She made a quick adjustment on his shooting hand and stepped back without meeting his eyes. Instead she scurried to the far end of the pool table and gave him his next instruction. “You want to hit it hard but twist it right before you strike.”
“Like this?”
But she lost focus as she tried to quiet her buzzing nerves, so when the cue ball struck the eight ball instead of shooting past it, she wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong.
“Guess not,” he said, watching the balls roll away from each other.
She drew a steadying breath. This was Zak, her friend. These jangly nerves were silly. She just hadn’t expected him to smell like a Carolina breeze.
“Try again.” She set the balls back in place then perched on a stool to watch.
He set it up. but she could tell before the cue stick struck that he was way off. She shook her head before he even missed the shot.
He sighed. “Guess you’re going to have to show me again.”
She sent him a quick glance to see if this was an excuse to get her close, but he wasn’t even looking at her as he fished out the cue ball.
You’re the only one trying to make this a big deal. Settle down, she chided herself as she caught the ball and reset it. And then suddenly he was right there again, slipping past her to lean back against the table and position himself for the shot. “Like this?” he asked, craning around to see over his shoulder.
It made it easier to step into his space—his “frame,” her old junior high PE teacher would have called it as she coached awkward middle schoolers on the waltz. Harper could easily believe she’d time warped to seventh grade as she reached around Zak again to correct his cue alignment. She was hyper aware of her own body and filled with sudden regret that she hadn’t showered before meeting up with him. Maybe she smelled like stale sweat. Maybe he could feel the weird energy rolling off of her. Maybe—
Maybe this is ZAK and she should relax. She forced herself to release the tension in her shoulders and focus on getting his grip right. “I’m going to shoot for you,” she said. “Keep a light hold and pay attention to how it feels.”
He made a sound of agreement, so she cocked the cue stick and shot, giving it a sharp twist at the end. She let go and leaned in to watch as the eight-ball dropped right where it should. “See?”
Zak made another sound. She glanced up to find him staring at her instead of the table. She stepped back to give him room. “Did you see how that worked?”
“Maybe?” He turned to look at the table. “But probably not. Show me again?”
This time she was even more suspicious, but his tone had been offhand, and when she tried to read his expression, he was chalking the cue stick, not paying attention to her.
She gestured for him to give her the cue. “Move, dummy.”
“I’m a hands-on learner.”
She shook her head. “One more time.”
Once again, she found herself almost chest to chest with him, but he was even more awkward with his grip this time, and she kept having to make small corrections to his form. “You’re set,” she said finally. “When I let go, I’ll step back and you shoot.”
“I’ll miss.”
“You’ll miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”
“That’s some Chinese fortune cookie wisdom right there. I’m half-Korean. Don’t generalize all Asians, please.”
She ignored him. She’d gotten used to his Asian jokes. “Ready?”
There was no answer. Instead she felt a slight ruffling across the top of her hair, like the air had kicked on and stirred it. But this was warm. She glanced up and found Zak’s eyes boring into hers.
“Um, hi?” she said.
“Hi,” he repeated, softly.
“You ready?”
He took his time to answer. “I think so.”
“All right, I’m letting go.”
She hadn’t even uncurled her fingers from the cue stick totally when he said, “Question.”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me again why you’re not really looking to date?”
Her fingers froze in a half-claw grip. “Why are you asking me that right now?”
“Curiosity. You know how I am.”
She did. He spent half of their billiards nights telling her about all the reading he’d done over the week. He must be the Charleston County Library System’s star patron and Google’s biggest abuser.
She should step back, but her feet wouldn’t move. “I’m too busy to date.”
“So you’re not already seeing someone?”
Had his head lowered toward hers? “No, I’m not seeing anyone. I don’t have time.”
“But we make this work every week.”
“This is just pool.”
His head had definitely dropped lower, and she stared at his mouth.
“Is it?” he asked quietly.
“Yes?” Why had she put a question mark on that? There was no question mark. She meant to correct it, but somehow her chin had tipped up and speaking felt very hard.
“Huh,” Zak said, sounding not in the least befuddled, but Harper could almost hear her own neurons tangling into a knot as they registered the soft puff of his breath against her lips.
“Yes.” She said it firmly this time and took a step back. “It’s just pool.” Zak watched her for a second, a small smile playing over his mouth.
“Okay.” He reset and took the shot. Again it went wide. He watched the cue ball roll to a stop before turning back to her, that knowing smile still in place. “Good. Because I’m obviously going to need a lot more lessons.”
He could not possibly have suddenly lost the progress he’d made for the last month. He was playing her, not pool. This was as bad as the old stretch-and-yawn trick.
“Shut up and rack them.” She refused to smile as she retreated back to her stool. She wasn’t dumb enough to go down this road. She had no time in her life for a relationship, not when her business was finally getting traction in the right circles. She wouldn’t detour for anyone, including a charming New York chef. Not even a really hot one.
Not that she’d noticed.
Chapter Six
Harper definitely noticed the chemistry between them, Zak thought as he toweled his hair dry that night. She had to. It was the first time he’d been sure that he’d finally made some progress in the subtle campaign he’d been waging over the last month. He’d heard it. The hitch in her breathing. He’d felt it. The change in the way even the air had moved around them when she’d leaned in to help him with his shot.
She’d stared at his mouth like maybe instead of muffling it with her hand the way she did to hush up his trash-talking on pool nights, she’d wanted to kiss him instead.
There was no way he’d misread that. She’d totally wanted to.
He hadn’t misread her retreat to her stool at the end of the night either. That might have discouraged a different guy, but not him. People only retreated if they sensed a risk. And that meant Harper’s feelings were at risk.
Finally.
He balled up his sweaty running clothes and slam dunked them into the hamper.
It had been a long month of slowly coaxing her out of her shell. He’d thought he only wanted her friendship when he left her office that day. But then they’d played their first game of pool and it was game over for him before she even won the first round. She’d been relaxed and funny and smart. So smart.
Also gorgeous. He wasn’t blind.
But that all took a backseat to the gem that was Harper Day. He understood her passion and professionalism, her creativity that was obvious the minute you were paying attention. And he was paying attention.
That’s why he knew he had to step carefully with her. He wasn’t that guy, the one who would steamroll over her wishes and nag her into dates or make unwelcome comments on her looks in a quest to win the harassment Olympics. Honestly, he liked her so much at this point that if all she ever wanted from him was friendsh
ip, he’d accept it and leave it alone.
But last night . . .
Last night he’d felt it. They’d been resonating at the same frequency, a tension that sizzled in the opinion of an expert on sizzling. And steam.
But also handling things with care.
This was going to be even more delicate than navigating eggshells. Based on her quick withdrawal the second before that almost-kiss—and he was sure that was what it had been—this would be more like making a meringue, whipping up exactly the right amount of interest in her without creating a mess.
He frowned. He didn’t love playing games, but she’d shut down if he laid his feelings out plainly. For them to work, she’d have to decide for herself that they were fusion waiting to happen.
All week, he counted down the days until their pool game while devising and discarding different strategies. He had to prove he was her safe place without putting himself any deeper in the friend zone.
By Wednesday, he had no plan. Time to call in an expert. When the lunch rush died down, anyway. Because he had lunch rushes now, sometimes. More and more reviews of Crossroads Cooking had popped up on social media, and people came looking for his truck.
When the lull hit, he pulled out his phone and dialed his sister’s number.
“What’s up, nerd?”
“Hey to you too, Chloe.”
“Heeey,” she repeated in a thick drawl. “What do you reckon I can do for you?”
“That’s not how they talk down here.”
“Meh. That’s how everyone not-from-New-York sounds to me. So how’s it going?”
“Better. Business is picking up. And I met someone.”
His sister squealed, and he held the phone away from his ear, grimacing.
“Tell me,” she demanded.
“Her name is Harper, and she’s awesome. But she thinks she doesn’t want a relationship.”
Chloe tsked. “Then she doesn’t. You have to respect that.”
“I know that, but how would you interpret this?” And he launched into a recap of their last pool night.
“Hmmm. I retract my previous statement. She’s into you.”
Even though he knew it in his gut, it was good to hear his sister confirm it. She was only eighteen months younger, and she’d dealt with her friends crushing on him all the way through high school. She’d gotten really good at reading these kinds of situations.
He braced himself for some teasing and asked, “How do I help her realize that she does want a relationship?”
“You are hooooooked,” Chloe crowed, and the tops of his ears grew warm, but he didn’t contradict her. “Okay, I know what to do. I told you that someday you’d be glad I made you watch all the seasons of Friends with me. Today is that day, bro.”
“I only watched it for the Monica cooking scenes.”
“And you need to think ‘Monica’ now. Harper sounds like a more chill Monica, right?”
“That’s a good way to describe her personality.” Competitive, detail-oriented, driven, high BS detector. Yep.
“Think about how Monica and Chandler went from friends to more. You’re a Ross/Chandler hybrid because you’re trying to be her friend. Harper needs a Chandler/Joey. You could use your Chandler sense of humor, but you have to tone down the nerdy Ross focus and not talk about stuff like foodways.”
“Hey, she likes hearing about that stuff.”
“She acts like she does. Only you and your nerd friends actually like it.”
“No,” he said slowly, thinking back on their conversations. “She asks lots of questions and gives me a truckload of opinions.”
“Holy cow,” Chloe said with a touch of awe. “If that’s true, you may have done it.”
“Done what?”
“Found your perfect woman. So don’t screw this up.”
“Why do you think I called you? Although I’m beginning to regret it.”
“No, no, don’t. I’ve got this. You need to dial up your inner Joey. Think effortless cool.”
“She’s heard me do monologues about foodways. She knows I’m not cool.”
“You’re all right,” she said. “Don’t sell yourself short. She’s into you. Just be super chill and let her come to you.”
“Let her come to me,” he repeated. “Super chill. Got it. Bye, nerd.”
As he headed out to Old Bill’s, he gave himself a mirror check and winked. “How you doin’?” And then he grabbed his keys and raced over to meet her, all while rehearsing his new mantra. Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool.
It was working.
It was actually working.
Harper had a wary look around her eyes when he walked in, but he just smiled and begged for mercy. “I don’t think I can take another ego-beating over my sucky trick shots. Can I get the regular humiliation of losing a normal game?”
She smiled and beat him, but only by two shots. It was enough to loosen her up, and they were right back in their groove. He’d stopped her retreat. Good. Now it was time to change gears.
As they chalked their cues, he stepped closer and leaned in, never taking his eye off the chalk cube. “Don’t look, but I think the past president of Sigma Delta Bro-Dude back there is checking you out.”
“What?” She started to turn, but he touched her shoulder lightly and dropped his hand.
“I said don’t look. Sneak a peek when you’re taking a shot from the other side of the pool table. You can’t miss him. Polo shirt and Nikes.”
“Okay.” She gave him a confused look but stepped up to break without saying anything else.
She called stripes, and as she set up for her next shot, she flicked her eyes past Zak before frowning and making a rare miss.
“Were you distracted by his gelled hair?” Zak asked as she passed him.
“Your hair is gelled.”
“Sometimes.”
“Every time. And there was no one checking me out. Take your shot.”
He did, then two more before he missed. “Do you not notice how many guys check you out?”
She lined up her shot. “I used to. Happened when I worked here, especially when I played. They’re just surprised to see a woman schooling everyone. I got used to it. Now I don’t notice, but I’m sure it still happens.”
It did. He caught guys checking her out all the time, and it had nothing to do with her pool-playing. Which was back on point, he noticed, grimacing as she cleared the table before she missed on purpose to avoid a scratch.
He took the only easy shot he had. He’d maybe sink one more before she beat him again. At best he could try to give her a bad setup, but it wasn’t likely to slow her down. “I always notice,” he said, lining up his cue.
“Notice what?”
“When women check me out. Watch the woman over my left shoulder.” It was a blonde a few years older than him. She’d been watching since their game started, probably trying to figure out what was going on between him and Harper.
Harper looked past him and frowned, which caused him to fight a smile of his own. She had no idea how annoyed she looked.
He managed to sink two stripes, but he’d also set up Harper for an easy win which he missed, unfortunately.
“I bet she works in a bank or runs a doctor’s office during the day,” he said.
“Who?”
“My new girlfriend.”
“She’s too old for you.”
He had to hide another smile.
“And why bank or office?” she asked
“The hair. It’s that middle length, practical and businesslike during the day, but then she lets it down to go out at night with friends.”
“Wow. You’ve thought a lot about her.”
That was jealousy. It was in the slightly sarcastic way she said it.
“Not everyone gets born with this,” he said, picking up her honey gold ponytail that had slipped in front of her shoulder as she prepared to shoot. He let his hand trail it all the way down as he settled it on her back,
not commenting on the fact that she’d frozen. “There. Now it’s out of your way.”
“Thanks,” she said, and missed her easy shot.
He couldn’t hide his grin fast enough this time when she turned around to give him room. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t say anything.
For the rest of the night she paid him back with interest. Anytime he got close to evening the score, she touched his arm and leaned in to make some suddenly urgent comment about the beer nuts or plucked a “piece of lint” from his hair. He knew it was a gimmick, but it only made him work harder to keep the score close so that she’d keep inventing reasons to touch him and throw him off his game.
As she was about to win another game of eight ball, he rested his hand on her lower back. She startled and sunk the eight but sent the cue right after it.
She straightened and stepped away from him in one agitated move.
“I win,” he said.
“You’re cheating.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you. I was going to tell you that your boyfriend is leaving.”
She didn’t even look in Polo guy’s direction. “You’re cheating,” she insisted.
“What? How?”
She leaned her cue stick against the table with careful motions. He recognized the sharp, tight movements. That’s how he looked when he was fighting the urge to punch a wall. Maybe he’d overplayed his hand. Maybe he—
Suddenly her fingers were hooked into the front belt loops of his jeans. She hauled him right up to her and stopped him just short of smacking into her.
“You don’t think I see it?” she asked, peering up at him from beneath her lashes.
He kept his face blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She studied him before her smile broke through. She let go of his belt loops, but he didn’t even have a second to regret it because she slid her hands up his chest.
He swallowed. Hard.
“Guess I’m reading you wrong,” she said, her hands moving to his shoulders. “Sorry about that.” And then she brushed them off and scooped up her pool stick. “See you next week.”
And he just stood there gaping after her like a slack-jawed Ross.
Wedding Belles: A Novel in Four Parts Page 5