Page 29 of Midnights
Fuck.
My lower half stirs again at the thought, and I down another gulp of my drink, willing my body to behave. I don’t have time for this.
Setting my glass down, I step forward and take my turn at the board, forcing myself to focus onanythingother than the two women closing the distance between us.
Then she pops off, throwing down a challenge like she actually thinks she can win.
Adorable.
I lean against the table, watching her with a mix of amusement and something much darker. She has no idea what she’s just walked into. The fire in her eyes and that sharp edge in her voice is making me want to test just how much of that attitude she can back up.
And beneath it all, there’s this wild urge in me to grab her, pin her against the wall, and tell her exactly what she’d get if she won.
The image hits me like a wrecking ball and for half a second, I actually choke on my drink.
Fuck.
Now she’s looking right at me with those hazel eyes locked onto mine like she can sense the shift in my thoughts.
She has no idea what’s running through my head right now. No idea what I’d do to her if I got her alone. And that’s a problem.
I need to stop looking at her.
I fire off the first thing that comes to mind. The one thing I know will get under her skin, just so I can see that fire in her eyes again.
If I win, I get her name and number.
I don’t even hesitate before agreeing, keeping my face neutral and my voice smooth.Like I don’t already know her name.
We start the game, and I know from the first throw that she doesn’t stand a fucking chance. But I’ll give her credit, she’s stubborn as hell.
She bites her lip when she focuses, and the way she scowls at the board like it personally offended her, isn't doing anything good for me.
And when she finally lands that bullseye? The way her face lights up is the kind of shit that makes men weak. Makes them stupid.
But I’m not that kind of man.
I let her have the moment. Let her bask in it. Let her think she won something. Because in the end, the game was never actually about winning.
Cam, of course, has been laying it on thick all night, flirting like it’s a damn sport. As if no one can see exactly what he’s doing. The man doesn't even try to hide it. I’ve known him my whole life. I can spot his moves from a mile away.
I don’t make time for distractions. And I don’t care to.
Everyone around here already knows who I am. Every woman within a fifty-mile radius has already tried, and failed, to hold my interest.
It’s all fun and games until the next day, when they start calling. Maybe that makes me a dick, but I don't really give a fuck.
It’s hard to find someone who can actually hold a decent conversation without an agenda. So I don’t bother anymore.
I focus on work. Keep to myself and handle my shit. It’s easier that way. This is actually the first time I’ve been out with everyone in months.
As the game wraps up, the noise dulls to a low hum, the kind that signals the night is winding down. That’s when Cam stumbles over, clapping me on the back, grinning like a fucking idiot.
“Aye, I think I’m in love,” he declares, nearly tipping over. I catch him just in time, gripping his arm before he face-plants.
“Nah, yer just drunk,” I reply, shaking my head as I steady him.
I’ve dealt with enough nights like this to know exactly how they end. But tonight feels… different.
