The Strongest Steel (10 page)

Behind each table was a chalkboard, a couple of the boards with the word “Reserved” written on them, and a rack of pool cues.

The vintage Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner was playing “Bad Moon Rising,” classic Creedence Clearwater Revival. Someone had painstakingly polished the chrome and glass until it shone. The black vinyl records were visible at the top. It was the only thing in the place that had seen any recent TLC.

Trent took a look around the room and did a double take as he saw Harper leaning over a pool table, failing to hit her intended ball and sinking the white. He laughed as she pretended to hit her head repeatedly on the green of the table.

A Natalie Portman look-alike bent her head next to Harper’s, saying something that made Harper stand up again and laugh. Wow. She looked so carefree when she smiled.

Harper hit her friend on the shoulder but flinched as a girl wearing stilettos and trying to balance three beers accidentally brushed against Harper on the way back to her table. Fear flickered in her eyes as her shoulders pulled up tight, her body tense.

Interesting. Her friend pulled her closer, putting Harper between her and the table. It happened smoothly, quickly, as if they’d done it before.

He thought about the texts they’d sent each other this week, his phone becoming a permanent appendage so he wouldn’t miss one. Cujo had thrown a couple of girls at him over the weekend, but Trent’s heart hadn’t been in it. Sure he’d flirted a little—the girls were cute and funny, so why not? But when it came time to take it a step further, he’d walked away, much to Cujo’s disgust. Seeing Harper now, he knew why.

He wondered for a moment what she’d been doing in the couple of days since he last saw her, what she liked to do when she wasn’t pulling shifts at the café.

He walked toward her, wondered how she would react to seeing him. Would that delightful flush fill her cheeks? He moved as stealthily as a guy with his build could, wanting to get there before she had a chance to panic.

“Hey, Harper,” he said as reached their table.

“Trent,” she said, startled, her hand coming up to her chest. “Oh my goodness. Did you just see what I did?”

Yep, there was the cute, embarrassed flush, and damn if it didn’t send blood flooding somewhere it shouldn’t.

“If you’re talking about that crazy sink of the white ball, then no, I didn’t see it,” he said, laughing. She hit him on the shoulder.

“You’re an ass!” she said as he grabbed at his arm in mock hurt.

“That’s a matter of opinion. I need you to stay still, Harper, because I’m about to put my hands on your shoulders and kiss your cheek, okay?”

Her fingers flared briefly, but she stopped them as quickly as they’d started.

Looking up at him, she smiled. “Okay.”

Trent steadied himself, moving toward her slowly, not wanting to freak her out. Pushing her hair back over both shoulders so his hands could rest on her blouse, he leaned forward. Her skin was still pink and soft. He breathed deeply. She smelled like vanilla, sweet enough to remind him of dessert. He touched his lips to her cheek for a fraction of a moment longer than he should and resisted the urge to groan as he felt her face lean toward his.

*   *   *

The tenderness in his kiss stopped her completely, the pool hall fading away until every particle of her focused on that one point of connection. One of his hands moved up her shoulder to the back of her neck, his thumb slowly brushing the sensitive skin behind her ear.

A shiver worked its way down her spine, standing every hair on end, bringing every nerve in her body to life.

Harper leaned a fraction of a degree toward his lips and closed her eyes, enjoying for the briefest moment a sensuous connection to another human being.

Trent lifted his head away from hers, but his hand continued to rub her neck gently.

She opened her eyes, struggling to bring Trent back into focus.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he said gently, smiling.

Lost for words, Harper just shook her head. She felt the absence of his hands immediately as he put them into his pockets.

“My friends are playing on the table a couple down. You already know Cujo and Pix. Come hang out with us for a bit when you’re done with your game.”

She found herself unable to answer. What the heck was it about him that had her acting like a speechless fool?

She watched him walk—no, walk definitely didn’t do it justice—
swagger
over to his table, and saw Cujo pour him a beer from the pitcher.

“What. The hell. Was that? Oh my God. I need fanning down!” Drea giggled.

It could only have lasted five seconds maximum, but her cheek was still enflamed where his lips had touched her, her body burning up.

“That boy has a thing for you, girl.” Drea was prone to exaggeration.

“It was just a hello kiss, D. Don’t blow it out of proportion. I don’t think I’m his type.”

“Didn’t look like that from where I was standing. You looked exactly like his type. What did he say?”

“He said hello and asked me to come say hi when I’m done playing.”

“So go now. I love you, but you suck at this and you’re making me lose. I’ll wrap this up.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’m gonna finish. Then I’ll go. He probably just wants to introduce me to one of the other tattoo artists.”

“Yeah. I’m sure that’s just what it is,” Drea muttered.

The game ended exactly one turn later when, despite her all-out focus on the green ball, Harper pocketed the black one instead.

Trying to evade Drea’s mock fury, she picked up her drink, took a gulp of it, and walked over to Trent’s table. Pixie was precariously balancing on one leg, trying to reach halfway down the green, her tiny frame struggling to make such a big reach.

Cujo was laughing at her efforts. He walked over, picked her up by the waist in his huge hands, and lifted her up and over the table so she could reach. She screeched, laughing as he tickled her, but made the shot anyway.

Trent and a girl she didn’t know sat at a small round table, leaning their heads close together. She was vintage-pinup-girl hot. Soft red curls framed perfectly unblemished skin. She had red lips and wore a 1950s dress that curved in all the right places and showcased the tattoos running up and down both arms. Tamping down the little flames of jealousy, Harper contemplated a quick retreat, but before she was able to take a single step, Trent looked up, a smile spreading across his lips as he spotted her.

“Hey, Harper,” Trent called out. “That didn’t take long. Did you clean up?” He signaled her over with a wave.

“Something like that,” she said with an embarrassed smile.

“Harper, this is Lia. She works in the studio with us. Lia, Harper is one of my new clients.” Harper shook hands, relieved that she was just a coworker. He’d have said
girlfriend
otherwise, wouldn’t he?

“Here,” he said, pulling out the chair next to his, “let me top you off.” He took her hand and pulled it toward him. Without letting go of her wrist, he filled her glass and then released her. Harper was pretty sure it wasn’t the beer giving her the buzz she was feeling.

“So, how’s the back?” he asked casually.

“It’s so much better now than it was, thanks. I thought I was going to die that night. Every time I rolled over in my sleep it woke me up. Sorry I kept bugging you.”

“No worries. Was no trouble at all.”

“You’re being kind, but I was being a bit of a wuss. You had to talk me out of going to the hospital, for goodness’ sake.”

Trent relaxed back in his seat, putting his arm across the back of her chair, not touching her but so perilously close, never taking his eyes off her as he studied her. “In some cases it can be very tender, but it’ll get better. Want me to take a look at it?”

Harper spluttered, spraying out her beer. “Here? What? No. Definitely not.”

“Why not?” Trent teased. She could see Lia smiling, watching them curiously.

“Because. I’m not the kind of person who lifts up her shirt in a bar.”

Trent narrowed his eyes at her, and something hot and possessive flashed through them. “Glad to hear it, Harper. Maybe later then.”

Harper struggled to form a response, but he cut her off. “Who are you here with?”

“Work,” she spluttered. “People from work. And my best friend, Drea.”

He leaned forward and whispered, “I like it when you get flustered.” His breath brushed softly across her ear. She shivered.

“Well, good. Because flustered seems to be my natural state around you,” she whispered back, amazed she was able to come up with any retort at all.

“Your turn. He kicked my ass. Again.” Pixie flopped into a free chair.

“Who wants to play the greatest player to ever live?” Cujo asked, ruffling Pixie’s hair. She smacked his hand away good-naturedly.

“Harper and I will play you.”

“A little tag team action. I like it. You’re on.”

Harper was horrified. “Did you not just see me scratch the white ball? And then the black ball?”

“That’s why your game ended so quickly. Hmm. It’s worse than I thought. You need tutoring.”

Harper laughed. “Seriously. I shouldn’t be allowed within twenty feet of a pool table. I’m clearly a hazard.”

“Yep, but I’m an amazing pool player. Now get up and let me show you how it’s done.” Harper stood reluctantly as Trent grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her chair.

Leaning toward his ear as she stood, she whispered, “Amazing at pool, amazing at tattoos, amazing at hugs. Anything you’re not amazing at?”

He handed her a cue while Cujo racked the balls. Grinning, he leaned back toward her and whispered, “Staying away from hot chicks with bad-ass tattoos.”

She knew what he was doing with his “Let me help you line that up, Harper” and “Here, if you try it like this it’s better.” It was so clichéd it was ridiculous. Yet she couldn’t ignore all his slightest of touches, lasting no more than a moment as his arm brushed past hers for the chalk or resting in the small of her back as he changed cues. And as if that wasn’t enough—which it was—when he leaned over the table to take his shot he kept revealing that drool-worthy butt clad in fitted jeans and flexing those muscular tattooed arms under the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt.

“I know what you’re up to, Trent,” she said as they leaned back against the wall watching Cujo take his shot.

“And what would that be?” he asked, turning to face her with a devious smirk.

“You know.”

“Is it working?”

Harper walked to the table, taking a moment to think through her response to the incredibly simple question. Pausing while setting up her next shot, she looked over her shoulder to where he was still reclining against the wall, watching her patiently. All the reasons she’d vowed to stay alone, to remain uninvolved, fled as he grinned at her.

“Maybe.”

*   *   *

They lost. Trent wasn’t surprised. He’d barely been able to look at the balls, all of his energy focused on Harper. Man, when she wasn’t showing off that mighty fine ass as she bent over to shoot, she was totally engaging him with her funny, self-deprecating comments.

The more time they spent together, the more comfortable she got with him. Which was exactly what he was going for—though working hard for a girl was definitely not his usual M.O. It was hard to pin down what it was about Harper that made her so different, but she was totally worth the effort.

As Harper took a shot, Cujo tried to distract her by dancing in front of the pocket she was aiming for. Trent laughed as he heard her threaten Cujo’s most important organ.

“What’s the deal with you and her, Trent?” Lia asked. “She’s not just a client, is she?”

“No clue what you are talking about,” Trent said, nonchalantly pouring himself another beer from the pitcher and signaling to the waitress for another.

“Come on, T. I’ve known you for what, ten years? We had to drag you here for a quick beer two hours ago, and now I’d bet my Aaron Cain limited edition five-liner that we couldn’t make you leave if we wanted to.”

“I don’t want your five liner—it’s red and black with drilled-out sides for lightweights like you.”

“It’s raspberry and gray, and I am not a lightweight. It’s Aaron Cain! Anyway, you’re missing the point. Why haven’t you made a move? You guys look good together.”

The conversation was starting to border on uncomfortable. Guys didn’t sit around with chicks and discuss their feelings or shit like that. But this was Lia. These were his friends, and they did know him better than anyone else.

Fuck. He couldn’t even explain it to himself, couldn’t find the words or even decide which way the wind was blowing right now.

This was starting to hit a little too close to home.

“Yeah well, enough talking through our girly parts.” He laughed as Lia smacked him in the arm. “I’m going to go save her from a fate worse than Cujo.”

Cujo leaned on the pool table, pursing his lips and blowing on the side of Harper’s face to distract her from her shot. Trent nudged him away with his hip. “That the only way you can win, Cuj?”

Cujo straightened and laughed, winking at Harper. “Harper can take it.”

“She shouldn’t have to. You don’t need to be such an asshole,” Harper’s friend chimed in from the next table, where she was currently playing.

Trent turned to look at her. She was a feisty little thing; her withering glare was trained on Cujo.

“Wow. The kitty has claws,” Cujo responded with a wry grin. “It’s called having fun.”

“No. It’s called being a jerk,” she called back before returning to her game.

Cujo raised one eyebrow at him and shrugged.

They played until they were the only ones left in the pool hall, Drea having eventually joined them. “You redefine the word idiot,” Trent overheard her say to Cujo, who was leaning against the pool table, arms crossed in front of his chest, as Drea gesticulated wildly before him.

The lack of space in the pool hall was totally working in Trent’s favor. The small table with chairs squashed up next to each other meant Harper was sitting so close to him that their thighs touched.

She didn’t visibly flinch when his arm, which was around the back of her chair, occasionally brushed her hair or shoulder. In fact, he was pretty sure he was eliciting the occasional shiver. Every now and then, she’d squint her eyes at him in what he now privately thought of as her sexy-schoolmarm look or would elbow him in the ribs when he intentionally rubbed the back of her neck.