Six Months (13 page)

Attractive
men.

Not that all of them were physically good-looking, but there was an air of confidence about them—something magnetic I couldn’t put my finger on.

I targeted a barstool and quickly went to claim it. Someone whistled and the boisterous chatter fell to a murmur. I tucked my skirt beneath me as I took a seat.

No bartender.
Great
.

“Hey, April. Glad you made it,” Denver said with a welcoming smile. He walked behind the bar and patted his hands on the smooth surface. “You want a drink? Anything you like; this is what I do for a living.”

“Do you have any soda?”

He shook his head, and my eyes wandered down to his faded red T-shirt.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pointed at the cross on his shirt that had
Lifeguard
written below it.

Denver poured ginger ale in a short glass and leaned close on his elbows. “It means if someone needs any mouth-to-mouth, I’m your man.”

“Even that guy?” I suggested, pointing a few seats down.

He reached out and touched the ends of my hair. “You’re really pretty.”

His directness flustered me and I sat up straight, almost knocking over my drink. It splashed on the bar and he leaned over and grabbed a rag, wiping it up casually with a private smile.

“Is Reno around?”

He frowned a little. “Maybe you should stay away from him.”

“Why?”

Denver slanted his eyes to the left and then back. “He’s rough with women in bed.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to sleep with him.” This took me by surprise and piqued my curiosity. “What do you mean by rough?”

“I mean, unless you like being tied up, blindfolded, and submissive to his every command, then you should keep away from Reno. He’s got control issues and plays them out in the bedroom. You don’t seem like his type.
At all
.”

Why did a tiny thrill move through me as I got a visual? I had never done anything adventurous in bed, but a small part of me was a little curious. Then again, Denver was probably yanking my chain. That’s what brothers did.

When I turned around, my heart almost stopped. Reno filled the doorway, arms folded, his sharp eyes taking in my every move. And he looked
all kinds
of hot—from the shine on his boots to the neat way in which his white button-up shirt was tucked in. My heart thumped harder and harder until I had to take a deep breath. Even worse, Reno didn’t move. He just kept watching me and I couldn’t read his expression. I thought he wanted to dance with me? Why didn’t he come over?

Because you look desperate
, my inner voice said, mocking me.
Men don’t want a woman that clings to them like a sock fresh out of the dryer
.

I swiveled my chair toward the pool table. One man leaned over and took a shot, while his friend with the trimmed goatee hung back. He had his pool stick standing on end and rolled it slowly between his fingers.

Eyes on me.

“Motherfucker!” the man taking the shot barked out as he missed. The white ball bounced around the table and clipped a green ball.

I knew nothing about pool outside of what I’d seen in the movies. What I did know was that tough guys looked sexy holding a big stick.

With slow precision, I crossed my legs. It gained an immediate reaction from the man with the goatee across the room, but my interest was in Reno. I swept my fingers through my hair and casually swung my eyes in his direction.

That’s when I saw her. A brunette strutted through the doorway wearing wedge shoes that boosted her four inches taller, white shorts, and a silk blouse. The kind that was low-cut in the front and looked like a gust of wind from the snap of a finger could make it evaporate.

Not to mention she was grossly endowed and had porn-star lips.

So that’s your competition?
my inner voice wondered.
Looks like your chance just went from slim to none
.

Had she just walked into the room and mingled, I wouldn’t have given her a second glance. But she had her eyes all over Reno as if she were memorizing his DNA.

She crossed in front of him and turned around so that he could admire every angle of her curvaceous figure. When they engaged in conversation, I sulked.

How could I compete against someone like
her
, an ambitious woman who didn’t take no for an answer?

“Want to play a game of pool?” Denver winked and offered me his hand. “It’s my table; I can kick them out anytime.”

“I’m sure that’ll go over well,” I said apprehensively.

Denver whistled through his teeth by curling in his lips. The sharp sound caught the attention of the men and he gave them the universal thumb that said, “Get the hell out.”

To my astonishment, they obeyed, setting their pool sticks on the rack and shaking their heads. Denver retrieved the balls from the pockets and placed them in the triangular rack. “You ever played?” he asked.

“This’ll be my first time.”

“Okay then, I’ll break.” He handed me a stick and stood close, rubbing the chalk on the tip. “Solids and stripes. If a solid goes into the pocket, then that’s what I need to sink for the rest of the game, and you’ll target the stripes. Don’t sink the black ball until you’ve cleared your balls, or else you’ll lose the game. First person to clear the table of all their balls plus the black wins. Each time you sink a ball, you get another turn. Whenever you miss, you lose your turn.”

“Why don’t you show her how to
hold
your balls?” someone razzed.

Denver snapped his fingers at them without turning away from me. “Shut it,” he yelled and continued his billiard lesson. Excitement flared in his indigo eyes and I wondered if it was the game or me. “If you sink the white ball then you lose your turn, even if it goes in with your target. Make sense?”

“I think so.”

“If you sink the wrong ball, well, you just did me a favor. Ready?”

He whirled around, leaned over with his right arm pulled back, stroked the stick over the knuckles on his left hand, and made his shot. A loud crack filled the room and balls scattered across the table, sending a solid red in the pocket. Denver took another shot and sank a blue.

“Why do I have a feeling that I’m getting hustled?” I said, walking around the table.

Denver missed the next shot. “Your turn, honeypie,” he said quietly. “Aim for the stripes.” The music cranked up outside and the room became noisy again. Denver stepped up close and spoke privately. “Look, I can see you got a thing for Reno. You want to know why he won’t talk to you?”

“Why?” I whispered.

“Some dogs don’t like to be handed a bone; they want to work for it. Reno’s the kind of man you need to make jealous to get his full attention. He likes the challenge. Keep that in mind. Your shot.”

I nervously stepped up to the table and felt a sea of eyes watching me. I mirrored how Denver had held the stick and when I took my shot, the stick scraped across the felt top.

Denver hissed through his teeth. “Careful, it’s a new table. Here, let me show you.” He came around and took my left hand, curling my index finger. “Slide it gently through that hole.”

“That’s what she said.” It was our heckler again.

“Get the fuck out,” Denver said in clipped words, his biceps tightening as he threw back his shoulders.

The men shook their heads and stood by the bar but didn’t leave.

I’d been so caught up in the game I hadn’t realized Reno had his eyes on me. Not only that, but the girl with the Dolly Parton rack was still talking to him.

Grrr
. Maybe Denver was right. I’m not sure why I’d sought Reno’s attention out of all the available men in the room, but because of the things I had told him about myself, I felt a connection with him that went beyond physical attraction.

“But
you
didn’t hold it like this,” I argued.

“No, but I have more control,” Denver pointed out. He’d held the stick across the base of his thumb but hadn’t looped his index finger.

I bent over and Denver leaned across the table next to me. “Your angle is all wrong and you’re in too much of a hurry to hit the shot. You have to line it up and take your time.”

“I can’t do this,” I said disparagingly. “I’m just no good at games.”

“If there’s one thing that all women are good at, it’s games. Let me show you.” His eyes lit up and he got behind me. Denver’s arms came around me and his hands slid up to my wrists. “The corner pocket is the easiest shot,” he said roughly in my ear. “You’re too close to the table, so step back a little. That’s it. Now bend over a little more.”

When I did, he walked around and readjusted my fingers to hold the stick properly. As he leaned over my back, I thought I heard a growl, but the music kept a steady beat that drowned out the low sounds. Denver stretched across my back and placed his chin on my right shoulder, holding my right arm and lining up the shot. His breath slid across my neck and when I flicked my eyes around, I saw the men watching with hooded eyes and whispering to each other.

I’d seen guys showing women how to play pool before, so I didn’t understand their interest. The pool stick gently glided between my fingers. In and out. In and out. In and out.

“Take your aim,” he said, settling over my back.

I stretched out my leg, causing some friction between our bodies. He released a hard breath and I focused on the ball as if my life depended on it. All eyes in the room were watching; I couldn’t mess this up!

“Concentrate on the ball. You’re too high. That’s it, honeypie.”

I thrust my arm forward and after the loud crack, the white ball sank the stripe. “I did it!”

An exhilarating rush filled my veins and suddenly pool was a game I wanted to learn more about. I turned around with a broad smile beaming across my face. Denver looked feverish—a look I’d seen on men before. His eyes lingered on my mouth as if memorizing its shape.

“That’s a pretty color of lipstick on you,” he said, licking his lower lip. “What’s it taste like?”

I shoved the pool stick against his chest and frowned. “Thanks for the crash course, but I should get back to the party.”

Disappointment flared in his eyes and he stepped back. When he did, I noticed the empty space where Reno had once stood.

Great going
, my inner voice said.
Looks like your plan to make him notice you backfired. Or was the goal to make him livid by hitting on his brother?

I mentally gave her the finger. Part of it
was
to make him jealous so maybe he’d walk over and talk to me, but I guess Dolly Parton had more to offer a man like Reno. I left the room and lingered in the empty hall, feeling uncharacteristically defeated. I hadn’t realized how much I liked Reno until I saw how little he liked me. Only then did the sting of rejection fill me up like venom.

“Hey, prettylicious,” a smooth voice called out. I looked up at a tall man lurking in the hall. He popped open the lid to a plastic container tucked under his arm. “I’m Jericho. I don’t remember seeing your sweet face around here before.”

This was the guy Lexi warned me about? I had imagined a musician with yellow teeth, nose rings, and gaunt features. Not a man with lush lips, razor-cut hair that fell to his shoulders, and an amazingly firm body. It was apparent the Cole brothers had been blessed with the
hot and sexy
gene, each flaunting it in their own unique way.

“I’m Lexi’s friend, April. We work together at the candy store.”

“Ah,” he said with a brisk nod, a look that indicated he “got” something that I didn’t. I wondered what Lexi had told them about me. “I have a private party going on in my bedroom. Want to join?”

I walked up and peered in the room. A woman was sprawled out on a beanbag chair with her legs open, holding a guitar and plucking the strings. Lying on his bed was a busty blonde in a pair of leather pants and a black top that tied in the back with a little string. She was on her stomach reading a magazine, her legs bent at the knee and crossed at the ankle.

“Um, no thanks. I’m waiting for Ivy to bring me a plate.”