“What’s your bet, Butch?” Ronnie asked him. It would be interesting to hear a guy’s point of view on how this might turn out for Natalie.
He added money to the pitcher. “Your cousin is bullheaded. I’m with Kate. Natalie will hold out, but not before Coop makes it to second base. Maybe even third. With that bottle of tequila in the mix, though, I’m going to predict that come morning her underwear is MIA.”
Ronnie snorted. “Tequila really warps her mind.”
“Mac’s turn,” Katie said.
All eyes turned to Mac. He looked toward the pool tables, his expression thoughtful. Then he pulled a twenty-dollar bill out and shoved it in the pitcher. “My money is on Coop.”
“What do you mean?” Claire asked.
“Natalie will try to seduce him, but he’s not going to go through with it tonight. Kissing may or may not be involved, though.”
“So you think her sabbatical will still be in place at morning light?” Katie confirmed.
“Yes, but only because Coop resists her.”
“You’re nuts,” Claire said. “He drove all of the way down here for her.”
“Exactly, and that’s why he’s going to resist her. He’s not going to blow it on some quick drunken moment of weakness. He’s going to want it to count when it happens.”
The romantic in Ronnie liked the sound of that. Claire liked it, too, judging by her sister’s dreamy expression as she smiled at Mac.
“But what if tonight is his only opportunity?” Ronnie asked.
Mac shrugged. “If he plays his cards right, it won’t be.”
Grady wove his way through the crowd toward them, his amber gaze locked onto Ronnie as he approached. Where was Penny and what had they been talking about so seriously?
“Nice T-shirt, bandida,” he said when he reached her side. “You come here often?” He stole a kiss and then looked at the pitcher full of money. “What’s with that?”
Ronnie slipped her arm around his waist, smiling up at him. “We’ve started a friendly, totally legal pool among family and friends on whether Natalie and Coop will do the wild thing tonight,” she explained. “It costs twenty bucks to play if you feel like weighing in.”
Grady scoffed. “For real?”
“Yes, for real.” Claire crossed her arms. “We live in the sticks and Crazy Kate broke the dartboard when she got mad at Mom last week, so this is all we have to do for fun.”
“Call me crazy again, Claire, and we’ll have a wet T-shirt contest.” Katie drew the soda water gun and aimed it at Claire to emphasize her point.
Grady pointed at Katie. “Drop the weapon, woman.” After she obliged, he pulled out his wallet and stuffed a couple of bills in the pitcher.
“What’s your bet?” Ronnie asked.
“I always bet on cops.”
Ronnie laughed. “Where and when, Sheriff Hardass?”
“The storage room before midnight.”
Butch cursed under his breath.
* * *
Just friends.
Natalie downed the shot of tequila she’d been toying with for the last ten minutes, needing something to numb her body and stop the tingles of awareness running riot under her skin. The liquor burned all of the way down.
“He’s a magic man,” Ann Wilson sang from the jukebox in her haunting voice.
Damn it. What were the chances of three of her favorite drinking songs playing one right after another tonight? She glanced at the bar, frowning at the sight of her cousins all grouped together around it staring at her. Claire raised her beer toward Natalie in a toast.
Natalie nodded at them once and then turned back to the game.
“Eight ball in the corner pocket,” Coop said, bending over to line up the shot.
Natalie watched the pool cue move back and forth between his long fingers. Talented fingers. Fingers that knew just where to …
“Grawwwk.” The sound creaked from her throat before she could stop it.
He glanced up at her. “What’d you say?”
“Crock … of crap. You making that shot, I mean.” She bit her lower lip to block anything else stupid from leaking out between her lips. “Sorry. Take your shot.”
He raised his brows. “You sure?”
“Yeah. But I’m going to chalk up, because I have a feeling it’s going to be my turn to shoot pretty quick.”
“Oh, yeah?” He cocked his head. “I’ll make a bet with you.”
She hesitated, the chalk in her hand. “What’s the bet?”
“If I make this shot, you don’t drink any more tequila tonight.”
“You don’t like me drinking?”
“I want to win while you’re sober so you can’t use the excuse later that you lost because you were drunk.”
She tipped her head to the side. “And if you miss?”
“I’ll do a shot with you.”
“Okay.” She chalked the pool cue. “I’ll take the bet.”
He aimed, shot, and missed.
Natalie set the chalk down, staring at him, trying to judge if he screwed up that shot on purpose. He was too hard to read.
She poured tequila in the shot glass she’d been using. “You want me to get you a clean one?”
He joined her, standing too dang close. “No. My germs think your germs are sexy.”
She tried to laugh, but it sounded too husky to be believable. He tossed back the tequila, chasing it with a sip from his whiskey glass. “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.” He took the tequila bottle and refilled the shot, holding it out to her. “Bottoms up, Beals.”
The tequila slid down her throat with less heat. Or maybe the three previous shots she’d had tonight had scorched a path south.
She set the glass down and smiled at him. “My toes are numb,” she announced, and then wished she hadn’t.
“Have you lost feeling anywhere else?”
She thought about it for a second. “My lips are halfway there.”
He leaned closer. “Halfway where?”
Staring too long into his gray eyes was trouble, so she really should stop. “I don’t remember.”
His mouth lowered, his lips just a hop, skip, and drunken stumble away. “Natalie.”
The heat from his breath tickled her chin. Apparently, that part of her wasn’t numb yet. “Yeah?”
“It’s your turn.”
To kiss him? “Shoot.”
“Correct. Unless you want to forfeit the game already.”
She blinked out of her agave-fueled stupor. “Balls!
