Kingdom Come

Piper came over and my every fantasy come to life spoke. “Beer.”

His voice was deep and stoked every nerve ending I had to life. Point of fact, it was a real possibility my panties combusted. I gave him a look most men didn’t need a dictionary to understand.

His eyes met mine for half a second before they bounced off me and onto my friend. His lips only curled up a half a centimeter, but I caught the appreciation in his gaze.

Some women might have given up. Especially when he said, “Ladies,” before taking his beer and heading over to the pool tables. But I wasn’t most women. First, Bailey was taken whether she admitted or not, so there was no chance for him there. Second, I hated to lose. So, challenge accepted.

Piper disappeared in the back, but another bartender had walked over in time to witness the exchange and was busy laughing. He too was totally my type, but his longtime girlfriend, who was as heavily tattooed as he was, was a waitress and here tonight. I spotted her by the tables. She stood nearly as tall as her man and taller than me, which was saying something. She could kick my ass and Baily’s at the same time. Therefore, I didn’t bother flirting with the bartender.

“I see you girls like him,” he said, grin as wide as Texas.

Having no shame, I asked, “You know him?”

“Not really. He’s only been in a few times.”

“Do you know his name?” I pressed.

“I’ve heard some of the guys call him Striker, but I’m not sure if they were just referring to his pool skills.”

Before I could pepper him with any more questions, he was waved over to fill more orders.

After he walked away, Bailey asked, “What about Hans?”

Hans was a guy I’d met when she met the man currently giving her the blues. He and I weren’t serious, and I wasn’t sure yet if I wanted to be.

I grinned cheekily. “What about him? We aren’t married or exclusive. Besides, there’s no harm in flirting.”

The chess match between Striker and me had already started, even if he didn’t know it yet. I didn’t intend to lose. I tossed my hair over one shoulder, determined to use a winning strategy. It was perfect timing when a bearded guy who looked as if he chewed nails for breakfast came over and asked me to dance.

“Why not?” I said, letting him lead to the spot occupied by a few other couples.

I kept my eyes on Striker, who if I wasn’t totally off base, had been checking me out a time or two, but he hadn’t taken the bait. Instead, I caught money changing hands between him and another man before a serious game of pool started.

I stayed on the floor, enjoying the freedom of music. Several modern crossover country songs played, and my partner wasn’t a half bad dancer. He twirled me around as though he knew what he was doing, and I laughed, enjoying it. Only it wasn’t enough to draw Striker to me.

When it was clear Striker might be done with pool, I made my move.

“Thanks for the dance,” I said to my partner with a wink and sashayed over to the pool tables.

“Looks like you need a drink after all that dancing,” Striker said as I went to grab a pool cue. That confirmed he had noticed.

“Want to buy me one?” I asked, grinning.

“Not especially.”

That could have thrown me off my game, but I was a word warrior when it came to trading barbs. “It’s okay. I can afford to get my own.”

“I’m sure you can,” he said.

This was about the time I should have hedged my bet and folded. But I wasn’t playing Texas Hold’em.

“Fancy a game?” I asked, holding the cue stick as if it was a wizard’s staff, and with a firm belief I could totally turn his brush-off into a winning game move.

He gave me a brisk shake of his head before leaving me there alone. All I could do was watch with narrowed eyes as he slipped on his jacket and headed outside.

“I’ll play you,” one of the guys who’d witnessed my crushing defeat offered.

I didn’t even look in the man’s direction as I said, “Next time,” and made my way to my bestie.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been turned down. I didn’t have an ego, which would lead me to believe I was God’s gift to all mankind. No, what hurt was the glance Striker had sent my friend’s way before he’d exited the building. Clearly, she was more his type. Short, petite, and not lacking in the chest area like I was. Worse, I was still very much attracted to him. It wasn’t often I came across a man who so perfectly fit my “type.”