Page 11 of The Love Hoax
“Her lashes, you freak. They look like butterflies about to take flight.”
The woman laughs, lightly. I follow suit. She’s a good sport.
“Yes, they are real and they’re amazing.”
Zane looks confused but I pick up on the Seinfeld reference. “Good one.”
“Thanks.” She moves toward the table, looking around. “So, anyone here play?”
I say, “Yep, we just finished a game. Do you play?”
“A bit.”
Zane looks like a mountain lion ready to pounce. “Care for a friendly wager?”
The woman says, “Nah, I’ll lose my shirt.”
Zane is opening his mouth in response then shuts it at my fierce glare. “Then we’ll keep things simple. Thirty dollars on the table?”
She pulls out a fifty. “I don’t have change.”
Zane and I exchange a glance. He says, “I don’t either but the bar could help.”
The woman seems to consider something. “You know what? I’m on vacation. I’ll bet the whole fifty. Who’s my opponent?”
I feel bad for her. “I-”
Zane cuts in. “That would be me.” He stands up, pats me on the shoulder. “Grab us another round, buddy?”
“Right-o,” I say, and ask the woman, “Would you like a drink? It’s on me.”
“Sure, whatever the two of you are having. Thanks.”
I’m turning away, cringing at the massacre about to take place at Zane’s hands. Then I turn back. “That’s Zane. I’m Adam. What’s your name?”
She steps closer. She’s only a few inches shorter than my six feet. Her striking eyes meet mine. There’s a depth in them that holds my gaze.
She extends her hand. “I’m Evie Lawson. Nice to meet you.”
Chapter Ten
Evie
Itake a sip of the lager. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but I want to meet new people and these two guys seem harmless enough.
Well, maybe not both of them.
The muscle man with the dreads speaks his mind, and then some. But the other guy, Adam, is a good fifteen years my junior. He’s a few inches taller than I am and sexy as all hell. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a black shirt, his hair just long enough to reach the collar. When I introduce myself, the musky scent of his aftershave makes me momentarily woozy. This one’s dangerous.
Zane stands on the opposite side of the pool table, cue in hand, seemingly chomping at the bit for me to take a shot. I position myself, leaning over, lining up my shot. I take it. And dunk three balls.
A loud hoot comes from the table. I turn to see Adam laughingdeliriously, several patrons turning to look our way, a few glancing at Zane whose face is beet red. I grin broadly.
“Way to go, Evie!” Adam shouts.
“Lucky shot,” I say, shrugging, secretly loving his cheerleading.
Zane grumbles. “You tricked me.”
