“Perfect.”
Her smile is just that. Fuck, the entire woman is conjured from my dreams.
I had planned to show her my new apartment, but I can’t guarantee I won’t maul her the moment we’re out of the public eye. Instead, I nudge my head toward the one vacant pool table.
“How’s your game?”
She tilts her head back and laughs heartily.
“Pool? The closest I ever came to a cue and balls was in college when I played field hockey. I sucked at that too.” She grins and her eyes sparkle. “But I’m game to learn.”
Well, hell.
It seemed the safer option just a minute ago, but now I’m thinking pool may have been an error in judgment.
Thirty minutes later, I know how big a mistake it was, when I lean over Robin to help her with a difficult shot and her ass presses into my groin. Bunker, the asshole, seems to recognize my pain as he encourages Robin to lean back a little more.
The shot goes wild and the ball ends up bouncing over the bumper and hits the floor to my bartender’s great hilarity. Asshole. He has Robin chuckling along with him, while I covertly adjust myself. Apparently I’m not successful, since the two old coots at the next table over stop what they’re doing and watch me with wide grins.
Liz, the lone waitress tonight, comes by to pick up empties and asks who wants refills.
“Round’s on me,” Bunker calls out to the bar, then he turns to us and says, “Haven’t laughed this hard since Frank told Eddie Bank’s cousin he was cut off because he couldn’t see straight anymore, except the guy was legit cross-eyed.”
Robin bursts into renewed laughter and this time I’m chuckling too.
We never finish the game, but spend the rest of the night sitting around a table with Enzo and John, who regale us with funny anecdotes. Robin has had a bit too much to drink and is still giggling when she gets up to announce she should get home. There’s no way I’ll let her drive home like this, but before I have a chance to say anything, Enzo gets to his feet.
“I can drive you.”
The old bastard turns a shit-eating grin on me.
“You don’t need to do that,” Robin says, swaying a little on her feet as she waves a limp hand in the old man’s direction.
I’m on my feet in a flash and put a stabilizing arm around her.
“No he doesn’t, ‘cause I am.”
She twists her head and smiles up at me.
“You are?”
“Bunker,” I call out. “Taking Robin home.”
With a nod for John and a glare at a grinning Enzo, I wrap her coat around her and guide her to the door.
“What about my car?”
“We’ll take care of it tomorrow morning.”
“Mkay,” she mutters, shivering under my arm.
It’s freezing. I mentally cross my fingers my truck will start; it’s been a little unpredictable these last few days with temperatures dropping.
“Oops.” I have to grab onto her with both hands when she stumbles and almost falls in the parking lot.
“Easy, Sunshine.”
I manage to lift her up in the truck and am buckling her in when she starts running her fingers through my hair.
“You’ve got nice hair.”
I’m struggling to get the damn belt buckled, with her thick coat getting in the way, and all the while she plays with my hair.
“So thick. Don’t you have any bald spots?” I can feel her fingers digging through my hair, looking for one.
Finally the buckle clicks in place and I immediately remove her hands from my head.
“No bald spots,” I assure her, but when I look at her face she’s gone pale. “You gonna toss your cookies?”
She shakes her head sharply.
“No. I just realized I have to work the early shift tomorrow. That’s not good.”
“You’ll be a sore puppy. Let’s get you home and to bed.”
I close her door, round the hood, and get behind the wheel.
“I drank too much,” she mutters, mostly to herself, when I pull away from the bar.
“Three glasses of wine,” I remind her.
“Should’a stopped at one. I’m a lightweight, but I was having so much fun.”
“That’s good. I had fun too.”
“I’m gonna hate myself in the morning.”
It’s on my tongue to agree with her, but she doesn’t need me rubbing it in. Instead I focus on the road. She’s asleep and snoring lightly when I pull up outside her house. When I open the passenger door, she blinks her eyes open.
“Give me your keys. Let’s get you inside.”
She fishes a keychain from her coat pocket and hands it over before I help her down from the cab.
Inside the kitten is waiting, and Robin almost goes down trying to pick the thing up.
“I need to check his food.”
“You need to go to bed,” I tell her firmly, taking the cat from her hands and giving her a nudge in the direction of her bedroom. “Go on. I’ll look after the cat.”
I watch as she cautiously moves down the hallway to her bedroom door. Then I take the cat to the kitchen, fill its bowls with water and some dry food, before setting him down on the floor. Like a growing boy, he immediately makes a beeline for his food bowl.
I dig through her cupboards, find some ibuprofen and fill a glass with water before heading to her bedroom.
She doesn’t respond to my knock so I open the door, finding her half-dressed on her back on the bed.
“Too tired,” she mumbles.
“Sit up for a minute, Sunshine.” I hand her the pills and the glass of water. “Down both now. It’ll help you feel better in the morning.”
She does as I ask, and forcing my brain elsewhere, I quickly help her strip out of the rest of her clothes and tuck her in bed. The cat jumps up and curls up beside her, darting
