Page 20 of Where There's Smoke

Evidently satisfied I wasn’t going to press the issue—whendidn’tI back down on this subject?—he returned his attention to the game.

I exhaled and looked out the window at Julie’s gleaming Maserati parked beside the fountain. Gnawing on my lip, I glanced at Chris, at the car, at Chris again. Bring it up? Don’t bring it up?

Heart pounding, I cleared my throat. “Didn’t bring the Porsche tonight?”

“Nah.” The cue ball cracked sharply against another ball, and something dropped into a pocket. “In the shop.”

I turned around, eyeing him. “Again?”

“Yep.” He focused extra hard on lining up a shot. “Twelve, side pocket.”

“What happened this time? Severed brake lines?”

He glared at me. “That’s not funny.”

“Who’s laughing?”

He locked eyes with me for a moment but then looked back at the balls on the table. “Twelve, side pocket,” he repeated and took the shot. The twelve missed its intended pocket by a good two inches. Chris stood andpushed himself away from the table. “Your shot,” he muttered and reached for his wineglass.

“Chris, what’s going—”

“Let itgo,” he growled. Gentler now, almost pleading, he added, “Jesse, please.”

We locked eyes again. I tried to work up the nerve to keep at it. He silently dared me to and begged me not to. I swallowed.

Then I cleared my throat. “It’s…um…my shot?”

“Yeah.” He brushed past me.

Gut in knots, I picked up my cue.

I dropped onto the couch and held my soda can to my forehead. “Jesus Christ, they are exhausting.”

“Not ‘they.’” The cushion shifted as Simone sat beside me. “Sheis exhausting.”

“Good point.” I rolled my eyes, then took a drink. “I don’t know how you put up with her.”

She chuckled. “Well, it’s not like you leave me much choice when you drag him off to the game room.”

“Sorry. You know I don’t like inflicting her on you.”

“I know.” She smiled. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have let you two run off like that.”

“Let me?” I snorted. “Woman, please. Let me, my ass.”

She elbowed me. “Whatever. You know if I told you to stay in the kitchen with the grown-ups, you would.”

“Yes, dear.” I gave her my most sheepish look, and we both laughed. As my humor faded, the knots in my stomach twisted and tightened.

Simone squeezed my arm. “You okay?”

I watched myself play with the tab on my soda can. “I’m worried about him. I really am.”

“I know you are. Me too.”

Still playing with the tab, I said, “He had a bruise on his neck.”

Simone forced out a sharp breath. “God, another one?”

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