Taking a gentle hold of my arm, he says, “Let’s go.”
I slide off the stool and he begins to pull me in the direction of the door. “Oh, hell, no. I am not going home. I haven’t been out in four years. FOUR years, Shane. I got dressed.” I sweep my hand down my body. “I did my hair.” I point to my head. “I did my makeup.” I bat my lashes. “I’m going to have a good time tonight. Thanks for your gallant service in saving me from eternal boredom, but you can go now.”
I can see the wheels turning in his thick, beautiful head as he stares at me. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, I’ll show you a good time.”
I laugh. I laugh hard. Is he for real? “Are you for real right now?”
“What’s so funny?” Taking my hand, he drags me toward the back of the bar.
“You showing anyone a good time. First, you would need to know what that feels like. And second, you would have to master the art of the smile, which you have yet to do. And at your advanced age, it’s not looking good.”
His head whips around, expression amused. At least, I hope I’m reading it right. “My advanced age?”
We reach the back of the bar, where the pool tables are set up, and he drops my hand. Eyes hooded and positively predatory, he says, “You don’t think I know what a good time feels like? You don’t think I can show you one? I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you make a crack about my age.”
I swallow. I may have taken it too far. He takes a wad of cash out of his wallet, the one attached to the chain, and places it on the table. “We’re next,” he says to the guys playing while his focus remains on me. “You ever play?”
“Pool?” Not really. Darts were more my thing when Jaime and I went out with the guys from the firehouse.
Shane nods.
“Yeah, I can play some.” Famous last words.
A few minutes later, Shane sets us up and tells me to break. Tentatively, I walk around to the top of the table, bend over, get my pool stick ready, and…
Frankly, I’m a little self-conscious that my butt is sticking up in the air and my underwear is showing.
“What are you doing?” Mr. Goodtime asks me. He’s sitting on a barstool with his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms crossed, and a smirk on his face.
“I’m getting ready to break. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Fixing your skirt.”
Okay, maybe he’s onto something.
He gets up and walks over to me. “Bend over.”
I can’t believe he just said that to me. With a straight face, no less. “Really?” I say, desperately trying not to grin from ear to ear.
“Don’t be a wise ass.” He takes me by the hips, and gospel truth, moves me into place in front of him. Then, with his palm on my back, he pushes me down and my butt brushes against his groin. Kate Pierce couldn’t have written this any better. I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
Without so much as a heads up, he covers half my body with his. He’s bent over me. We are touching in places I never thought we would ever touch. “So this is your idea of a good time, eh?” I half-croak, half-giggle.
“Shut up and pay attention.”
Taking my hands, he places the pool stick where it needs to be, between my fingers, and helps me break the stack.
Balls go flying and I almost celebrate by kissing him. I don’t, though. He doesn’t invite that kind of a good time. His face is the picture of concentration, not lust… like mine.
Shane takes me through every shot: placing my body in the right position, making sure my pool stick is at the right angle, showing me where to strike the ball for the most effective outcome. And two hours later, I’m a sweaty mess and my hair looks bigger than it’s ever looked. I’m having not just a good time, I’m having a great time. And I think he’s having one too.
“Time to go,” he says, glancing at his Rolex, a big silver one.
“One more round,” I plead like I’m underage again.
“It’s midnight and we’re starting at six on the barn tomorrow.”
Without asking, he takes me by the elbow and pushes me to the front of the bar and out the door. Outside, the breeze feels good on the tacky surface of my skin.
“This way,” Shane says and takes my hand as we pass a bunch of bikers talking on the sidewalk, the smell of cigarettes and weed drifting over us. I cough.
“Hey, beautiful,” an older, fat guy calls out. Ignoring him, we keep walking to the Cobra.
Shane opens the passenger side door and helps me in. Once he gets the door shut, he walks around the hood to the driver side and gets behind the wheel. “Did you have a good time tonight?” he asks, gaze trained ahead and his hand on the ignition.
“I did,” I admit freely, a smile growing on my face. “Did you?”
“Hmm. Told you I’d show you a good time.”
“I did have a good time, Shane. With you. The pool game wasn’t the reason… I mean, that’s not why I went to the bar.”
I’m getting frustrated. He’s so methodical about everything that I don’t know how to speak to him without humiliating myself. I think I understand Aidan better now.
“I know why you went to the bar,” he says in a low voice.
“No, you don’t. You don’t have a clue because you don’t know me… I was engaged four years ago. We broke up for the right reasons, but I’m tired of being alone. Jaime’s getting married and I’m happy for him. I really am. I’m glad that he found someone who suits him better than I did. But I want to be happy for me for a change.”
Wow. After that meltdown, I’m not so sure he won’t pack his bags and skip out tonight.
Shane starts the car. I can feel the rumble of the engine under my butt. It’s about all the action I’m getting out of him so I try to enjoy it. Pulling a U-Turn, he heads in the direction of the ranch.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to unload on you,” I say, completely bummed. “That wasn’t fair.”
“It’s fine. I understand.”
We don’t say another word until we reach the ranch and he parks in front of the guesthouse.
I open the car door and take a good hard look at him. I know now with a hundred percent certainty that he’s not the right man for me. My heart hurts. I’m so sick of being the odd man out in this life of musical chairs. I want someone to pick me because I’m what they want most. Of their own free will. Is that too much to ask for?
I’m about to get out when he touches my wrist. “Blue…”
I bite my lip to stall the tears. So much for a good time.
“No one should try to tame grizzlies. They aren’t meant to live in captivity. You can try, but you’ll get hurt. Collies on the other hand are domesticated animals.”
With that, I head inside.
“Blue…. Blue… Blue!” an annoying raspy voice calls out.
“What!” I look up the ladder at the man who owns the annoying voice.
“Get me the socket wrench out of the orange tool box.”
I’m ready to kill him. I’m ready to break a window, sneak into his bedroom tonight, put a pillow over his face and sit on it. The sick bastard would probably like it.