Page 7 of His Last Shot
I have never had a thing for pool players. Maybe if they all looked like him, I would. Most players here are young guys trying to impress girls or older men with beer guts who are super serious about the game. There is no in-between.
Until now.
Okay, I need to stop staring.
Averting my gaze, I glance around, trying to remember what I was doing. Was I drying glasses? Or, wait. I’m so confused. Was I cleaning the ice bin?
I have no clue. My mind has been all over the place since I saw him playing earlier.
Dexter’s has cleared out for the night since it’s one a.m. Slick took off about an hour ago, and I haven’t seen my Uncle Dexter in a few hours. No clue where he disappeared to.
But this dude is still here, glancing my way every so often, flashing me a grin that causes his dimples to appear and makes my already weak legs feel like jelly.
Micah emerges from the kitchen, slinging a rag over his shoulder. “I need to take off. Shelby is waiting for me.” He glances over at the pool player. As soonas Micah leaves, it’s only going to be me and him. “You gonna be okay here?” His brows furrow, deep in concern.
“I’ll be fine. You know me.”
“Mm-hmm. That I do.” He chuckles, throwing the rag into the dirty laundry bin. “You’re going to break that no-customers rule again, aren’t you? Is it even a thing at this point?”
Ignoring my brother, I steal a look at the handsome man again. He’s tall, very tall. I would put him at six five, I decide right here and now.
I’m embracing this because, as a woman of almost six feet, finding men my height or taller is rare and challenging. So yeah, he is Travis Kelce’s level of tall. Dirty blonde hair cut shorter on the sides and slightly longer on top with a natural wave perfectly complements his smooth face. His eyes appeared hazel when we talked earlier. He’s dressed casually: jeans and a very fitted T-shirt showcasing his arms and broad shoulders nicely.
It’s a whole cool guy vibe. And I like it.
But I can’t pinpoint his age. Late thirties, maybe. Which would make him older than my thirty.
The Oldies but Goodies were right. Normally, I’m good at reading people. It’s a gift that comes from the countless hours of people-watching I did growing up here with my Uncle Dexter and his dad. I can guess a person’s age, job, and background accurately. It is a great icebreaker with the customers.
But for some reason, I can’t get a read on this guy. Or maybe I don’t want to. Knowing I will like what I see.
Taking his time, he unscrews his pool cue and slips it into his case. He sits on the barstool that rests along the wall next to the tables, finishing his club soda, looking at his phone. Then he runs his fingers through his hair, followed by—
“Um … earth to Rachel.” Micah snaps his fingers in front of my face.
I shake my head, returning my attention to—what exactly? Who am I kidding?
I can’t remember my name at this point.
Nope, not gonna happen.I cannot, and will not, get wrapped up in a customer again. The last time I did, it ended in heartbreak and betrayal.
“You have a little drool right there.” Micah points to the corner of his mouth with a smirk.
“Stop.” I smack his hand away. He laughs, removing his apron and hanging it on the hook next to the kitchen door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” My big brother rounds the bar, gives one last glimpse at this perfect stranger, and leaves out the main door. But not before looking back and making kissing noises like the child he is.
“Closing time!” I holler over the empty bar, hoping he doesn’t leave, even though I need him to.
He drains his drink, the ice clinking softly in the glass, then grabs his pool cue and coat and saunters over with a confident swagger. He sits on the same stool he was in earlier. “I never got my read, Rachel.”
Refusing to look at him, I continue to stock the beer for tomorrow’s shift. “Well,”—I peek at the enormous clock that hangs above the liquor—“we close in five minutes. Not sure there is enough time.”
“Do I look that complicated?” he asks, the words smooth as he leans forward. His T-shirt stretches thin across his chest, catching my eye.
Focus, Rachel!
“Considering that your only drink vice is coffee, I would say yes.” My grin falters, and I look hurriedly away, overwhelmed by his handsome features.
