Page 46 of Wild Fire

I give her a smile and nod. “Don’t worry about me,” I say as I lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Go have fun.”

Lacey twists her lips as if she wants to say something, but lets it go. She hugs me, longer than is probably polite, but it’s not flirtatious or even romantic. It’s warm and comforting, and strangely it makes me feel a little more confident.

“Stay out of trouble,” she teases.

“Yes, ma’am’” I say as she waves me off, following her friends out the door. I stare at the bar, double-checking to make sure he’s still there, which he is.

But it looks like the seat next to him is unoccupied, so his friend must have left. So I take a long drag of my beer and take a deep breath before I let it out and count to six.

Like AJ does.

And then I take one step forward. Then another. And another, until I make it to the stool, just as someone tries to take it, but I slyly slip past them, and into the seat.

The whole way over here, I debated what to say. Hi. Hello. Fancy meeting you here. Who was that fucking guy talking to you?

But when AJ turns to face me, his eyes widen in shock.

“Nate? The hell are you doing here?”

I take a pull of my beer before I answer him, if only to get my bearings.

“Sucking very badly,” I nearly choke on my drink. AJ smacks me on the back and I think this was a bad idea. “At pool, I mean.”

AJ lets out a laugh.

“Ah, so you don’t have a good handle on the balls, then?”

My blood heats and it’s like the nerves disappear, because when AJ smirks at me, I can’t help but feel like a fire inside of me has lit.

“Fuck you, AJ.”

AJ’s eyes glitter underneath the amber lights, shadowed by something as mischievous as it is dangerous. And sexy.

“Come on,” he says as he moves off the stool, smoother than he should. I can’t tell if he’s drunk or just really good at hiding it. Maybe both.

“Where are you going?” I ask, nearly sprinting to keep up with him.

He doesn’t answer me.

“AJ!”

I catch his smile, and my stomach does a little flip as he turns to look at me. Under the light of the bar, I can see him in his entirety. His heathered tee, ripped jeans, and thick sneakers. He looks…

Hot.

So fucking hot.

“Solids or stripes?” he asks. Though the way he asks is less of a question and more of a command. At least, that’s what it feels like.

I lean against the side of the pool table, noting how the people move for him. Without word, without question.

Which only makes him that much hotter.

“Solids,” I say carefully as he chalks his stick. I watch as his fingers move swiftly, and when he’s done, he caresses the stick before lining up his shot. My heart beats so loud I think the whole bar can hear it, and I wait for what feels like hours as he slowly maneuvers the stick between his knuckles. Back and forth.

Back and forth.

I can’t take my eyes off of him, off of the intent gaze on his face.