Finn is lining up to take another shot. “Hey, Reed,” I say. “You just had your turn.”
He doesn’t even look at me. “Does it really matter?”
Good point.
He shoots. Misses again.
“Bullshit game,” he says good-naturedly as he straightens and hands me the stick. “I’m gonna get another beer. You guys want?”
“I’m good,” I say.
Jenny nods in agreement, not looking away from my eyes.
Finn looks between the two of us before wandering away with a muttered “Gross.”
I glance at the table. “Wanna play?”
“Are you better than Finn?” she asks warily.
“I’m pretty sure Dolly would be better than Finn.”
She laughs and picks up a stick leaning against the corner of the table. “Winner buys drinks.”
Jenny’s not great at pool, but unfortunately she’s not bad enough to warrant me moving up behind her and showing her how it’s done, the way she did with Finn. A damn shame, because when she bends over to make her shot, her jean skirt rides up, displaying the backs of her thighs, stopping just short of that full, firm ass.
A quick glance around tells me I’m not the only guy who’s noticing, and I feel an irrational surge of jealousy, soothed only by the fact that she doesn’t seem to be aware of any of them.
Only of me.
“Thanks for letting me tag along tonight,” she says.
I glance up, because there’s a quiet seriousness in her voice that I don’t expect.
“It’s not like you need my permission, princess.”
“I know. But you could have just sent me here on my own. Maybe met up with Finn somewhere else, or dodged me altogether.”
I narrow my eyes, bracing some of my weight on the cue stick as I study her. “And why would I want to do that?”
Her lips twitch. “You were doing it all day.”
“I didn’t exactly see you seeking me out either, princess.”
Jenny sighs and looks away. “I know. I was…embarrassed.”
“Of what, the sex?”
“No, about the fact that it felt—”
She breaks off, and I realize I’m on the verge of holding my breath, like some lovesick kid who wants a girl to confess she likes him.
“Felt what?” I say, my voice a little raspy.
She swallows, still not meeting my eyes. “It felt good.”
Good’s not the word she wanted to say. I’d bet money on it. I want to press her. I want her to tell me that it felt important.
I want her to tell me that she wants it again. That she wants me again.