“Winnie…”
“I’ll see you in an hour.” She hangs up the phone before I have a chance to tell her once more that it’s not happening. It’s her way of leaving it open, knowing guilt and obligation will do the rest.
She’s not wrong.
I change quickly, opting for some tight jeans and a black top I keep at the back of my closet. Winnie’s probably right. I should unwind more often. I spend all my time at the inn, cooped up with people I’ll never see again, or worse, with no one at all. I deserve to go out and meet someone, flirt a little, make a few mistakes.
Or at least think about it, and then make a better choice and come home early.
That sounds more like me.
I curl my hair, pin it up, and apply more eye makeup than I have in years. I have to admit it feels good, empowering even, to fix myself up a bit. Gone is the frumpy innkeeper with no life, hello Brooke, the girl who once ruled the night.
Or at least the early evening.
I zip up a pair of leather boots, add my thick winter coat, and trounce down the stairs. I pass two guests on their way to the living room and give a quick wave. They’re adults, I don’t need to stay and babysit them. Maybe if I repeat it in my head over and over, by the end of the night I’ll believe it.
Light glowing from what I now refer to as the solarium catches my attention. Thinking one of the crew left on a hall light, I make a quick detour. All the hall lights are off, but a distinct sound pricks my senses. A sound I haven’t heard in years.
Pool balls clanking against each other.
I move to the top of the basement stairs, finally identifying the stray light I’d spotted. Once more the crack of balls bounces up the stairwell. I keep the door shut for a reason. Typically it’s off limits. It was always Grandpapa’s getaway, a place us girls weren’t supposed to visit.
I have to admit that I spent my fair share of time downstairs with him though. He loved showing me how to bank a shot, or add a backspin to a ball. I haven’t played since he passed. It’s been too hard. But listening to the familiar sounds, I feel like I could walk down the stairs and see him bent over the green felt, at it again.
I take the first couple steps slowly, curious what’s waiting for me at the bottom.
✽ ✽ ✽
Evan
I’m not even playing, not really. I don’t care about stripes or solids, just smacking the balls together to make a little chaos and occasionally sink one or two. Feels good to have control over something. Since that first shot of Hattie climbing into the grocery freezer, my life hasn’t been my own anymore.
I strike the white cue ball again and colors scatter to every corner. That used to be me, the white ball, the one in the background making waves, and now I’m the orange ball tucked against the rail waiting for life to send me soaring in some new direction.
Heels on the stairs bring my head around. Brooke’s legs come into view first. That fact that I know they’re hers, even in those tight jeans, is a testament to how much I’ve been staring at them. I straighten, unsure if this room was off limits and if I’m breaking an unspoken rule. She takes the last couple steps and comes fully into view.
What a view she is.
Her hair is curled and piled on top of her head, messy but not for lack of trying. It’s the kind of messy that gets me thinking of six ways I could mess it up a little more. The kind of messy girls do when they want to get in trouble. The amount of makeup she’s got on tells the same story. In my experience, eye makeup is a war paint for women, increasing their confidence, and Brooke has it rolling off her in waves. She’s wearing a coat like she’s headed out, but she’s here in the basement with me. Keeping her here suddenly becomes my new life goal.
“Evan.” She speaks my name, but it’s more than my name when she says it. It’s surprise for finding me down here, a little excitement that I’m alone perhaps, and anticipation for what might happen if she stays. “I saw the light on. I thought maybe one of the crew ventured down here earlier and forgot to turn it off.”
It’s a lie, or at least not the whole truth. She must have heard me at the top of the stairs. Some part of her wondered who was down here. A thrill rushes my veins that maybe she hoped it was me.
“You headed out?” It’s a roundabout way of asking her why she looks like she’s on the prowl. Though, right now, I’d be happy to be her prey.
“Winnie wants me to go to a concert in a bar.”
“I didn’t know this town had a nightlife.”
She tilts her head as if weighing the truth of that statement. Her curls shift off her neck. Long, slender, and bare, begging for attention. “It’s two counties over and an hour away. I don’t think that classifies as local to Willow Glen.” She runs her fingers over the racked cue sticks against the wall. “You could come if you wanted.”
Any other night, I’d jump at the chance. Even if it didn’t work out with Brooke, there’d be a host full of other women to pick from. But, on the off chance I can get her to stay, I’d rather have her alone here, than in a crowded bar there. In reality, whether I like it or not, I’m not interested in a host full of other women. I’ve only got eyes for her.
I nod at the cue sticks. “Or you could stay here.”
A smile teases at her lips. She glances over the green felt with fondness I don’t understand. “Winnie’s waiting.”
“She’ll make friends, I’m sure of it.” Her cousin is attractive enough. Likely Brooke would be discarded before the night was through, and wishing she’d stayed back with me. She doesn’t seem the type to take up with a stranger in a bar. She’s better than that. Better than me, for sure.
I spin the stick once between my fingers before I extend it to her. “Do you play?”
“I can hold my own.” She takes the end of the cue, and for a second we’re connected. “I could probably beat you.”
“Another competition?”
“Perhaps, if you’re willing.”
“Well, I was growing fond of you smearing icing all over me, but once more you left me to clean myself without help. I guess we can try this instead.”
I love it when she blushes. She talks a good game, pretends like she’s as bad as I am, but she’s innocent as the driven snow. I know better than to pursue her, but I can’t help myself.
“Rack ‘em.” She pulls a cue from the wall and tosses it to me. Thankfully, I catch it and maintain my credibility. I lean it against the wall and retrieve the rack from where I left it. She starts pulling the balls from the pockets. The sound of rolling and knocking bleeds into my veins, increasing my excitement with memories from my past life. Nothing like competition to get me ready for anything.
I capture the billiard balls, arranging them properly because despite her clean cut personality, I have a feeling she’s played once or twice. I glance up to see if she’s ready. She peels her coat from her shoulders and hangs it on a hook by the door. I nearly choke on my tongue.
In a thousand years, I never would have guessed what hid under that winter wear. I’ve never had so much as an inclination at her shape with all the reindeer sweaters and oversized coats. Fighting the urge swipe at my mouth to check for drool, I at least manage to clamp my lips together.
The top she’s wearing clings to her body. Bits of lace betray glimpses of skin at her shoulders and waist. There are enough curves there that I could drive them all night. Not to mention her slender waist and the flare at her hips where a sliver of skin teases me every time she bends. Wicked thoughts weave through my mind, creating one plan, just to replace it with a new plan of equal mischief. Forget pool, I could keep us busy for hours.
“Solids or stripes?” Brooke, completely oblivious as usual to my distress, bends low over the table as if to check that I’ve aligned the rack properly. “I like solids.”
She can have anything she wants. At this moment, I’d happily sign over my fleet of sports cars and two vacation homes if it meant I could have a little more time with her.
“That’s fine.” To my surprise, my voice holds steady. “I’ll break.”
She pulls the breaking cue from the wall. “Actually, I’d like to do it if you don’t mind.”
“And if I do mind?”
One of her lacey shoulders shrugs as if she doesn’t care what I think. “It’ll be a better game if you let me do it.”
She pricks my pride. “In my experience, women aren’t strong enough to break well.”
Brooke moves behind me to the head of the table. Her fingers trail over my shoulders. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to shiver in response to her touch.
“Sometimes it’s not about strength.” She bends low, lines her cue to the white ball and flattens her back level with the table. “Sometimes it’s all about skill.”
She strikes, and the balls scatter with absolute perfection. Cleanest break I’ve seen in a long time.
“I feel like I’m about to get hustled.” I tap her leg with the end of my cue, but she doesn’t pull back. “I think you play better than you let on.”
“I never said I was bad.”
“You never said you were good.”
“Being hustled would mean that I lied about how well I play. I merely omitted the truth.”
“And the truth is?”
“My Grandpapa was a pool shark, and I spent my childhood down here learning.”
“This will be a fair game then.” She’s got my heart racing. I love a challenge. “Seems like we should wager on the outcome.”
“Sure, my pennies against your riches. Like that would be fair.”
I line up my shot for the number twelve ball. The white cue ball hits it square. The table echoes as the striped ball sinks into the pocket.
“What do you suggest then?” I frown, but only for dramatic effect. “I mean, I know what I want, but what would make you happy, Brooke? What do I have that you want?”
She’s going for the solid number four ball. It’s a hard shot. I doubt she’ll make it. It’s pinned behind my ten ball. She’d have to dig it out without knocking mine in with it.
“Secrets.” She takes the shot. Her ball pops out from behind mine and spins until it falls into the pocket. “What do you want, Evan?”
“You.”
I don’t see the point in hiding what I know she can see in my eyes. If I thought she’d allow it, I throw this cue stick down and scoop her up into my arms, but it won’t end like I want it to, not yet. “But I’ll settle for a few of your secrets.”
She drops down, nose equal to the table, searching for her shot while I take mine. “We could play truth or dare. Miss a shot and face the music, so to speak.”
Number ten, corner pocket. The rattle brings a smile to my face. I sink on the opposite rail to meet her eye level. “I like the sound of that. Especially since I won’t miss.”
Brooke uses her hands to rise up again. “We’ll see about that.” She leans her weight on the edge of the table, lines up a shot and sinks the number two ball. “Your shot, Evan.”
For a split second I’m nervous. It’s not because Brooke could learn everything I keep hidden, I’m pretty sure she’s trustworthy, but I don’t know if they put cameras in this room. I certainly don’t want all of the online community knowing my past. While she’s looking for a future shot on the table, I search the ceiling for cameras. I don’t see any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
Simple answer.
I can’t miss any shots, that’s all there is to it.
My thirteen ball is perched on the edge of the corner pocket. It’s an easy shot. I line up and strike. The white ball hits the edge, but not enough to push it in.
“Oh, Evan.” Brooke’s words sound like she’s sad for me, but the tone speaks of her delight. “Truth or dare?”
“I didn’t miss it.”
“You didn’t sink it.”
“So that’s the rule then? You don’t sink one, you have to play?”
“Yep.” The p sound bounces off her full lips. Full lips I have plans for.
“Truth.” I brace myself for what’s coming.
“What’s with not shaking hands? You always avoid it.”
It’s not as intrusive as I expect. Lots of people don’t shake hands.
“I don’t like touching people.” I search the tabletop for a good angle.
“Germs?”
“Human contact.”
“You an alien?”
“That’s a new question.”
“It would explain a lot.”
I laugh to myself. “No, I’m not an alien. I just don’t like touching people.”
Brooke perches against the rail beside me. “You never seem to have an issue touching me.”
I do my best to focus on the table, even if it’s not my turn. “No, I guess I don’t.”
“Why?”
I look into her dark eyes and lose my concentration. She has a way of making me want to spill my secrets. “Shaking hands always feels like I’m giving up control. It’s a silent agreement with strings attached to deals I can’t see. When I touch you, you don’t require anything from me. No strings. No obligations. You’re innocent.”
Her lips twitch once, noticeable because I can’t look away from them. Satisfied, she spins in place and lines up a clean shot for the golden number one. It bounces off my thirteen, but falls with a thump in the side pocket.
“Your turn.”
I put some space between us. All this talk about touching her has me twitching. With a little effort, I could sink my thirteen. She’s lined it up nicely. Her eyes burn into me as I pull back to make my shot. The cue ball hits the thirteen about five degrees off what I want. Her six falls in the corner pocket instead of my ball.
A gleeful laugh escapes Brooke. “You’re making this too easy, Evan.”
I can’t decide if I love or hate Pool Shark Brooke, but whatever this is, it’s twisting me into knots.
“Truth,” I say before she asks me my preference.
She takes the moment to chalk her cue stick. “How’d you learn to make snow forts? That one you made was really warm. Were you a scout or something?”
“Not a scout.” I stop like I’ve answered enough, but her eyebrows urge me on. “I had to stay warm growing up. Winters were full of snow. The fort increased my chances of not losing a finger or two when the snow got too deep.” I shake out my hands. I can’t look at her. I hate letting her in on that part of my life.
“You were homeless?”
“I answered your question. Take the shot, Brooke.”
She hesitates. My confession changed the air between us. I need to get us back to that flirty, excited, going to get into trouble feeling we had before. She bends low, aims and strikes. The white ball swerves off course, knocking my number eleven ball into the side pocket. She grumbles something under her breath but faces me, lips pinched tight.
“Truth,” she says before I can ask.
I wish it was a dare. I’ve got three lined up and ready to go, but I’ll settle for some of her inner thoughts instead.
“Were you into Adley today?”
Brooke turns away from me, groaning. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“That’s not an answer. It’s yes or no.” I work around the back of the table, closing the distance between us. She’s facing away, but I catch her attention when I trace my fingers up her bare arm. “Did you like it when he did that to you?”
Her eyes fall shut. Breath slips between her parted lips. She never reacted like that with him, and the thought buoys me up again.
“He was interesting.” She shakes me off and moves to the opposite side of the table. “But no, I wasn’t into him. Intrigued at most.”
Satisfied, I line up my shot and sink the nine ball. “Your turn.”
She tries again, but misses sinking her five ball. Her lips pinch together. Her nose scrunches tight with frustration. I’m dying for her to say dare.
“Truth,” Brooke says again.
“Are yo
u into me?”
Blood rushes to her cheeks like steam from a boiling pot. “That’s not fair. That’s super personal.”
“And your question wasn’t?” I take a couple steps toward her. “Answer it.”
She meets my eyes, fierce fire burning in the dark depths. “Yes.”
Chapter 14
Brooke
He keeps staring at my lips. Maybe I made a mistake staying here instead of going to meet Winnie. Maybe I made a mistake wearing this top. Maybe I don’t care, because I like the way he makes me feel. I watched a video of Baked Alaska once. Right now, that’s me. Set ablaze like flambé.
“Your turn.” I wait to see if he’ll take the three extra steps to complete this dance we’re doing, pretending like this night isn’t going to end exactly like we know it will.
He stays put, searches out his next shot, and I feel the need to ensure I’ll get an answer to one of my questions. I move behind him, hand on the felt near his shoulder. I lean forward until I hover an inch above him.
“Going for the fifteen?”
“Yep.” He shifts, but I remain close. “Tricky with you right there though.”
“You mean my five that’s behind your fifteen, or am I physically a little too close?”
“Both.”
“I thought you were good at this.”
“I am.”
“Then I shouldn’t bother you.”
Evan draws in a breath, pins it in his lungs, and strikes the white ball. We watch it clatter against my five, missing fifteen entirely, ending with nothing in a pocket.
“Truth or dare?” I whisper.
Evan turns his head bringing us nearly nose to nose. “If I said dare, what are the chances I’d get what I want?”
“Not great.” I keep my voice low. “I’ll probably dare you to eat one of Grandpapa’s cans of sardines. I know there are at least three left in the closet.”
It brings a smirk to his lips, not that I’m watching them. “Truth, Brooke.”
I run my tongue over my dry lips, unsure if I want to know the answer to what I’m about to ask.
“Were you homeless?”
“Yes.” His eyes trace over my features, likely looking for signs of pity. “I was in the foster care system off and on through most of my childhood. My parents are dead. I had an uncle, but he wasn’t worth much. I ran away when I turned thirteen. Easier to live on the streets.”
Christmas With Granny McPherson Page 11