Mistletoe Hero

you-I’m actually better at pool than dancing.”

She laughed. “I’m good enough on the dance floor to compensate.”

“Lead on,” he said, looking as if he’d follow her into traffic if that’s what she wanted.

Arianne watched them go, and Gabe noticed the wistful tinge to her expression. Again he wondered why she was single.

Gabe could think of a dozen guys easy who would be happy to date her. The thought set his teeth on edge, and he grabbed the triangle. “You know how to play nine ball?”

“Of course.”

“Best out of three?”

She held out her hand. “I’ll rack.”

He passed over the triangle, and their fingers brushed. There was no reason, except for prolonged celibacy, for his blood to beat harder in his veins. After all, it was a mere touch, not the full-body contact of her hug the other night. Still, as he watched her set the balls in the appropriate diamond, he couldn’t quite marshal his physical reaction or the direction of his thoughts. Arianne was a beautiful woman with a very sexy body.

And a hell of a pool player, he was forced to admit when she beat him handily in the first round with a four-nine combination.

He raised his beer in salute. “Impressive.”

She grinned over her shoulder, reaching for her own drink. “Hey, I have moves.”

“I’ll bet.” He’d said that aloud? He busied himself setting up the next game to avoid her reaction.

She broke. After he’d bent to take his turn, she said, “You know when I said earlier that I’d seen you in here on the weekends? Your height wasn’t the only reason I noticed you.”

His shot went wild. Was she flirting with him? The prospect was far more tempting than it should have been.

“No comments from the peanut gallery while I’m shooting,” he admonished.

“All right.” She stepped forward and called the one in the side left pocket. Then she stalled under the pretext of aiming. “You’re a memorable guy, Gabe.”

“I’m aware,” he grated. First thing tomorrow, he was calling his cousins, calling Mike Renault, calling any damn person who might be able to help him make an anonymous fresh start somewhere.

“You turned down Candy Beemis,” she said, sounding awestruck.

“If you say so. Take your freaking shot already.”

She missed and moved aside, seeming unfazed. “I was buying a drink and heard her ask you to dance. You told her no. That was extremely memorable and possibly the only refusal she’s ever received. Candy’s the most attractive woman in Mistletoe.”

Gabe lined up his shot and told himself to keep his eye on the ball. Instead, he lifted his head, holding Arianne’s gaze. “She’s not even close.”

Arianne sucked in a breath and went silent. Thank God. He knocked in the first five balls. She sank the six, but just barely. He knew even as she called the seven-nine combo that she wouldn’t make it.

He won the game.

“Guess I deserved that,” she muttered. “I let-”

“Arianne?”

They both turned at the masculine voice. Shane McIntyre was approaching-slightly unsteady on his feet-his round face a scrolling billboard of emotions. Surprise, hurt, indignation. More hurt.

“Shane.”

Gabe recognized the note of pity in Arianne’s voice. He’d heard it directed at him earlier in the evening and could just imagine how it abraded the other man’s nerves. Had she dumped the guy? Gabe didn’t remember hearing their names linked together, but then, he wasn’t exactly in the loop.

The man curled his lip. “I don’t believe this,” he said, his words faintly slurred. “What are you doing with him?”

Arianne narrowed her eyes, all traces of sympathy erased. “I assume that question was rhetorical because we both know I don’t owe you any explanations for how I spend my time.”

“Right.” He gave a vicious nod and took a step forward. “Because I’m no one important, just someone who cares about you.”

Gabe laid a hand on the guy’s shoulder, determined that he wasn’t getting a single inch closer to Ari in his current state. “McIntyre, maybe you should save this discussion for later and just let the lady enjoy her evening.”

Shane rounded on him. “Let her enjoy you, you mean? You’re not worthy of taking her trash out, you son of a-” He broke off, eyes wide, at the sight of Gabe’s arm drawn back.

Gabe, who hadn’t even realized he’d made a fist, was far more horrified than his would-be target. Pole-axed, he dropped his hand to his side. He glanced toward Arianne, wondering if she was appalled by his behavior, and noticed that the pool players at the neighboring tables had paused in their games. Some had drinks in their hands and were surreptitiously watching over the rims while others stared openly. What did they see? A longtime troublemaker agitating one of their own?

As if Shane had sensed a change in energy, he squared his shoulders in challenge. “What’s it going to be, Sloan? Should we take this outside?”

“Of course not!” Arianne interjected. “What is this, junior high?”

At her contemptuous tone, Shane lost his smirk. “Sorry, Arianne. But-

She stepped between the two men. “We’re friends. And as a friend, I’m telling you to find Nick or Josh to drive you home.”

“And leave you with-”

“Now,” she said. “Before you do anything else you’ll regret tomorrow.”

Shane glared at both of them, but wisely shut up. The moment he melted back into the crowd, Arianne exhaled in relief.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” she told Gabe, betraying no hint of how she felt about his interference. “I want to make sure he asks someone for a lift.”

People were no longer staring, but the buzz of their speculative conversations scratched at Gabe’s skin. He downed the rest of his beer, wishing he were anywhere else in the world right now. As he set down the empty bottle, he saw Quinn and Patrick returning, their faces flushed with happiness and exertion. He felt like a miscast actor in someone else’s movie. He didn’t belong in this quaint foursome scene. He was more comfortable in his perennial role as outsider. Arianne should be here with Quinn, Patrick and someone like McIntyre. Well, not McIntyre-he’d behaved like a jackass tonight. Arianne deserved better. Than either of us.

He attempted a smile at Quinn, but doubted it was convincing. “Hey, you guys, do me a favor? Tell Arianne that I’m gonna get going. But I’ll see everyone Saturday.” They were supposed to start initial festival setup downtown.

“But…” Quinn bit her lip. “Sure. Okay.”

Gabe nodded to Patrick. “Thanks for inviting me, man.”

Despite how the evening had turned out, Patrick had been the first person in a long time to extend a simple, no-strings-attached gesture of friendship. Gabe didn’t count Arianne’s asking him to dinner. She was anything but simple.

As he passed the bar, he heard her call him but continued his measured strides toward the door, hoping she would assume the noise drowned her out and just let him go. Good luck with that plan. He may not have known Arianne long, but he knew her better than that.

She must have rushed, elbowing her way through the boisterous mass of people, to catch up with him just as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“You’re leaving,” she said, full of accusation. “Haven’t we already discussed the futility of trying to run away?”

He looked her in the eye, then wished he hadn’t. Her fierce expression made him feel like a coward. “I’m not