L. A. Witt - Rules 1 - Rules of Engagement (30 page)

I
TRIED
to forget Brandon, but someone like that doesn’t simply disappear into the past as easily as he disappears from sight. Though I hadn’t seen him since he pulled out of the parking lot and left me standing there like a jackass, he was on my mind more than ever.

When I jogged around the lake, I kept expecting him to appear beside me. Walking out to my car in the pouring rain one night, I was certain I could taste that kiss we had shared in the rainstorm. The gym, my bedroom, my goddamned shower. Everywhere I went, he was there. Or at least, he should have been.

After more than a week, I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t get him off my mind.

I was scared shitless when I pulled into the familiar parking lot of the club. His car was there, its benign presence rattling me straight to the core. Between my car and the front door, I almost left at least a dozen times. Each time, I talked myself into staying. This might hurt, but I had to try.

When I walked in, it took mere seconds to find him. His back was to me, and he was leaning over the table to take a shot. I swore his body tensed when I came through the door, as if he sensed my presence. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end when he looked over his shoulder and met my eyes. The temperature in the usually stuffy room dropped.

There was no expression on his face. No surprise at my presence, no reaction at all. Without so much as a flicker of emotion, he turned his attention back to the table and continued his game.

I went to the bar and ordered a beer. Part of it was a need to calm my nerves. Part of it was my fear of confronting him here, in front of so many people. I wanted to talk to him in private, but I wasn’t sure how to get his attention. And I had to admit it: I was terrified of him turning me away. We’d both already said more than enough. If he didn’t want anything to do with me, I couldn’t blame him.

A few opportunities presented themselves: When he stepped away from the tables to get a drink. In between games. When he sat out for an entire game to watch someone else play. He never once looked my direction, never acknowledged my presence besides his icy look when I had come through the door.

Come on, Dustin, talk to him.

Brandon finished a game, shook his opponent’s hand, and twisted his cue apart so he could put it into its case. Panic straightened my spine; he was leaving. Now or never. He slung the case over his shoulder and started towards the door.

I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t fucking move.
As he put his hand up to push it open, he paused, looking right at

me. Our eyes locked. His expression didn’t change.

 

Then he was gone.

I couldn’t hear the door close over the loud music, but I felt it severing Brandon’s presence from the club.
My heart sank.
Good one. Just let him walk out. Don’t bother trying to talk to him.
Christ, what did I expect? That he would come up to me? I was the one that had fucked everything up. If anyone needed to make the first move, it was me.
Then my heart skipped.
How many times had I watched him walk out that door, certain he had left, only to find him waiting by my car? Granted, he hadn’t been angry with me then, but maybe….
I quickly paid the bartender and headed out, trying not to get my hopes up but failing miserably. It took everything I had not to break into a run as I started across the parking lot.
Please be there. Come on, Brandon, please be there.
My bumper came into view in the distance, and my heart jumped into my throat. Another vehicle blocked the view of the rest my car, so I couldn’t see if he were there. Panic tightened in my chest at the thought of him not being there, but I tried to shove those fears aside. He had to be there.
He had to be.
He would be.
Please God, he has to be.
He wasn’t.
With a shaking hand, I braced myself against the back of my car, staring at the void beside the driver’s side door where I had hoped he would be, focusing on the empty space as if I could somehow conjure him out of nothing. The pain of catching my ex-wife cheating was nothing compared to the heart-stopping futility of trying in vain to will Brandon to appear.
He was gone.

I
T MIGHT
as well have been a hundred miles from my car to the front door of the club, but I made it eventually.

The stuffiness inside the building didn’t make it any easier to breathe, and everything in this room reminded me of Brandon, but I didn’t want to go home yet.

There was no point in drinking. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the club to ease this pain, so I figured I wouldn’t spread the suffering to my wallet or, tomorrow morning, my head. That, and I still had to get myself home. I winced at the thought of going out to the car again, of reliving every step of my last walk across the parking lot.

Maybe I
did
need a beer.

I paused near the door and looked at the pool tables, a heavy knot tugging at my gut as my mind superimposed a ghostly image of Brandon beside the vacant fourth table. In my mind’s eye, I watched him taking one of his signature trick shots, laughing at the shit-talking, responding with a smirk and raised eyebrows when a challenger told him he was going down. I watched him miss the twelve and pocket the eight ball, throwing the game so he would “lose” our friendly wager, and—

“Want to play?”

A female voice cut through the noise and brought me back to reality. I turned to see a tall brunette in a low-cut red blouse. She gave me the kind of infectious smile that was impossible not to return.

I wasn’t in the mood to play, but it occurred to me in that moment that a game of eight ball with a pretty brunette beat the hell out of sitting at the bar wallowing in self-pity. Something to do.

“Sure,” I said with a shrug.
“Eight ball?”
“Sounds good.”
She extended her hand. “My name’s Renee.”

“Dustin,” I said, clasping her hand gently. As I reached for a cue, I nodded towards the table and added, “Your rack.” Instantly, I cringed, my cheeks burning. “I mean. You—”

“I know what you meant,” she laughed, putting the rack on the table and setting up the game.
Chuckling, I shook my head and took a cue off the wall. I picked up the cue ball and set it on the table, pausing to let my hand brush over the green felt, shivering at the memory of bracing myself on a similar surface in another time and place.

“Your break,” she said, lifting the rack away. She leaned on the end of the table, her shoulders pushed forward just enough to let her blouse sag in the front.

Trying to ignore her exposed cleavage, I took my shot.

“Looks like you’re solids,” she said, glancing at one of the corner pockets.
“So does that mean I should try to get the black one in?” I gestured with my cue to the eight ball, which was close to the corner pocket.

She laughed and winked. “Absolutely, but only if we’re putting money on this game.”
“You want to put money on it?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “You’ll probably beat me anyway.” “You don’t know that,” I said, shrugging. “You’ve barely seen me play.”

“No, I haven’t seen you play,” she said. “But something tells me you know what you’re doing.”
I started to ask why, then realized she was looking past me at the wall. Following her gaze, I turned around, and my heart fell into my feet. There was a framed snapshot of Brandon and me, arms around each other’s shoulders, celebrating our first and second place wins at the last tournament.
“That
is
you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. I turned back to the table and leaned down to take my shot. “Didn’t win that one.”

“I hear he’s a tough one to beat.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

As the game went on, I tried to focus on her instead of that picture on the wall. Then she leaned over the table and glanced over her shoulder at me as she wiggled her hips suggestively. The familiar ache below my belt took me by surprise. I swallowed.

“Shit,” she said, glaring at the table. “How the hell am I supposed to get anything in?”

 

“Go for the twelve,” I said, pointing at the corner pocket with my cue.

Her eyes darted around the table. “I can’t hit that, there’s too much in the way.”
“Bounce it off the side.”

“And hope for the best?”
I smiled. “It’s an easy shot if you know how to do it.” “Maybe you should show me how to do it, then,” she said.

“Well, if you insist.” I put my cue against the wall. After explaining how to angle the shot and bounce the cue ball off of the side to knock the ball in, I put my hand over hers on the table, my other hand resting on her hip. I caught the light scent of her perfume and drew in a long breath through my nose. As she leaned forward, her shirt pulled up, and my palm was suddenly against her skin.

“Like this?” she asked, nudging her hip against me.

I turned so that I was whispering right into her ear, my lips almost touching her skin. “Just like that.” Looking back at the table, I said, “Line it up, and just take the shot.”

She didn’t move.

 

I realized then that she wasn’t looking at the table. When I turned my head, our faces were close enough to touch.

 

“I guess I’m not much of a pool player,” she said in a whisper that I wouldn’t have heard had I not been so close to her.

 

Blood pounded in my ears, almost drowning out our voices. “Maybe you just need more practice.”

“I could think of other things I’d like to practice.” As she spoke, she lifted her chin, bringing it a fraction of an inch closer to mine.
“Oh?”

She nudged her hip against me, just enough to press against my erection, and a satisfied grin spread across her face. “Honestly, I don’t even like pool.” Her breath warmed my face and sent a shiver down my spine.

I moved my hand from the cue to the small of her back. “So why did you want to play?”

 

“I didn’t,” she said, letting her lip brush mine. “I just wanted to get your attention.”

Pushing Brandon’s memory away, pretending I didn’t hear his voice in my head saying that very thing in a decidedly different context, I said, “It worked. You have my attention.” I stood up slowly, and she came with me. As she turned around, I put my hands on her hips, and she did the same, pulling me close to her against the pool table.

As if it had a mind of its own, my hand moved to the small of her back. We both paused, her lips almost touching mine, letting the tension linger just a moment longer before I finally kissed her.

Her fingers drifted up the back of my neck and into my hair as her tongue sought mine. My knees threatened to buckle, so I rested my hip against the table, hoping it was enough to keep me from collapsing as Renee explored my mouth.
“Hey, you two gonna to play or not?”

I looked over Renee’s shoulder at a couple of guys with amused expressions on their faces. I cleared my throat, then laughed. “No, it’s all yours.” To Renee, I said, “You don’t mind, do you?”

She grinned. “Not at all.”

 

We left the pool area and started towards the bar, but she took my arm and tugged me towards the door. “It’s way too loud in here.”

Well, beats the hell out of staying here having a beer and a pity party.
I followed her out to the parking lot, sliding my arm around her waist.

Once we were outside, we didn’t bother with conversation. I leaned against the wall, pulling her into a long kiss. There was no doubt in my mind where this was going.

A shiver ran up my spine, and I hoped to God she mistook my nervousness for arousal.
Come on, Dustin, get it together
. I’d gone months on end without sex when I was married, and each time we finally broke a dry spell, it was like we’d never stopped. But here I was, after maybe two months without sleeping with a woman, and suddenly I was as nervous as a fifteen-year-old virgin.

The more she kissed me, though, the more I relaxed, the more I allowed myself to leave the past behind, even if it were just for tonight. Whatever it was I had come here to forget, I forgot a little more every time her tongue met mine.

Running her hands up my back under my jacket, she said, “Do you want to go someplace else?”

“I assume you already have a place in mind.”
“My apartment is walking distance from here.”
“Show me the way.”