Good with His Hands

Dani laughed, her nerves dissipating. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m wearing plain cotton. The set matches. Do I at least get credit for that?”

Would Gray have preferred something lacy and silk to the basic sky-blue pieces? Then again, depending on how the evening went, maybe she wouldn’t be wearing them for long.

* * *

DANI CONGRATULATED HERSELF on fitting the car into such a narrow parking space—it was admirable that she’d done a precision job considering her shaky hands and accelerated pulse. She figured the adrenaline in her system was one part nerves, two parts sheer sexual anticipation. By the time she’d taken a deep breath and gathered her purse, Gray had reached her driver-side door.

He opened the door for her and extended his hand to help her out of the car. Old-fashioned gallantry, or was he simply as eager to touch her as she was him? His fingers grazed her palm, which she’d never considered a sensitive part of her body before today. Now, sensation shivered through her.

“Thanks,” she said, hearing the slight, breathless catch in her voice.

“It seemed like the chivalrous thing to do.” Though his expression remained deadpan, wicked humor glinted in his eyes. “Wouldn’t want you to think you were out with less than a perfect gentleman.”

“Honestly? I’d rather spend tonight with an imperfect one.”

That earned her a low, rich laugh. “Then you definitely have the right guy.”

As she preceded him inside, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The bar had a cool, cave-like feel, with few windows overlooking the parking lot and street. But it was a classy cave—no smoke or scarred tables—boasting a quality list of domestic and imported beers.

Gray looked around. “Private booth, or would you rather sit at the bar?”

As nice as the private part sounded, she felt too restless to sit. Being this close to him had her buzzing with energy. “Third option—pool table. Do you play?”

“Yeah.” He smiled sheepishly. “But I should warn you, I can get pretty competitive.”

Something else they had in common. “That’s okay. My friend Meg says I redefine the word.” Dani had taken a game night with the Raffertys a little too seriously last summer, and Meg’s family still teased her about it. But Major Yates had raised his daughter to be goal oriented. Sportsmanship had been more of an afterthought.

Gray smirked. “Then this should be interesting.”

At the bar, they asked about table availability and got a set of balls. Cues and racks hung by the tables. The cashier assured them a waitress frequently circulated the pool area and would take their drink orders soon. To the right of the main seating area, a short set of stairs led down to a recessed pool hall. The row of six pool tables was separated from the rest of the bar with a railed half wall. The opposite wall was completely mirrored, reflecting a rainbow of neon from various beer signs.

Two of the tables were still vacant, and Dani went immediately to the one farthest from other players. A drink menu sat on the railing between a couple of leather-topped stools. Gray picked it up, flipping through the laminated pages.

“You want a look at this?” he asked.

She shook her head, gaze locked on his. “Not necessary. I know exactly what I want.”

Being cheated on was tough on a girl’s self-esteem. But with one steamy glance, Gray managed to restore any confidence she’d lost over the past month. For a second, he looked dazed, and it was heady, having an effect on a man so ridiculously sexy.

He recovered quickly. “Well, don’t be shy. Let’s hear it.”

You. On that pool table. “Draft beer.”

“So you don’t go for the froufrou drinks?” He tilted his chin toward a waitress at the far end of the pool hall. On her tray were two foamy drinks in varying shades of pink and something bright blue in a glass the size of a small fishbowl, complete with a swizzle stick of impaled fruit.

“Drinks with paper umbrellas have their place,” Dani said. “Like, if I’m poolside at some tropical resort. Champagne—expensive champagne—is for when I close on a high-dollar property, tequila shots are for bad breakups, sangria is for TV show marathons with my best friend. But draft beer is for when I’m about to kick some guy’s ass in eight ball.”

“Then maybe you should be more concerned about the right drink for when you fall a dismal second.”

She grinned, liking the pure challenge in his voice. “I don’t know what beverage that could be. You’ll have to tell me after you lose.”

The waitress reached them a few seconds later. Dani ordered a Belgian white they had on tap. Gray asked for a dark ale. As the waitress departed, the two of them selected cue sticks and continued quizzing each other on the right cocktails for increasingly absurd occasions.

“When your team wins the Super Bowl?” Gray asked.

“Alabama slammer. What about if you win an Academy Award?”

“Famous gold statue? Goldshläger, obviously. Toasting your fortieth birthday?”

“Something sophisticated and grown-up. A martini, maybe?” She shrugged. “I’m nowhere close to knowing that one.”

“Me, neither. Monday’s my thirty-fourth birthday.”

“Oh.” His birthday was in two days? “Happy birthday.”

He gave her a wolfish smile. “As early celebrations go, today has been off the charts.”

Did he see her as his gift to himself? She swallowed, hoping she lived up to his expectations. “Perfect cocktail for a zombie apocalypse?”

“Rookie mistake. Zombie apocalypse is the time to stay sober. It’s critical to keep a clear head and steady shooting hand for those all-important double taps.”

She laughed. “Good point.”

After the waitress returned with their drinks, Gray clarified that they were playing basic eight ball and that they had to call their intended shots.

“Hell, yes,” Dani insisted. “Miss your pocket, lose your turn.”

He set the plastic triangle on the green felt. “Ladies first?”

“Or we could lag for the break,” she said, suggesting the more official method of shooting a ball off the far rail. Whoever’s ball came back closest would break.

“Serious player,” he said approvingly. “Most of my construction buddies just flip a coin.”

Construction buddies? Dani knew it wasn’t uncommon for architects to visit build sites, so it shouldn’t surprise her that he had friends among the construction crews. Yet she had trouble picturing the man who normally wore expensive suits, the one who was so reserved he’d never fully smiled at her until today, trash-talking construction guys over beer and pool. She started to tell him that he seemed different, which she meant as a compliment, but she couldn’t think of a way to say it that wouldn’t make him sound previously aloof or stuffy. Weren’t most people more likely to loosen up on the weekends? So stop overanalyzing and just be thankful you ran into him on a Saturday.

They each selected a solid-colored ball and shot for the foot rail. The balls rolled back, hers stopping a fraction of an inch before his.

“Your break,” she said.

“Close, though.” He gave her a look of mock regret. “I guess a player with your skill isn’t likely to do the girl thing, huh?”

“Girl thing?”

He sipped his beer. “You know, where you ask a big strong guy to help you with your form so he has a reason to put his arms around you.”

Dani stepped forward, leaning her pool cue against the railing. Looking intrigued, he set down his beer as she moved closer, invading his personal space.

She reached for his hand. His fingers were cool from the beer, but heat rolled through her anyway. “I’m a woman, not a girl. If I want a man to touch me, I don’t need a lame excuse.” She settled his hand on the curve of her hip, her pulse kicking up a notch when they were close enough that they could have been kissing.