He stared at her and tried to understand. She spoke English, but nothing made sense. “Why are you filling out applications here?”
She shrugged. “I can’t let you keep footing the bill. I do my share.”
“What about school?”
Layla froze, eyes widening like she’d been zapped. “I’m not going back. You said you were having fun too.”
A new feeling rose in his chest, but he couldn’t name it. “What’s your plan?”
“Stay here until you’re ready for Vegas, and if things are still good between us, I’ll follow you.”
“You’ll follow me?” It had been so long since he’d had someone want to be with him, to stick it out, that he wasn’t sure how to respond. Thoughts spun dizzily in his head. He couldn’t be responsible for her.
She wrapped her arms around him. “No pressure. I’ll take off if you want me to . . . but I want you to know how much this week has meant to me. I’ve been free with you, and I don’t want to lose that.” Her body pressed against his, and he held her for long minutes, processing what she’d said.
Then she pulled away and planted a kiss on his cheek. “We’ll talk more over dinner. See you at the bar?”
He nodded numbly. After she scooped up her keys and left, it finally hit him that she was going to walk away from everything he’d ever wanted in order to be with him. Or at least what she believed she got from him.
She had no idea what she was doing.
How was she supposed to fit into his life on the road? He couldn’t even focus on a plan for himself. How could he worry about her too?
Phin went to work, trying to figure out how to convince Layla that his life was not one she really wanted. As much as he wanted her in his life—no, as much as he wanted to be in her life—he couldn’t let her give up everything.
A surge of excitement energized Layla as she drove toward the bar. She was early, and knew Phin wouldn’t get there for a while yet, so she’d practice without him. Maybe have a celebratory beer because she had landed a job. It was still a bookstore, but at least this one was a regular chain, so she wouldn’t have to look at textbooks all day.
She parked in front of the bar and saw Phin’s truck a few spaces in front of hers. She couldn’t deny the tingle that skittered up her spine at the thought of his being there, waiting for her. Sharing a beer with him to celebrate would be that much sweeter. Layla jumped from her car and rushed into the bar to find Phin. She knew he’d be by the tables; it was the only place he’d be.
When she got to the back of the bar, she pulled up short. Phin was there all right, leaning against a pool table with some other woman standing between his legs as he kissed her. Layla stared, unmoving, with her knees and her lungs locked. Rage boiled up in her stomach and the fury needed an outlet.
Tears pricked at her eyes as she forced air into her lungs and looked around for a weapon. A tall glass of beer sat on a nearby table, unguarded. She grabbed the glass and threw the contents over Phin and the woman.
That got their attention. The woman sputtered and squealed. “What the fuck?”
“My sentiments exactly.” Layla eyed Phin. “I thought we were partners.”
Phin shrugged. “You’re not a good enough player to be my partner.”
Although he didn’t move, he at least had to decency to look away. But he didn’t look surprised. He’d expected her to come here. He’d wanted her to witness this. That made her anger run hotter. As she took a step toward him, the woman backed away, obviously wanting to get out of Layla’s line of fire.
Layla poked Phin’s chest. “If you didn’t want me, all you had to do was say so.” She ignored the tightness in her chest and continued. “You’re the one who’s not good enough.”
Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and left. As she sat behind the steering wheel of her car, tears streamed down her cheeks. Sorrow, anger, resentment, hurt. She let the tears flow, not knowing which emotion to hold on to. When she finally started the engine, she’d decided that no one, least of all Phin, would tell her that she wasn’t good enough.
Phin rolled over, or at least attempted to, and smacked his knee on the steering wheel. He cracked his bleary eyes open and tried to remember . . . anything. His head thumped as he sat up, and his stomach threatened to heave. He leaned his head against the headrest as memories flooded his brain.
He’d left work early to start drinking because he’d known he couldn’t tell Layla to go back home if he were sober. Then the perfect opportunity had presented itself in the form of Katie. He and Katie had hooked up a couple of times when he’d first started working for Steve. Letting her come on to him had made chasing Layla off easier.
Fuck. Nothing had been easy last night. He couldn’t stand that he’d hurt Layla, but he’d known she’d never listen to him. She was right; he wasn’t good enough for her. He couldn’t give her what she was used to. And no matter what she told herself, she would want that again.
Starting the truck, he tried to focus on the street ahead of him. The short drive back to his apartment was painful on many levels. Walking in the door and noticing the lack of any sign of Layla almost floored him. He grabbed his bags and started packing. No way could he stay here. He’d lived in this apartment for months and, in the matter of a week, Layla had turned it into their place.
Guilt and loneliness battled for space in his chest. He collected the last of his pay from a grumpy Steve and climbed back in his truck. Images of Layla, hurt and teary-eyed, chased him out of town.
Without Layla, he’d be able to refocus on his goals. He was on track to get everything he wanted.
He managed to get outside Atlanta before pulling over to sleep off the rest of his hangover and erase Layla from his memory.
Chapter 8
Las Vegas, June
Layla stood at the counter waiting to receive her registration materials. She halfway listened to the guy behind the counter ramble on about practice hours and dress codes. There was a dress code for a pool tournament? She smiled and accepted the packet. She’d already checked into her room, so she stood off to the side to check out the competition while reading through the schedule.
If only she could figure out which of these people were amateurs and which were pros. Then she snickered at herself. She knew she was really looking for Phin. They hadn’t been in contact at all since that night at the bar, so she didn’t know if his plans had changed. And really it didn’t matter.
She’d decided to participate in the tournament more for herself than for Phin. Having him witness how good she’d become would just be a bonus.
The petty part of her wanted to rub it in his face. Not only was she good enough to play, but she was good enough to beat him.
She’d spent that weekend on her drive back to school crying and miserable. Talking to Felicity hadn’t helped. She’d managed to completely fall in love. At least Layla could commiserate with Charlie. They’d both come out of spring break hurting.
After returning to school, Layla had accepted the job with the NSA, poured herself back into her classes, and used every spare moment learning to be a better pool player and playing in small tournaments. That intense focus had soothed her heart and kept the panic at bay.
Pushing herself to be in control, to be better was the best medicine for her anxiety. Graduation came and went, and her new job started in two weeks. The timing couldn’t have been better.
A few players walked by and looked at her, but said nothing. Many of them seemed to know each other. She heard greetings all throughout the hall. Maybe the world of pool was small. She could ask if Phin was there. Or she could wait for the pairings to be listed. Tomorrow morning would come soon enough.
She shoved her papers into her bag and headed to the practice area. The banquet hall had been transformed into a huge pool hall. For all the smacking of balls, the silence between opponents screamed. Noticing the way everyone was dressed, she scanned her memory for directions. Had the guy said
there was a dress code for the practice area? She glanced down at her T-shirt and jeans. They were clean and respectable.
Moving down the length of the hall, Layla kept her eyes on the tables. People were here to win. It wasn’t like playing in a bar for twenty bucks. These players used practice as a means to assess the competition before actual play. She saw it on their faces, calculating who they thought they could beat.
She knew better than to tip her hand. She wouldn’t let them test her confidence. It would be her luck to get into a game with a pro and not realize it until he tromped all over her. No. Better not to practice here. She checked her watch. If she had a quick bite to eat in her room, she could find a local bar to practice at and still get a good night’s sleep.
Plus, she wouldn’t have to worry about running into Phin if he was here.
An hour later, the sun sat burning low in the sky as she stepped out of a cab. After she’d flirted with the concierge, he had recommended this bar and assured her not only that had he not referred any other player there, but that it was clean and friendly.
The noise of the bar put her at ease. If only she could pipe these sounds into the competition hall. She grabbed a beer and walked around to find a pool table. When she reached the back of the bar, her heart jumped into her throat. A man leaned over the table to take a shot. Although she couldn’t see his face, she knew that ass. Her body responded before her brain. By the time her brain told her to back out of the room, he had straightened and turned as if someone had called his name.
Phin.
Had she said it out loud?
He stared at her, and the first thing she noticed was that he’d cut his hair. It was close-cropped and highlighted his eyes more than ever. But she still couldn’t read them.
Layla swallowed hard and forced a smile. She’d known this was a possibility. Well, not here, but she had known this had been his plan. She’d done what she could to prepare for it, but it hadn’t been nearly enough.
She was strong and wouldn’t let him get to her. He needed to know that too, so she took a couple of steps. She channeled her inner ice queen, but it didn’t feel right with Phin. “Hi, Phin.”
His mouth opened and closed. Phin, man of few words, was speechless. Big surprise.
He stepped forward and raised his hand to touch her and then let it drop. “Layla.”
He spoke her name as if he needed to hear it to know it was her. She just nodded.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m in the tournament. After listening to you talk about the purse on this one tournament, I couldn’t pass it up.”
He continued to stare at her, and she knew he wasn’t listening to her at all. She remembered the feeling of being taken in by the mere sight of a person. But she couldn’t understand his reaction when he was the one who had pushed her away.
“How have you been?”
“Good. I finished school, landed a great job that I start in a couple of weeks, and spent time prepping for the tournament.” She took a sip from her beer more to wet her throat than because she was thirsty. Who knew how hard it could be to act cool? “Are you going to stare all night, or are we going to play?”
She didn’t know if he’d remember their first conversation, and thought repeating his first words to her would sound sarcastic, but a shadow crossed his eyes.
“Can we talk?” His question was quiet and intimate. His presence pulled her in, but she fought it.
Walking past him, she said, “I’m not here to talk. I want to practice. I’ll rack.”
All of the air had been sucked out of the room. Phin waited to watch people drop dead. He glanced around and realized he was the only one struggling for breath.
Never.
That’s exactly when he thought he’d see Layla again. Except on his computer. After he hit the road, he sank some of his money into a cheap laptop just so he could check up on her. He knew she had graduated and gotten a job, but he’d had no idea she’d planned on joining the tournament.
Layla was here. Acting cool as anything. He didn’t like this side of her. He liked her hot and frenzied, angry, or laughing. Anything but indifferent. He turned toward the table, forcing air into his lungs. He wouldn’t let her stay distant. If she hated him, he could understand, but to act like they’d never had something special was a different situation. That was unacceptable.
She had the balls racked and her beer sat on the table behind her. She wanted to play; he’d give her a game. He shot her a smile. “I’ll break.”
One shoulder lifted as if it didn’t matter, and she went back to her beer. He made his first shot, sinking nothing. He couldn’t remember the last time he broke without sinking a single ball. Months later and Layla was still fucking with his head. He couldn’t let her get to him. Not for this tournament.
Layla grabbed a pool cue and walked the table. Phin read her shirt. COMPUTERS ALLOW YOU TO MAKE MISTAKES FASTER THAN ANYTHING ELSE. WITH THE POSSIBLE EXCEPTION OF A HANDGUN OR TEQUILA.
“No math shirt?”
“Double major, remember?” She leaned over the table and lined up her shot.
“Tequila. I’ll keep that in mind when I want you to make a mistake.”
She paused and looked up at him. “I’m finished with those kinds of mistakes.”
“We’ll see.”
She struck and sent the four into the side pocket. She walked the table and called her shots. Phin barely focused on the table. Layla had gotten worlds better. Competitive didn’t begin to describe this kind of determination. When it was his turn, he half-assed it, wanting to see her work the table.
“Look, if you’re not going to really play, get away from the table. I’m here to win.”
“I thought pool was fun.”
“Things change.”
He studied her face, searching for proof of what he wanted to see, that she still cared about him. Yeah, things changed, but everything couldn’t just disappear, could it? Then an idea struck. “Fine. What are we playing for?”
She reached into her pocket and slapped a twenty on the table.
“I don’t want your money.”
She flinched and he saw the pulse at her neck quicken, her throat work as she swallowed. He wanted his mouth on that spot.
“What do you want?”
“A kiss. I win, I get to kiss you.”
She snorted. “No way.”
“What’s the big deal? If you’re over me, a kiss shouldn’t matter.”
Her spine stiffened. Oh, yeah, she was determined. “Fine. What do I get if I win?”
“I’ll let you take me back to the hotel and have your way with me.”
“Been there, done that, burned the T-shirt.”
Phin took a step closer. She wavered, but didn’t step back. Stubborn thing, his Layla. He froze. His Layla? “What do you want?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Nothing.”
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I’ll go down on you.”
He pulled away in time to see her cheeks flush. She raised one eyebrow.
“I’ll stay fully dressed. It’ll be all about you.”
Her chest heaved and he was almost close enough for it to brush him. What he wouldn’t give to feel her pressed against him.
“Given your lack of experience, that might not be doing much for me.”
He stepped back with a hand over his heart. “You wound me. Like you, I’m a fast learner. I can pretty much guarantee it would do plenty for you.”
“A drink,” she said hoarsely. She turned and took a gulp of beer. “You can buy me a drink.”
He flashed her a smile. The cold barrier she’d walked in with was crumbling, and that was all he needed to see. If she hated him, he’d have to live with it, but she didn’t. He had another shot with Layla, and he wasn’t about to let this one slip by.
What the fuck was she thinking?
She circled the table and attempted a shot but only managed to move the balls around.
/> All the pool practice in the world couldn’t have prepared her for coming face-to-face with Phin. Playing pool with him wasn’t a problem, but his flirting might kill her. She still wanted him and she hated herself a little for it. She watched nervously as his demeanor changed. He went from happy-go-lucky to pool shark in two seconds flat.
This wasn’t just any old game to him.
Unfortunately, she didn’t know what to make of it. She hadn’t come to Vegas to find him. At least that’s what she kept telling herself. The nagging voice in the back of her head disagreed.
Okay, yeah, she had wanted to find him, but it was just to show him that she was good enough, that they could’ve been partners.
But now, none of that seemed to matter. He acted like he hadn’t crushed her two months ago. Like he could pick up right where they’d left off.
He sank three balls and sent her a smirk. Her heart sank with the next ball.
This wasn’t Phin wanting to pick up again. He was playing her. The con man in him was stronger than even he suspected. He was worried that she’d screw up his game for the tournament.
Confusion swirled in her chest again. Part of her was relieved, but the other part dredged up the pain of losing him. She didn’t want to care about him, didn’t want to feel anything when he looked at her.
But she did.
Layla never even got another chance at the table. Phin cleared it with determination. Enough was enough. First he played a crappy game to amuse himself, and then he played to crush her again. And he claimed not to be a hustler.
“Thanks for the game.” She set her cue down and finished her beer.
He rounded the table and stalked toward her. “Planning on welching on our bet?”
The way he said it irked her, like she routinely didn’t pay up. He stood in front of her, and the air surrounding them crackled. She was sure if they touched, the shock would send her heart into spasms. She rolled her eyes, as if the bet were childish, which in a way it was. She didn’t know what he thought it would prove, but she puckered up.
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