Page 10 of His Last Shot
I swallow hard, and my body sags, turning to dough at his proximity.
“And I’m not asking for anything in return. Just your number and a chance to get to know you. That’s all.” His gentle tone and soft gaze compel me to pause and reflect.
He waited. Waited to make sure I was safe. This man, who I don’t even know, did that.
For me.
A customer not wanting anything is a new concept in my line of work. All men want something. Even your close relatives.
But his calm voice, soft eyes, and all-consuming presence paint a different story. All I see is …
Honesty.
Trust.
Temptation.
The words threaten to spill out uncontrollably; with a rush of adrenaline, I ask him back inside. “Do you want to come back in? Keep me company while I clean?”
He opens the door wide. “I’ll do you one better.” He grins.God, the dimples again.“I’ll help you clean up.”
Thirty minutes later, the bar is ready to go for the next day. With Johnny’s help, I got done with what normally takes me an hour to do. My joints are thanking him. Especially my hip and elbows.
It was hard to concentrate, though, because I watched Johnny clean, and cover the twenty pool tables as if he was getting paid. You can tell the man loves the game. Plus, closing down those tables at the end of the night is the bane of my existence. I watched as he brushed the tables, each stroke deliberate. With a keen eye, he polished the rails, then covered each one with precision. As if he owned them all individually.
Suddenly, I find myself wanting to know his whole story.
I take off my apron and hang it next to my brother’s as Johnny strides over. I check the time on my phone. One forty-five am.I mean, doesn’t he have a job?I noticed the side of his truck said Givens Construction. That’s the company that did the reno of the bar. However, I was out with an extremeflare-up, so I wasn’t around much during the renovation. My uncle kept me on light duty, mostly helping him in his office or working from home. Plus, they roped off the construction area, so I didn’t see the workers much.
He leans his elbow and back along the bar while not taking his stare off the tables. “I love that you guys used worsted clothes on the tables. It plays faster, less napping, and it will last longer.” He turns to me, and I blink once, twice, because I have no clue what he just said.
He lowers his gaze. “Sorry, I’m letting my inner pool nerd show.”
I snicker. “It’s okay. I’ll let my uncle know you approve.”
“Is it true that he wants to have tournaments here?”
I nod. “Mm-hmm.” Flipping off the lights to the kitchen and bar area, I zip my coat and sling my crossbody purse over my shoulder. “He’s the president of the BPA.”
“I might love the game, but I don’t play in leagues.”
This surprises me because my stalking throughout the night revealed he is incredibly good. Like, really good. The other huge specimen of a man he was playing with never took a shot all night.
Walking out the front door, I lock it as my curiosity gets the better of me. “Why don’t you play in any leagues?”
“Too much politics. But I love the game. I’m not looking for prestige. I don’t need it.”
“Why don’t you need it?”
A sly smirk plays on his lips. “Because I know I’m great.”
A heavy silence settles, broken only by the distant chirp of a cricket, as I wonder what’s going to happen next.
“Rachel?” God, I love how he says my name. I focus on him again. “Will you come somewhere with me? I want to show you something?”
I huff out a laugh.He can’t be serious.“Yeah, okay. I don’t even know you.”
“I promise you, I am a decent guy.”
