Page 46 of Unspoken Rules

“Thought about it.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Not quite sure,” I admit honestly.

The conversation ends there. Which is a good thing because he’s looking at me in a way I can’t figure out, and it’s making me uncomfortable. Our food is delivered a short time later, and when our plates are empty, Cole orders us another beer and pays the bill.

Chapter Eighteen

Bryson

We move to the back where all the pool tables are, and there are plenty open. Most likely because it’s Monday. Cole pays at the small counter in the corner, and the staff hands us a rack of balls and tells us to take any table we want. Cole picks one toward the back corner. We put our beers on the tall table by us, and he gets to setting up the balls while I find a stick. “I Won’t Back Down” by Tom Petty plays through the speakers, and I hum to myself as I look over the options, not a damn clue how to pick one. They’re all different lengths.

“You’re looking at them like they insulted your grandma,” Cole says as he steps up beside me. His face is serious as he browses.

I frown. “Which one am I supposed to use?”

“Whichever one is comfortable,” he says, reaching for one and tossing it between his hands, testing the weight. He puts it back, and grabs another, deciding it’s fine. He looks at me, humor shining in his eyes. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“I could have a magic stick and it still isn’t gonna help me,” I call to him as he walks past me.

Cole laughs, and I realize what I said. My cheeks turn pink, and I grab the first damn stick in reach and head to the table.

“I’ll go easy on you. We’ll play with basic rules.”

He moves to the head of the table, leaning over, and I glance at his ass. Damn, it looks so good in those jeans.

The balls crack, and I look up to see them rolling all over the table. Two or three of them fall into the holes. He gives me a cocky smirk. One that has me melting.

“Two stripes went in and only one solid. You can have stripes.” He winks. My stomach does a flip.

“I’m still going to lose.”

“With an attitude like that, you sure are.”

He moves around the table to take another shot. He’s facing me this time, and I pay attention to the way his hands grip the stick, and how the muscles in his arms tense. I suck in a breath and grab my beer, guzzling half. Getting drunk isn’t the best thing to do, as my mouth gets a mind of its own, but I can’t do this sober either.

Cole sinks another ball, tries for another but misses, then it’s my turn. I move around the table, looking for a shot and see one that should be easy. I’ve played before, which is how I know I’m bad at it. Especially since it’s been years. I lean over and try to get comfortable, but everything feels awkward. I do my best to hit the white ball. It isn’t nearly hard enough, but at least it hits the red striped one and makes it move a few inches closer to the pocket.

“Not bad,” Cole says, grabbing his beer. “Not a complete fail.”

I roll my eyes and move to get my beer, finishing it.

“You want another?” I ask.

He pulls out his wallet, handing me his card. I stare at it and blink up at him.

“Take it, Bryson. And don’t argue with me.” His tone is stern, a little dark. I think he’s getting annoyed with my constant arguing about taking things. I snatch it from his hand with a huff and go to the bar to get us two more beers. When I come back, it’s my turn.

We finish the first game, and I’ve only gotten two balls in. Cole racks them up again, breaks, and once again I get stripes. He gets two more balls in before it’s my turn, and I take a sip before moving to the table. Maybe it’s because I ate so much, but this beer isn’t working nearly as quickly as I’d like it to.

I look around for a shot that should be simple, smiling when I find one. The blue striped ball is near the pocket, but the white is at the other end of the table. There’s a clear line between them, but I can’t shoot straight.

Hell, I can’t do anything straight.

I laugh to myself at the cheesy joke.

Fuck it. May as well try.

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