3
Chicago—One Year Ago
“She keeps looking at you.”
Nick took a sip of his beer and shot his brother an annoyed look. “Shut up, Alex.” Most likely there was some hairy, beefy dude pissed that they were taking too long at the pool table and giving them a death stare.
“I’m serious. Three o’clock.”
Unable to help himself, Nick turned toward his right, immediately locking eyes with a stunning blonde at a table about ten feet away. The corner of her mouth twitched up as her eyes held his for a second before she returned her attention to her friends. Someone at her table said something and she laughed, her nose wrinkling, her mouth open in a wide smile. She said something back, and everyone at her table laughed. Cocking her head and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she listened as one of her friends asked her a question, and then talked elaborately with her hands as she answered, her face animated.
He couldn’t seem to stop watching her. Yeah, she was hot, but there was more to it than that. She was . . . full of life. Happy. She exuded a cheerful confidence that was immediately appealing, and not just visually.
“Dude, we’re gonna lose our spot.” Alex clapped him on the shoulder, smiling, as he replaced their pool cues and started back toward their table. Finally tearing his eyes away from the woman, Nick followed, weaving through the crowd.
The Flat Iron Bar was one of their favorite hangouts—halfway between Nick’s place and Alex’s, with classic rock playing on the massive jukebox, three pool tables, and on Fridays, cheap beer. As the Rolling Stones blared through the speakers, they passed by the amply stocked bar, backlit and showcasing the hundreds of bottles displayed on a set of risers. Funky, eclectic art decorated the walls, giving the space some interesting character.
Just before they reached their table, a woman crashed right into Nick. Instinctively, he reached out his arms to steady her, even though he knew she’d run into him on purpose. She’d been watching him as he approached, her eyes roving up and down his body, and finally, as he’d neared, she’d darted out.
Her fingers flexed into his arms and she let out a little giggle. He suppressed a sigh, not at all interested. “Sorry, excuse me,” he said, gently setting her aside and continuing to his table, sitting down across from Alex and taking another sip of his beer. A drop of condensation cascaded down the bottle and over his knuckles, still aching from his training session earlier that day. He settled back in his seat, soaking up the atmosphere. Around him, people laughed, talked, kissed, a happiness permeating the air. But even though it was all around him, he wasn’t part of it.
Which was a stupid way to feel. His MMA career had taken off, he had friends, his family, a full life. But he was greedy, apparently, because that wasn’t enough for him.
“Ma says you convinced Dad to go to the doctor?” Alex studied him over his beer bottle, his eyebrows raised in question.
Nick nodded. “Yeah. He’s got an appointment next week.” Their father was smart, hardworking, and stubborn as a fucking mule, and even though he’d been short of breath and having some mild chest pains for weeks, he refused to go to the doctor, simply shrugging it off with a “I’m getting old, Nico, what you gonna do?”
“What did that cost you?” asked Alex.
“I promised I’d ask his friend Costa’s daughter out on a date.”
“Ouch. Man drives a hard bargain.”
Nick shrugged. “It’s just a date.”
The woman who’d run into him a few minutes earlier brushed by their table, but Nick barely glanced at her. Sure, she was cute. And she was clearly interested. But after a recent string of bad dates, he’d learned that he was looking for something more than cute. He wanted something real. And the whole giggling, muscle-squeezing thing? That wasn’t it.
He wasn’t going to find something meaningful with someone who started off playing games, who didn’t just start with a simple—
“Hi.”
He spun around in his seat, almost spilling his beer.
It was her. The woman from across the bar. But she wasn’t across the bar anymore. No, she was standing only a couple of feet away from him, a friendly smile on her pretty face. Up close, he could tell her eyes were light, maybe blue or green, and a dusting of freckles dotted the bridge of her nose and her cheeks.
“Hey,” he said, refusing to react when Alex kicked him under the table.
She gestured toward the pool tables. “I saw you playing earlier. You’re really good.”
He smiled and raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “I think ‘really good’ is an extremely generous assessment, but I’ll take it.”
She laughed, two pink spots appearing on the apples of her cheeks. “Would you show me? How to play, I mean? I’ve always wanted to learn, and you seemed to know what you were doing.” Before he could answer, she glanced between him and his brother. “Unless I’m intruding. I don’t want to disrupt your night.”
“We could always make it a threesome,” said Alex, and Nick kicked him, hard, under the table.
She laughed and took a step closer. “Oh, muffin. You shouldn’t bite off more than you can chew.”
Nick rose to his feet, loving the way she didn’t take his brother’s shit. He held out his hand. “I’m Nick.”
She shook it, her skin warm against his, her smile hitting him right in the gut. “Jules.”
An hour and a couple games of pool later, Nick knew that her line about wanting to learn to play pool hadn’t been a line at all. She was terrible, and if she was faking it, she deserved an Oscar.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so attracted to a woman. He’d barely been able to string two coherent sentences together, instead getting caught up in watching her—the graceful line of her shoulders, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she concentrated, the way her face lit up when she actually sank a ball.
Maybe she wasn’t terrible at all. Maybe he was just a terrible teacher, because he was drooling all over her. Every time she brushed by him as she crossed from one side of the table to another, his skin practically vibrated, the hairs on his forearms standing at attention. Everything about her—the way her fine hair hung in a golden sheet around her shoulders, the easy confidence with which she moved, the warm, sweet smell of her skin, the sound of her laugh—had him wanting more. So much more.
Even though they’d only just met, he knew she was someone he wanted to know better. Just knew it, like some undeniable truth.
She successfully sank a shot and gave a triumphant little jump, and he couldn’t help but laugh along with her. Her happiness was completely contagious, and damn, it felt good to get swept up in it.
“Again?” he asked, and she nodded, her cheeks flushed. He racked the balls, lining them up, and she leaned her hip against the table beside him.
“Unless you need to get back to your friend.”
Nick glanced up and saw that Alex was completely occupied with a cute redhead. “He’s my brother, and he’ll be fine.”
She followed his gaze and laughed. “That’s Katie. My . . . um, wingwoman.” Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and Nick laughed.
“Your wingwoman, huh?”
“Yeah. I wanted to ask you to show me how to play, and she offered to . . . help.” She cleared her throat and pushed away from the table. “I’ll break this time.”
“Are you trying to pick me up?” he asked, and she ducked her head slightly.
“I don’t know. Is it working?”
He winked at her, and she blushed again. “Yeah, Jules. I’d say it’s working.”
She lined up her shot. She tried unsuccessfully to break, the cue ball spinning weakly toward the others, and she let out a frustrated grunt. “Why can’t I break? I’m doing everything you showed me.”
“Here.” He moved around behind her, jumping on the chance to get closer. “Line up your shot.” She bent forward, her cue in hand, and her ass pressed against his hips. The contact sent a current of electricity sparking through him, and he swallowed thickly, wrapping one hand around the end of her pool cue, the other coming down on top of her hand, which seemed to be half the size of his. “Your stroke isn’t quite right.”
She pressed against him just slightly and he bit back a groan. “And you’re going to help me with my stroke?” She glanced up at him over her shoulder, heat sparking in her eyes, which were definitely blue. He smiled, loving the way she was playing with him. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling around her, and fuck, it felt good.
“Mmm. It’s all about hand position.” Slipping his fingers between hers, he adjusted her grip on the cue, putting her index finger on top of it. “You want a tighter grip. Better control.”
He took a deep breath, fighting desperately against the erection threatening to make an appearance. Her hair smelled like rosemary and mint, and he wanted to dip his head and inhale again. “Don’t move your hand,” he said, fixated on the curve where her neck met her shoulder. “Only your arm.” He took his hand from the bottom of the cue and traced his fingers down her arm, watching as her skin erupted in goose bumps at his touch. Something hot ignited deep in his gut, and he inched closer, wanting more of her.
“Tight grip, control of the stick . . . those are the keys to a good stroke?” she asked, her voice slightly breathless.
“Mmm-hmm. You also want to widen your stance a bit.” He edged one of his feet between hers, easing her feet apart and settling a hand on her hip. The tiniest shiver ran through her, and he smiled at the knowledge that she was just as affected by him as he was by her. “Focus on keeping the cue straight. Look at the spot on the cue ball you want to hit. Go slow at first.”
“I should stroke slowly at first?” she asked, and he lost the battle against his erection.
“While you’re warming up, yeah.”
She sighed. “I’m already feeling pretty warm.”
He dipped his head, his lips grazing her ear. “Probably because you’re the hottest fucking woman in this bar.”
She made a soft whimpering sound before dropping the cue on the table and spinning around, her breasts pressed into his chest, his arms caging her against the table. Their eyes locked, and for a second, he couldn’t do anything but stare.
It didn’t matter that they were in a crowded bar, surrounded by people.
Let them watch.
He dipped his head forward and closed his mouth over hers, a surge of satisfaction coursing through him when she sighed softly and opened for him immediately, her tongue brushing at his lower lip. Before he could deepen the kiss, she pulled away, just a fraction of an inch.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you.” She threaded her hands into his hair and skimmed her lips over his jaw. “More than kiss you, if I’m honest.”
He kissed her again, dipping his tongue into her mouth, tasting and savoring her, drinking in the sounds she made for him. Her body was soft and warm, and he slid his hands around her waist, pulling her tight against him. Something about the way her curves pressed against him . . . she just fit. Perfectly and easily, as though this was exactly where she belonged.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking against hers in a slow rhythm, and heat flared through him, melting the cold, hard lump in his chest he hadn’t even realized was there. Her grip on his hair tightened, and she nipped at his bottom lip, soothing the tiny bite with her tongue. He groaned and somehow managed to break the kiss.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, and he managed to make a low murmuring sound in agreement.
“We’re not finishing this game, are we?” he asked, resting his forehead against hers. Her blue eyes were bright, and she slowly shook her head.
“Not unless you want to.”
“Let me show you what I want to do.” He pulled away and threaded his fingers through hers, leading her through the crowd and toward the hallway at the back of the bar that led to the kitchen and the bathrooms. Normally he had so much control, but something about the feel of Jules’ mouth on his had broken him open.
They rounded the corner into the empty hallway and he pressed her back against the wall, his mouth crashing into hers in a hungry, demanding kiss. “How is it possible that you feel so damn good?” he asked, his voice a low growl against her mouth.
She rocked her hips into him and moaned softly. “I was just wondering the same thing. It’s like . . .” Her voice faltered as he dragged his lips up her neck. “It’s like you touched me and I . . . Oh fuck,” she whispered when he scraped his teeth over her earlobe. “I want you so much.”
He kissed her again, hard and deep, not caring when someone walked by and cleared his throat. All he cared about was the sexual chemistry sparking between him and this woman who made him feel like liquid gold. She traced her hands up his chest, and he basked in her touch, shivering heat spreading over his skin.
Fuck sexual chemistry. This was an explosion, waiting to happen.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, tracing a hand up her ribs and along the outer curve of her breast, wanting to hear her say it. She took a shuddering breath, her eyes closed. When they opened, they were bright with lust, and they held his as she spoke.
“I want you to take me home and fuck me senseless.”
Yes. The single syllable charged through him, anticipation curling over him, hot and tight.
“Get your coat. I’ll get a cab.”