CHAPTER 29 (3)

He turns to look, and his chuckle warms me. “You wanna play pool, Six?” “With you? Always. I’m gonna kick your ass.” “We’ll see about that.” “I can’t believe you got that email today and didn’t tell me,” he chides, following me to the table. “I didn’t want to bring you down or distract you from your own rehearsing. I actually found out yesterday when I went to Frank’s show.” He takes two cues off the wall and passes me one. But when he responds, he’s guarded. “What part of that’s in the curriculum?” My jaw goes slack with incredulity as I twist the chalk over the end of my cue. “Come on, Timothy. It was a trip. Have you ever heard him? There’s a reason Frank Harvey has a gold album.” I brush past him to rack up the balls. I’m bent over, lining up my break when his hand settles between my shoulder blades. “We need stakes.” I shiver, turning to feel his lips brush my ear. “You sound like you’ve got something in mind.” “I win, you kiss me like you mean it.” I twist so his arms are around me. Timothy tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, sending a jolt of electricity humming through me while his gaze roams my face. The man who offered to share the spotlight with me. For me. No questions asked. I make a decision there’s no going back from. “Fine. But if I win… you kiss me like you would’ve if you hadn’t walked away that day outside the library in Dallas.” His hand stills, heat flaring behind his eyes. He gets what this means, that it’s an admission I want him, that I want to play out whatever’s between us—that I’m every bit as frustrated from the tension that’s been building all week, all year. “Deal.” At a glance, it could seem as if the stakes have vanished, but they’re higher than ever. He wins and I have to show him how much I want him. I’ll be the one who’s vulnerable, and every part of me that I’d believed had grown up will be tested. If I win… I get to see what kind of man Timothy Adams has become since he left me. Because somehow, I know the first touch of his hands, his mouth, will tell me more than the last month has about where he’s at. I want that. So badly. I take my first shot and sink two. Another three go down as I circle the table before I miss. “So, tell me about this kiss I’m about to win,” Timothy asks as he lines up his first shot. “It’ll have tongue.” Across the table, he lifts his gaze, mouth curving. “I assumed.” I soak in the sight of his powerful body, the simple grace in everything he does. He’s masculine and utterly captivating. “And an ass grab.” Timothy leans over the table. “I didn’t ask for an ass grab.” “It’s a BOGO kind of deal.” He sinks his target smoothly, and I bite my cheek as he goes on a run of his own. “You worried?” he muses after sinking the next three. “Nope.” “You should be.” But eventually, he misses one. I walk in front of him to find the best angle on the final ball. Once I have it, I toss a look over my shoulder to catch him staring at me. “I might need help,” I say. His eyes darken, and he closes the distance between us, setting his cue on the edge of the table. I wait for him to bend over me, his strong body wrapping around me. Yes. I press my ass against him. My teeth sink into my lip as his scent hits me. I arch my back. “How’s my angle?” His heavy exhale at my ear is pure turn-on. “Shoot already.” The cue slips through my hand… And I miss. Now that he has a shot to win it all, the stakes are sinking in. If he wins, it’s going to be more than a single kiss. Once he touches me again, he’ll know how I feel. I won’t be able to hold back, and he’ll realize I’m torn between wanting him and focusing on my future. I’ll be vulnerable in a way I haven’t let myself be, not even this past week. “Emily.” Timothy’s voice has me turning back to him. “Watch.” My hand squeezes the cue, my palms getting damp as he lines up his shot. It’s harder than the one I had. He could miss it. He draws back the cue, then slides it through his hand. Smooth. Sure. Practiced. My breath catches as I watch the ball roll across the felt, tap the two, and drop it right into the pocket. Timothy straightens, slow. My heart flutters in my chest. “I guess you want your kiss.” “No.” A hand on my waist has me turning back, catching myself against his chest. Too-knowing chocolate eyes bore into mine. “I want it on our date.” “Our date?” I echo, a step slow. “Yeah. See, the last time I tried to date you, I fucked it up. We were too young. And I lived in your house. And I don’t know if there’s a right way to do this, but I want to try.” I search his face, trying to understand the words coming from his lips. “But… dating is a thing people who have time and want to fall in love do. Not people on the edge of finally reaching their dreams after giving up so much to do it.” His gaze sharpens. “You don’t think we can have both?” Of all the things I wondered with Timothy, that he’d want to take me out never occurred to me. It’s a beautiful idea, but part of me says it’s impossible, that believing that is something the girl who got her heart broken last year would’ve done, something I’m too smart to do now. “Tell you what,” he says when I don’t answer. “We’ll have this conversation after our audition.” I nod, swallowing with relief. I take his cue and hang it up with mine. “We should get back to our friends.” “Wait.” He catches my wrist before I can pass him. “I changed my mind about that kiss.” His voice is low, a sensual promise as he tugs me against him. “You want it here?” I look around us. He backs me against the pool table until my ass rests on the edge. “I want it here,” he agrees. My dress rides up indecently high, and he’s pressed between my thighs. Every inch of me lives for the feeling of his body on mine. But it’s dangerous. I’ve survived this long, kept myself focused, because I haven’t let myself give in to the desire to touch him, to have him touch me. “Come on, Six. Don’t back out now.” His voice is a low murmur. I take a breath and thread my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. Our lips hover close enough to touch, and I’m aching for him, the need pulsing low in my stomach wanting to drop us out of this bar, out of this city, to a place where it’s him and me and everything we’ve never said. I can’t close the last millimeter between us. As if he knows, Timothy does it for me. Oh, God. I’d thought I remembered what it felt like to kiss him, but I was wrong. He’s warm and firm, heat and desire, and the second he parts my mouth with his tongue, I sigh against him. It’s supposed to be my kiss, but Timothy’s fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head as if he can’t stand to sit back. His other hand finds my hip, angling me against the pool table so he can press closer to my center, forcing my legs apart. He kisses me like he owns me, like he misses me, like he never wants to let me go. My fingertips trail through his hair, my thighs squeezing as if I can entice him into me. I want him in me. God, if he shifted me up onto this pool table right now, slid inside me and claimed me in front of this entire room, I wouldn’t say no. I don’t know how long our hungry lips hitch and slide, our greedy hands touch and tease, but I tear my mouth away first, leaning my forehead against him while I struggle to catch my breath. “Remember that guitar you bought me in high school?” he murmurs against my lips. I nod, my throat too swollen to answer. His hands skim up my sides, thumbs resting under the curve of my breasts as if they have every right to be there, as if I’m the instrument built for his hands. Timothy’s head turns a fraction of an inch so his lips brush the corner of my mouth. His next four words, whispered against my skin like a brand, stop my heart. “I want it back, baby.”