exchanged without speaking as the sexual tension thickens between us. Want and need, desire and lust, reverberate through the air like our own private secret in this room full of people. I force myself to go through the motions, placing the chalked cue in the crease of my thumb and index finger as I prepare to strike the ball, except my eyes are on Beaux because, damn, how could I look away?