Dave leans down and calls his final shot, eight ball in the side pocket. He nails it and pumps a fist in the air, then turns to Patricia and leans against the table, a cocky grin covering his face. “I won.”
“Yes,” she purrs as she steps toward him, raking a fingernail down his chest. Her eyes are hooded and clearly filled with undisguised desire, and I see Lauren freeze at my side as she watches them. “You won. Guess I’ll have to…pay up.”
Then his mouth is on hers, and they’re entangled in the corner, kissing.
Lauren rips her gaze away from them, a pretty pink flush riding high on her cheeks. Her focus shifts to my chest, then slides toward my eyes, and her pupils are dilated. Her chest is rising and falling. Yeah, she’s thinking about me right now—I can see it all over her face, the way she’s staring at me with that intimate familiarity that comes from previous sexual encounters. She’s thinking about that night and she’s turned on.
My cock is so hard it hurts; it twinges in my jeans, and I’m sure if she looked down she could see how hot I am for her. I take a step toward her, and she shudders, licks her lips.
“I…feel kinda sick,” Christina interjects, pushing between us. She turns to Lauren and exhales, and Lauren cringes at the puff of boozy breath on her face. “I’m gonna…” Her face pinches and she staggers to the women’s bathroom about twenty feet away.
“Shit,” Lauren says, and gives me an apologetic smile. “I should make sure she’s not going to puke everywhere. She drank a lot more tonight than she usually does.”
“Is she okay?”
Lauren’s eyes shutter. “She’s fine,” she replies coolly, then follows Christina to the bathroom.
The girls are gone for several minutes, and Dave is practically impregnating Patricia, so I stand there and rack the balls, then sip my beer, unsure what to do. If Christina isn’t well, I should take her home. Maybe Lauren will hang around and wait for me—Christina’s place is only about fifteen minutes away, I believe.
When they emerge from the bathroom, Christina looks green around the gills. “I…wanna go home,” she says on a sigh, frowning. “Sorry. Ugh. It’s been a hard week.”
“Totally fine. I can take you if you like,” I offer.
Dave unlatches from Patricia’s mouth, traces of her red lipstick smeared on his lips. Patricia moves her attention toward nuzzling his neck. “No, I got it,” he says. “We’re gonna take off anyway, so we can drop Christina on our way out.” His hand darts around Patricia’s waist possessively.
“I don’t mind taking her home,” Lauren protests, “but thank you guys.”
My stomach sinks. Fuck. I don’t want her to go, not when I feel like we’re finally getting somewhere.
Christina leans in and whispers in Lauren’s ear. Since she’s drunk, her whispering is loud, and I can hear snippets of words, like “bad impression” and “help” and “nervous.” Lauren nods, her face tight.
Then Christina grabs her purse and moves to Dave. “A ride home would be great, thank you.”
They leave the bar a minute later, Patricia with her arm looped though Christina’s. Lauren and I watch them go. I’m dying to ask what the fuck is going on, but I’m nervous about Lauren freezing up on me again, like she did before she followed her sister into the bathroom.
She sighs and fidgets with a strand of hair. “I should probably go too.” I can hear the edge of reluctance in her tone, though.
I make a split-second decision and turn to stand in front of her. We’re not touching, but given the electricity zinging between us, we might as well be. Both of us are charged, aroused, and it’s crackling in the air. “If you want to head out, that’s fine,” I tell her. “But you owe me a game of pool first.”
I can see the indecision in her eyes. She’s weighing the dangers of being alone with me versus the safety of retreating to her home. I stretch a hand out and stroke the flesh of her inner wrist, and her breath gives that sexy little hitch again.
“One game,” I press. I feel her pulse jumping under my thumb. Maybe a sexual bet would be a good way to go. If only she’ll agree to play…
She nods, acquiescing, and my heart jerks in my chest. “Okay,” she says in a throaty whisper. “One game.”
Lauren
I head to the wall rack housing the pool cues and take my time studying them. I’m sure I look like I’m scrutinizing, but really I’m struggling to regain the thin, precarious control I have left over my body. Everything in me is throbbing, aching for Cole, the way I did on Wednesday night. I can barely focus on what’s in front of me.
I nibble my lower lip and force myself to stare at the sticks. Reach a hand out and check the straightness of one or two. This is my game, and I’m pretty good at it, if I can just pull it together and not fantasize about how good Cole smells or the way his muscles strain against his black shirt.