He needed a coupon for it. Take Job in San Francisco. Earn a Big Sign-On Bonus. The problem was there’d be no Flick in Frisco, same as there’d be no Flick in Chicago. “It’s good. It’s not good enough to move for.”
“Even though Rendel screwed you over.”
He held his hand out to her and she took it. “Don’t remind me.” He drew her to standing. “Whatever is on that playlist will be enough.”
“Hmm, I’d like to—”
“Enough.” What wasn’t enough was the number of nights he had left with Flick. He took her to bed, but she didn’t stay there. For the first time since they’d started sleeping together every night, he woke to find her missing. He found her in the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator, backlit by its light, tumbled hair halfway down her back, T-shirt hitched up over one hip, the sleep shorts she wore pulled tight across her squeezable little ass as she leaned over.
“Didn’t I feed you enough?”
She jumped like he’d poked her and he was on the other side of the counter. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry for waking you.”
He slid onto a stool and yawned. He was half awake but he didn’t miss the endearment. “You haven’t gone wandering at night for a while. Worried about Drew?”
“Yes.” She closed the fridge door and it was harder to see her in the gloom, but he thought she shook her head. “I talked to his wife, Jeannie. He’s doing okay. His pain is being managed. No more trips to the hospital for now.”
“Uh-huh.” He yawned again. “Flick, you wouldn’t be spinning me a tall tale, would you?”
“Why would I bother?” She rounded the counter and shoved him till he stood. “Back to bed.”
“You’re not hungry?” If he was fully awake he’d have a better idea if she was being truthful.
“Only for a victory in whatever game we’re going to play.”
Hmm, he still needed to think up a specific game. “Pool.” She shoved him again so he let her lead him to the bedroom. “Do you play pool?”
“I might’ve played a game or two.”
That probably meant she was a hustler and had played for gas money.
At the end of the workday, in a half-empty dive bar, watching Flick sink the five ball in the corner pocket in their first game of eight ball, he didn’t give a damn that she was chasing him all around the table.
She’d come to the bar from the office and was wearing a dress he’d zipped her into that morning, and heels lethal enough to puncture a car tire, which should’ve made leaning over a pool table impossible. It was impossible from the standpoint of not being able to take his eyes off her. The hem of that dress rose to show off the backs of her thighs, just high enough to drive all other sensible thought from his head. He was all about the next solid she sank and hoping she made a mistake soon, and the cheesy fries they were going to eat later and one more beer and fuck, she was wonderful.
He’d turned down an interview for the San Francisco job, but Denise was still on the case. He needed an option to turn down how bright Flick burned in his eyes so he could see past her, to when his life would settle back to normal. Maybe then it would be easier to decide what he wanted to do with his career.
“Hot damn,” she said, her seven hitting the cushion but not rolling far enough to fall in the pocket. “You’re up.”
She had one ball left on the table. “You might’ve played before,” he mimicked. “I’m being hustled.” He knew it when she pocketed a ball on the break.
“I haven’t played for years.” She chalked her cue, struggling to contain the wickedest twist in her lips.
“But when you did?”
“I didn’t pay for a lot of meals, or books, bus fare, or my phone account.”
“You know there’s a coupon I was reluctant about.” He approached the table, studied the layout she’d left him. His seven stripes and the eight ball, her one remaining solid. And the cue ball. “It’s the one where I get to tie you up.”
“You feel bad about that?”
He stepped into her space, the toes of his shoes to the toes of hers, made her look up at him, locked eyes, then took the chalk out of her hand. She fought him, tightening her fingers around the cube for just a second, eyes flashing as he eased it from her grip. “Not anymore.”
He pocketed his first ball to the sound of her laughter. Played better pool than he bowled, despite the distraction she was. That red dress that hugged her hips. The way she lounged against the wall, one leg crossed over the other. The weight of her long string of pearls kept safe in his pants pocket. The knowledge she watched him as hungrily as he’d watched her as he moved around the table lining up his shots, chasing his stripes.
They played four games and won two each, sat at the bar for burgers and fries, and when a table opened up, played the decider.
She racked the balls and set up for the break. “This needs a side bet.”