Page 32 of Same Difference
He snorted and then hung his head. His shoulders shook with his laugh, and she pursed her lips against a laugh of her own. That was a pretty lame joke. She felt very middle-school right now.
He had been lined up for a shot but stood up straight and whoo that smile. He was still laughing quietly, his head leaned back, his Adam’s apple prominent in his muscular throat. He gripped the pool stick and shook his head. “Where haveyoubeen?”
“Literally right under your nose,” she murmured. “If you are going to take all night, I’m going to go.”
“You want to leave?”
“No, I’m taking my turn,” she said, grabbing a cue stick off the wall. She chalked it up and lined up a shot at one of the striped balls, since he’d hit a couple of solids in.
“Hold up, you know how to play?”
She shot the six into the side pocket.
“Surprise. My ex taught me.” She smiled demurely. “I mean my ex before you. The one you tried to return me to.”
He growled and ripped his gaze away from her and busied himself chalking his cue stick. “I thought you said you wanted to learn how to play.”
“I told you I wanted to learn how to playbetter. I wanted you to help me practice. I thought it would be fun for us to do together, but you always left me at the house or at the hotel room.”
“It’s not even your turn,” he pointed out.
“I don’t care,” she said, repeating his words, and infusing just as much truth into her tone.
When she missed the second ball, she looked up at him, and he was watching her with this hungry look she’d never seen on his face before. It made her stomach clench. He was probably an animal in the bedroom. Too bad she would never find out.
“I like when you dress like this,” he said.
“Yeah, well, I’ll be back to my normal clothes tomorrow.”
“I like those too,” he said softly.
“That can’t be true.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you couldn’t bring yourself to touch me in them.”
The smile faded from his lips. “Look—”
“Why did you send me that text?”
“What text?”
“You said you should’ve kissed me.”
His eyes went wide. “Did you get all of the texts?”
Confused, she asked, “How many did you send?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Ten?”
“You messaged me ten times after we broke up, you fuckin’ stage five clinger.”
He snorted. “You blocked me. It felt safe to say what I wanted.”
“Because I wouldn’t see it?”
He lined up his shot. “Exactly.”
