Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
He thinks. “Could she have gone with him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think she wanted to. She never said she did. I guess they just didn’t love each other enough.” I sigh. “She loved it here. She was devoted to her students. She was smart and beautiful and kind…”
“Like you.” His gaze finds mine.
I nod.
“I’m not your dad, Red. You have to give people a chance. We’re not the same.”
“Of course not.”
“But I’m a douchebag because of him?”
“No,” I say softly. “Never in a million years.”
He leans in closer to me and I feel the heat of his body. He touches my cheek. “Good. Then that’s progress.”
My heart skips a beat at the intensity of his gaze, at the electric current that stretches from him to me. The string between us is tight, an undercurrent of fire and ice mixed together. I wonder what it would look like if he were mine. If he loved me…
Someone walks past us to get to the jukebox, and the moment is broken.
He takes in a big breath, looks down at the pool table, and continues. “Er, I guess we need to finish this.”
I nod.
He looks back at the table. “Whatever ball you get in a pocket, that’s what you are, solids or stripes. If you make one of each variation, you get to choose. If you shoot the eight ball in a pocket, and it’s not the last ball, you lose. I’ll show you.” He steps around me and leans over with his cue stick, his shoulders taut with athletic grace. The muscles in his forearms ripple as he aims and strikes a red ball hard, sending a solid into a pocket on the right.
“You look good doing that,” I murmur.
He takes a swig of the beer he ordered when we walked in and sets it down on the table next to us. “Just point and shoot. We can work on technique—enough to get you through a few shots with Connor.”
His jaw seems to grind at the thought.
“Ryker.” I’m tired of this. Of him helping me get Connor.
But his profile is hard. Implacable. “Come on, Red. Let’s do this thing.” He tilts his head toward the table.
“Maybe we should just forget it.” I toy with the weight of the stick.
“No. I want to show you how to impress him,” he says.
“I don’t want to impress him anymore.”
There, I said it. I mean it, but Ryker isn’t having it.
He scowls. “That was the objective since the kiss at the bookstore. For you to go out with him. You need to do it. So you know.” He studies my face.
Know what?
I don’t ask. I’m scared of the answer. Because once I say it aloud—I want you, Ryker—then it’s real, and I have to deal with it.
I take a step closer to the balls and chew on my lip as I concentrate. Since I’m right-handed, I hold the base of the stick with my right hand and attempt to line it up for a shot that will put a striped ball into a left pocket.
“You look like you’re going spearfishing.” He sets his beer down. “Let me show you.”
He walks back to where I am and stands behind me as I’m bending over the table, his hands covering mine. My body tenses and my knees go weak at the feel of him, and my ass may have twitched a little to get closer to him. I’ll never own up to it if he asks though.
“Everything okay?” I ask as he just stands there.
“Yeah.” He clears his throat, and in a slow movement, he demonstrates the correct way to line up the shot with the stick. “A good basic technique is to put your index finger on the top of the stick and curve it.” His hand strokes my pointer finger, arranging it in the correct form. “Like this,” he says. “Hold it tight. You have total control of the stick.”
But my body is out of control. The heat from Ryker sears my skin, and he smells like a tree I want to climb. “Okay.” My voice is mangled.
He eases back and his hand lingers on my left side. “This arm will never move. Use your back and shoulders.”
“Back and shoulders,” I repeat, but my mind is hardly on pool. It’s on the way his hand glides to my waist and rests there. “Spread your legs as wide as your hips and keep your feet at a 45-degree angle. You need a good stance if you want to get in a good shot.”
“Good shot…got it,” I manage to say as he leans into me. I can’t see his face and I’m dying. I want to see what he looks like when he looks down at me.
My hand trembles.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Mmhmm. Just getting stiff from being bent over.”