I can’t believe I’m doing this.

How in the hell did I let Trent Whittaker talk me into going to a dodgy pool hall with him? I mean — those two things are so incongruous. I’m starting to think it was my very own incredulity that made me say yes.

Freaky Freddy’s pool hall is in an area of town I haven’t really ever been to before. Trent had offered to drive me but I didn’t want to be dependent on him for a ride so I take a cab. When it pulls up in front of the building I almost tell the driver to take me somewhere else. The building is old, with peeling beige paint and a red and green hand-drawn sign that just says Freaky Freddy’s. It’s a little serial-killery, to be honest.

I force myself out of the cab and push open the dusty glass door. Fortunately, the inside isn’t nearly as dodgy as I’m expecting. The place is clean and instead of the old-timers I’m expecting, it’s mostly bustling with hipsters.

Even though it’s not what I expected, I still can’t picture Trent here.

I wander around but there’s no sign of him yet. I go back to the door to wait. It feels like I wait forever, but it’s probably just nerves. A few minutes later, I see a huge black SUV pull up in front of the pool hall. I know instinctively that it’s him — no one else in this neighborhood would drive a car that expensive.

Trent pulls the glass door open and smiles when he sees me. The smile lights up his entire face and I feel my legs go a bit wobbly. They only get worse when he leans over and kisses me. It’s not an intense kiss — just a soft peck on the side of the mouth — but somehow the casual intimacy of it is even more beguiling. Every time I see him, the dynamic of our relationship seems to change.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he says. “Traffic was terrible.”

I finally get a moment to take him in and I have to admit that the view is pretty spectacular. He’s traded in his usual suit for a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark, perfectly worn jeans that probably cost more than my whole wardrobe. But the way they fit him — yeah, I’d say they were worth every penny. They hug his muscular thighs and sit just low enough on his hips that I can imagine the vee of his body underneath, the treasure trail that leads to …

I force my mind off that train of thought and follow him over to the bar. I look around while he pays for a table, and when he finally turns back to me, I have to tell him.

“I have bad news.”

“What?” He looks worried.

“They don’t do buck-a-beers anymore.” I gesture to the sign over the bar. “They’re two-fifty-nine-a-beers.”

“Fucking inflation,” he curses. I laugh and he grins. “That’s okay. We’re going all out tonight and getting a pitcher.”

“And fries?”

“Anything you want.”

“Wow,” I say breathlessly. “I never knew dating a CEO would come with so many perks.”

“Stick with me, babe. You might even get an ice cream cone out of it later.”

“I’d rather have something else to lick.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I’m saying. I clap my hand over my mouth but Trent just laughs and slings his arm around my shoulder.

“That can most definitely be arranged as well.”

The flush on my cheeks fades to a comfortable warmth as Trent orders a pitcher from the bar and we make our way over to an empty table at the back of the room. It’s dark back here except for the green globe light hanging over the table. Trent pours us each a beer and we clink our glasses together and drink. I feel another rush of warmth but I don’t know if it’s the beer or the way Trent is looking at me over the rim of his glass.

“Ladies break?” Trent asks finally, as he sets down his glass and starts racking up the balls.

“Sure,” I say. “I feel like I have to warn you though — I’m really terrible at this.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that.”

I laugh. “You don’t have to believe it. You’re going to find out for sure in about two minutes.”

Sure enough, I break and the balls barely scatter.

“That was … good,” Trent says and I laugh again.

“I told you.”

“You just need to put some muscle into it. Here.”

He comes to stand behind me and even though it’s cliche as hell, it still sends a shiver from my head to my toes when he leans his body against mine.

“Hold it like this,” he says, as he adjusts my arms and the way I’m holding the cue. “Come on, Hannah. I know you know how to handle a stick.”

My cheeks flush. “A stick, I can handle,” I say. “It’s the balls I seem to be having a problem with.”

“No, I’d say you were rather adept at balls as well.”

I don’t know what to say to that so I just let him bend me further over the table and wiggle my ass back a little bit, just to tease him.

“Ahem,” he says, holding his hand over mine. “Now, in pool, I find it helpful to think about someone you really hate.”

“Someone I hate?”

“An ex is usually a good choice, in my experience.”

An image of Matt pops into my head. I almost giggle when I think about what he would say if he could see what I’ve been up to with Trent. Trent and I haven’t even had sex and it’s still the best sex I’ve ever had.

“Got someone in mind?” he asks. His body is still pressed against mine and it’s hard to keep thinking about Matt when I can feel the beginnings of Trent’s erection digging into me.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now all you have to do is imagine that the cue ball is this person’s face.”

I try to picture Matt’s face on the ball.

“Now hit it.”

I shove the cue into the ball and for once, there’s some power to it. It hits the other balls, which are still tightly clumped at one end of the table, and they scatter. The yellow one goes into one of the side pockets.

“I did it!” I turn around and face Trent, who’s grinning at me.

“See? A little bit of hate can be a powerful thing.”

I take a sip of my beer and smile. “I like it. So who do you picture?”

Trent doesn’t answer. He grabs his beer and takes a long swallow.

“Sorry,” I wince. “I forgot. The ex-fiancee.”

He nods. “The ex-fiancee.”

Trent had mentioned his former fiancee a few times, but he had never said exactly what happened between them. I’d be lying if I said my curiosity wasn’t piqued, but the way Trent’s eyes darken in the already dark bar tells me I’m better off changing the subject.

“So where did you learn to play pool?” I ask instead.

“College,” he says. He takes another sip of his beer and then lines up a shot. “Luke and I used to play all the time. That and foosball.”

He takes the shot and sinks the red ball in the corner pocket, then gestures for me to take a turn.

“Where’d you to school again?”

“Harvard.”

“Right, I think you mentioned that once. MBA?”

He nods. “We both started out there, though Luke ended up dropping out part way through. He absolutely hated it. I think he’d be happy if he never had to see another number again in his life. Unless it’s a measurement.”

“So you guys split the work now? Luke does the design stuff and you handle the business side?”

He nods.

“Must be nice for him. Sounds like you got the short end of that stick.”

“I don’t mind it,” he says. “Business is like a combination of art and science, and I like that it appeals to two different parts of me. Besides, I look better in a suit than he does.”

“That I would definitely agree with.”

We finish the game and then play another — although calling it a game is a stretch. Mostly we just take turns and Trent sinks most of the balls. I’ve got a little more strength in my shot now but they still go wild as hell and I’m lucky to even hit another ball with the cue ball. But between the conversation and the beer, I end up laughing more than I have in ages.

I never would have believed it, but it turns out that Trent Whittaker is a fun date.

By the time our pitcher is done, I’m slightly tipsy and enjoying myself a little too much. I lean into Trent’s chest.

“Kiss me,” I tell him, surprising myself.

He looks down at me, the corners of his mouth twisting up into a smile. “With pleasure.”

He snakes his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. I have to stand on my tiptoes but when he finds my mouth with his, it’s heaven. His lips move softly against mine at first. It’s so gentle and sweet that it makes me dizzy and I lean into him even more. I kiss him harder, opening my mouth to him and swirling my tongue around his. I want to taste every part of him. I want to feel every part of him. I want to …

As if he can read my mind, Trent pulls away. His eyes are hooded, his breathing short and quick.

“Want to get out of here?” he asks.

Goosebumps prick my arms and a heat courses through me.

“With pleasure.”