The game begins. I forgot that Cole likes pool too, and it’s clear that he’s done some playing of his own while we’ve been apart. Before I know it, we’re neck and neck, him behind by only one ball. Every time I go to shoot, he finds some excuse to be near me, for his hand to brush my bare skin, for his pelvis to rub against mine as he passes by.
I want to call him out on the dirty pool, but I also know it’s just ramping up how badly I want him. All the little touches are driving me insane.
A stubborn streak stiffens my spine. If he wants to play like that, fine. I can do it too. Besides, I really should win this bet. I’ll get my oil changed, and I can go back to quietly thinking about him instead of my mind wandering all hours of the day, wondering what he would feel like inside me.
When he lines up to take his next shot, I bend over at the opposite end of the table, making sure the scoop of my shirt exposes my whole front to him—bra, cleavage, even my stomach. I lick my lips and slide a glance at him, then part my lips ever so slightly as I dart a glance at his crotch.
He hisses a breath. I see his jaw ticking as his eyes darken, and a feminine thrill makes me ache in my lower belly. Clearly he didn’t expect me to retaliate.
I straighten, with a slow motion, and slide my hand along my bare shoulder, fingers wisping along the neckline of my shirt. “What’s wrong?” I ask him innocently. “Can’t focus?”
His face breaks into an evil smile that makes the air lock in my chest. “Oh, it’s on now, kitten. I’ve been taking it easy, but I’m going to win, and I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t walk for a week.”
God help me, my pussy spasms so tight at his words that I can’t reply. Cole bends back down and cracks the cue, and his targeted ball goes right in the pocket.
So. Hot.
My brain can hardly reconcile this new side of Cole I’m seeing. And my need for him makes my entire body ache. It’s hard for me to pay enough attention when it’s finally my turn to sink my next ball, but it wobbles in. I’ll take it.
We play for another few minutes, inching our way toward the end of the game, until he has one striped ball left and I only have the eight ball. I have my cue ball lined up so I can sink it fairly easily into the left side pocket, which I call in a quiet voice. Cole stands there, not saying a word. Just watching me, his pool cue in hand. I want to know what he’s thinking—does he hope I’ll miss? But I can’t miss. I can’t let myself get caught up in this sexual tension between us, not until I’ve at least talked to my sister. See how she feels and maybe try to find a way to divert her from Cole, if that’s even possible.
I stare down at my shot. My skin is on fire, every cell in my body focused on this moment. Do I give in to this searing ache in me? Or do I be a good girl?
Aim the cue. Pull back the stick and crack the ball. The eight ball smacks the corner of the pocket and bounces out.
I missed.
Cole doesn’t move for a moment. His steps are quiet as he sinks his striped ball, then the eight ball. My whole body is locked so tight I don’t think I can move. I blew it. Intentionally. Because I’m a terrible sister, and I crave Cole with an intensity that leaves me dying to feel him again.
Cole comes to my side and takes the cue from my fist. “Did you lose on purpose?” His gaze is a laser on me, and I can’t escape. He’s so intense he looks pissed. Now regret mingles with guilt in my stomach.
I draw in a shaky breath and lift my chin, knowing the answer is right there in my eyes, in the heated flush on my cheeks. But before I can speak, Cole’s mouth is on mine, his free hand slamming my pelvis against his, and he’s kissing the breath right out of me.
When he rips his mouth away, I’m panting, lightheaded.
“You’re mine tonight, Lauren,” he promises with an animalistic growl.
The ride to his place seems to take forever. Cole’s truck is a stick shift; in between shifting gears, his hand curls around my thigh, his fingers digging into the flesh and making me wish I didn’t have jeans on.
We don’t speak for a while. We don’t need to. The anticipation of what’s about to happen fills the car.
One time only, I tell myself. I’ll give myself this one night to experience it, get it out of my system, and then we can go back to being friends. Or…if for some reason we don’t…do I ever dare start thinking beyond tonight? What do I want? Will this screw our friendship up if we go all the way?
Right now it’s hard to tell myself to be responsible. Not when my panties are soaked and my breasts are swollen and his hand keeps inching closer up my thigh.
“Stop thinking so hard,” he finally tells me.
“I can’t help it,” I admit. There’s a little tremble in my voice, and I don’t know if that’s from guilt or hunger or something else altogether. Like fear. What if this is a mistake and we can’t come back from it?
His thumb makes little swirls on the outside of my thigh, and I close my eyes and sink into the touch. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” he says. “Trust me.”