The Company of Strangers
The next night found him holding up the bar in his now-accustomed spot. He watched the door intently; this was Saturday night and it was even more crowded than it had been the night before. He wanted to know exactly who was in the place, if any of them was likely to start trouble. Why Toby didn’t have regular bouncers was beyond him; if tonight was anything to go by, this was a bunch determined to get drunk and do stupid things.
So he was keeping a close eye on the door. Which is why he saw her when she came in around eleven. She’d reversed colors tonight; she was wearing a black top with a green scarf and gloves, and this time instead of jeans she was wearing black leather pants. She hitched herself up onto the bar to lean over and greet Toby with a kiss. Then she glanced down the bar and saw him. Her smile widened a little. She jumped down from the bar and started making her way across the room. Logan watched her with more appreciation than he’d allowed himself the night before.
She waited until she’d squeezed through the crowd and fit herself into the corner of the bar next to him before speaking. “Hey. You must like it here after all.”
He let himself relax into an expression that was as close to a smile as he usually got. “Must be your favorite.”
“Oh, I love this place. Speaking of which—“ She looked for the bartender, but even as she did Toby was putting a drink down in front of her.
“That’s on Logan here,” Toby said, and Logan shot him a look. Well, he owed her a drink. Not that Toby ever let him pay for anything anyway.
She grinned impishly up at him. “Now see, I was sure you could be as sociable as the next guy if you only tried.” She took a sip of her drink. “Thank you. My name’s Marie, by the way.” Her accent was Southern but not local; he couldn’t quite place it.
He shrugged. “You’re welcome.” She was young, all right, way too young and fresh for his style. He preferred women who knew what the score was, who didn’t expect anything beyond a little excitement. She was going to learn an unpleasant lesson in a hurry if she kept up this behavior.
“So…we’re even.” She nodded towards the pool table. “Want to play for the next round?”
“Play pool?”
“Unless you’ve got something else in mind.” The smile turned even more mischievous.
Wiseass kid. “You’re on.” He led the way to an empty table and racked the balls as she selected a cue. “You want to break?”
“You go ahead.” She chalked her cue, watching intently as he made the shot. He sank a striped ball and moved around the table. “Nine-ball. Side pocket.”
“Oh, you play you have to say it before you shoot?” He gave her a sharp glance, but she just looked back at him inquiringly.
“Yeah.” He leaned over and made the shot. “Thirteen. Corner.” He gestured with his cue as he moved to set up.
“What if you call one but sink another?”
All right, that was a step too far. Toby’d said she knew how to play. He ignored the question until he sank the shot. Then he straightened up and fixed her with a glare. “You lose your turn. Same as if you try to distract the other player with dumb questions while he’s tryin’ to shoot.”
She tried for another wide-eyed ‘who, me?’ look, but her mouth curved up despite her best efforts. “All right, I’ll be good.” He turned back to the table and sank two more balls before he wound up with too difficult a leave and missed a shot. She stepped forward and leaned over the table.
“Isn’t it hard to play in those things?” She looked up and he nodded at her hands; she was still wearing her gloves.
“Thought you said no distracting questions.” He raised an eyebrow at her and fell silent. “Six. Corner pocket.” She made the shot. “Um…fourteen. Side pocket.”
He surveyed the table. “Ten’s a better shot.”
“Can’t reach. I’m not six three, you know.”
“So use the bridge.”
“I’m no good at that. I don’t get a good feel for the cue.”
“Here. I’ll show you.” He got the bridge from the rack on the wall and brought it around the table to her. “Like this.” He slid the bridge across the table, She put her cue on it, but didn’t support it far enough down the stick. “No. You gotta get closer to it, same as if it was a regular shot.” He put his arms around her and guided her hand further down the cue. “Feel it?”
“Yeah, I think so.” She leaned over further, biting her lower lip in concentration like he’d seen her do the night before. She slid the cue back and forth experimentally several times before taking the shot, but the cue caught a little and she didn’t get enough follow-through.
Someone behind them laughed, and Logan straightened up. A fortyish man in a red plaid shirt was standing there; Logan vaguely recognized him from the night before. The man shook his head. “Ain’t seen you miss that shot anytime these last couple years, Marie. You anglin’ for lessons or somethin’?”
“Shut up, Pete.” But she was blushing, her cheeks turning deep pink, and she grabbed for her drink.
Logan took the bridge off the table and set it on the side. She gave him a quick glance and turned even pinker. He put one hand on the table on either side of her, leaning over to speak directly into her ear. “You playin’ me here?”
“Maybe. A little.” She was fighting another smile.
“Why?” God, she smelled good.
“Well…guys don’t like girls to beat them.”
He stayed right where he was. “Men like women who play straight.” He heard her catch her breath a little. “Take the shot again.” He stepped back. She took another gulp of her drink before she reached for the cue and bridge.
“Ten. Corner.” This time she made the shot easily. She moved around the table. “Twelve, corner pocket.”
He moved to that corner of the table and crossed his arms. She wants to play games, we’ll play games. She looked up from her shot. “What?”
“Nothin’. Just standing here.” He raised the eyebrow again and she glared at him.
“Fine.” She missed the shot and slapped the table in annoyance.
“Too bad, kid. You need a lighter touch.” He hefted his cue and looked over the table. “Fifteen. Corner.”
She went to that corner of the table, but she didn’t just stand there. She leaned over as if trying to get an angle on his shot.
He had an angle, all right. Her top was cut pretty low and she knew exactly what she was giving him a view of. He focused on the shot with determination and sank it. Try to con a con, huh? She put on a pout and stood up. He gestured. “Seven. Side pocket.”
This time she moved to stand right beside him. The scent, frankly, messed with his concentration more than the sight, though she couldn’t know that. He leaned over to set up his shot and she leaned against the table with him. He could feel her against his side as he drew back for the shot.
He missed.
“Too bad, sugar.” Apparently she learned fast. She reached for the chalk again and surveyed the table with a critical eye. “Lighter touch, huh?” She gave him a warning look and he stepped back. She leaned over. “Four. Side pocket.” She made the shot. “Sixteen, in the corner.” She made that too. “Twelve, corner.”
“Like hell.” The shot was there, but she’d have to bank the cue ball off the cushion to make it.
“Want to double the bet?” She gave him a challenging look.
“Two drinks? You think I’m an alcoholic or something?”
“Okay, pick another bet.”
It was an invitation for another teasing, flirtatious comment, but he didn’t take it. He met her gaze directly, held it. “Your scarf.” His eyes went to the filmy green fabric. He wanted it, for what reason he didn’t quite know. It would smell like her.
Her eyes widened a little and the bantering words she tossed back didn’t quite come off. “Strip billiards?”
”Whatever.” He kept his eyes on hers.
“Against what?” Her gaze raked up and down his body. “Don’t see anything you’ve got that would fit me. ‘Cept maybe that belt buckle.” Her eyes lingered on it for a moment.
“Fine.”
She closed the few steps between them and boldly put her hand on the buckle in question. “You sure? Wouldn’t want you to get all embarrassed if you can’t keep your pants up.” The smile she had now was absolutely wicked.
“Ain’t gonna be a problem, because no way in hell are you making that shot.” He took the gloved hand and moved it away firmly. “Take the bet, take the shot.”
She took her time and he didn’t try to distract her. It was a good try; she got the angle exactly right but she didn’t hit the cue ball quite hard enough and the twelve-ball stopped just short of the pocket. For a second he wondered if she’d blown the shot on purpose, but her reaction wasn’t feigned; she swore under her breath and caught her cue up in annoyance. He held out his hand.
“Pay up.”
She set her cue down and walked over to him, loosening the knot of the scarf, leaving it hanging free around her neck. “Not gonna give me a chance to win it back?”
“Nope.” He took hold of one end of the scarf and started to slide it free; she held onto the other end. “You lost. Hand it over.” He tugged on the scarf and she didn’t let go; instead she let him pull her closer, stepping forward as he drew the material through his fingers. He leaned forward, mesmerized by the delicious scent and the huge brown eyes that seemed to be getting bigger as she got closer—
“Logan!” It was Toby’s voice, sounding panicked, and Logan realized the bar had gone silent. He let go of the scarf and pushed the girl out of the way, striding toward the bar.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
There is one teeny, tiny change in this chapter, especially for someone I admire very much. And the first one to spot it and email me wins a No-Prize.