one motion. But she didnât want to hurt Mr. Dean. It might make things difficult the next time he came into the M&S for a free cup of coffee. She stood and placed the strap of her backpack on her shoulder. Even though she really didnât want two green beers, she grabbed them off the bar and headed toward the back. As she carefully wove her way through the locals, she sipped out of each glass to keep them from spilling.
In the cramped back room, four players occupied the two tables while several spectators drank beer and loitered under the big No Spitting, No Fighting, No Betting sign.
Within the dusky shadows of the room, Rob Sutter pushed away from the wall and moved to lean over one of the tables. âThree in the side pocket,â he said over the crack of pool balls from the other table and the sound of George Jones crooning from the juke in the next room.
Kate stood in the doorway and watched him line up the shot. The light hanging directly over the table shone down on his left hand and the silver ring on his middle finger. Blue flannel was rolled up his long arms, exposing the tail of his snake tattoo, and he wore a navy blue ball cap with a fly hook and the words âBite meâ embroidered on it. He slid the stick between his thumb and first finger and shot. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for in pure muscle. The cue ball hit the solid red ball so hard that it jumped before shooting across the table and falling into the pocket. His gaze followed the ball to the edge of the table, paused for several heartbeats, then continued up the buttons of Kateâs coat, passed her chin and mouth to her eyes. Within the shadow of his hat, his gaze met hers, and he simply stared. Then a slight frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. Kate didnât know if he was irritated to see her or bothered because heâd hit the cue so hard that heâd lost control of it. Probably both.
He stood in one smooth motion, and a shadow from the brim of his cap slid to the end of his nose, leaving only his lips, mustache, and soul patch exposed to the dim light of the room. He wore a white T-shirt beneath the unbuttoned blue flannel shirt. The tails hung loose about the hips and the button fly of his Leviâs.
While he stood there looking like every girlâs fantasy, she figured she looked like a dork clutching her green beers in her hands.
Kate thought about backing out of the room, but if she left now, heâd think sheâd left because of him, which would be the truth, but she didnât want him to know it. He bent over the table once more, all long and lean, his firm butt filling out his Leviâs. No doubt about it, Rob Sutter was hot. The kind that made a girl tingle in interesting places. Not Kate, though. He didnât make her tingle. She was immune. He drew the cue back and she turned away.
There were no tables or stools, and Kate set her beers on one of the shelves sticking out of the wall. She hung her backpack and coat on a hook behind her. Next table over from Rob, two of the three Worsley brothers were about to wrap up their game. Kate slid three quarters under the cushion of the table, then chose a nineteen-ounce house cue from the rack on one wall. She held it like she was sighting in a rifle. The shaft was a little warped, but it had a nice, hard tip. She set the butt end by her right foot and waited.
Rob missed his next shot, which wasnât surprising, since he again practically shot the cue ball off the table. He straightened, and a bleached blonde with enormous breasts handed him a bottle of Heineken. Her name was Dixie Howe, and she owned the Curl Up and Dye hair salon. She had long red nails and hooked a finger through Robâs belt loop. She gave it a tug and said something next to his ear. Evidently Dixie didnât know that Rob had a real problem with bold women who made the first move and that he was a total waste of male perfection.
Over the past few weeks,
In the cramped back room, four players occupied the two tables while several spectators drank beer and loitered under the big No Spitting, No Fighting, No Betting sign.
Within the dusky shadows of the room, Rob Sutter pushed away from the wall and moved to lean over one of the tables. âThree in the side pocket,â he said over the crack of pool balls from the other table and the sound of George Jones crooning from the juke in the next room.
Kate stood in the doorway and watched him line up the shot. The light hanging directly over the table shone down on his left hand and the silver ring on his middle finger. Blue flannel was rolled up his long arms, exposing the tail of his snake tattoo, and he wore a navy blue ball cap with a fly hook and the words âBite meâ embroidered on it. He slid the stick between his thumb and first finger and shot. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for in pure muscle. The cue ball hit the solid red ball so hard that it jumped before shooting across the table and falling into the pocket. His gaze followed the ball to the edge of the table, paused for several heartbeats, then continued up the buttons of Kateâs coat, passed her chin and mouth to her eyes. Within the shadow of his hat, his gaze met hers, and he simply stared. Then a slight frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. Kate didnât know if he was irritated to see her or bothered because heâd hit the cue so hard that heâd lost control of it. Probably both.
He stood in one smooth motion, and a shadow from the brim of his cap slid to the end of his nose, leaving only his lips, mustache, and soul patch exposed to the dim light of the room. He wore a white T-shirt beneath the unbuttoned blue flannel shirt. The tails hung loose about the hips and the button fly of his Leviâs.
While he stood there looking like every girlâs fantasy, she figured she looked like a dork clutching her green beers in her hands.
Kate thought about backing out of the room, but if she left now, heâd think sheâd left because of him, which would be the truth, but she didnât want him to know it. He bent over the table once more, all long and lean, his firm butt filling out his Leviâs. No doubt about it, Rob Sutter was hot. The kind that made a girl tingle in interesting places. Not Kate, though. He didnât make her tingle. She was immune. He drew the cue back and she turned away.
There were no tables or stools, and Kate set her beers on one of the shelves sticking out of the wall. She hung her backpack and coat on a hook behind her. Next table over from Rob, two of the three Worsley brothers were about to wrap up their game. Kate slid three quarters under the cushion of the table, then chose a nineteen-ounce house cue from the rack on one wall. She held it like she was sighting in a rifle. The shaft was a little warped, but it had a nice, hard tip. She set the butt end by her right foot and waited.
Rob missed his next shot, which wasnât surprising, since he again practically shot the cue ball off the table. He straightened, and a bleached blonde with enormous breasts handed him a bottle of Heineken. Her name was Dixie Howe, and she owned the Curl Up and Dye hair salon. She had long red nails and hooked a finger through Robâs belt loop. She gave it a tug and said something next to his ear. Evidently Dixie didnât know that Rob had a real problem with bold women who made the first move and that he was a total waste of male perfection.
Over the past few weeks,
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