Page 90 of Bitter Lies

“Oh?”

“Mm,” I say, rolling a ball under my hand. “What do you want if you win?”

“A kiss,” he says without hesitation.

“Oh?” I ask with a small thrill, tapping my finger against my chin. “Okay, sounds reasonable.”

“What do you want?” He steps forward with a pretty grin and touches my shoulder.

Resisting the urge to step back, I clench my fist instead and take a deep breath. “How about…a date? A real date…when we get home?”

His eyes brighten, and I smile, hopeful in the face of this guy and my progress because I’m healing, slowly but surely, and it feels good, right.

I just wish there wasn’t a tiny voice in the back of my head reminding me that David will never be Griffin because I’d really like to move on from the gorgeous asshat with the cruel eyes.

The game goes quickly, and it’s clear I’m better because picking up that cue was like riding a bike, and everything Griffin taught me came back quickly.

“Okay, fine, a date,” David says with a grin when I sink the eight ball happily.

I smile triumphantly, but it fades when Griffin appears, his cold smirk firmly in place as he glances between David and me. “Who won?”

“Halsey. She’s a shark,” David says with a chuckle. “I’m gonna grab a beer. You want anything?”

Shaking my head no, I watch as he leaves me alone with Griffin, and turning away, I place the stick down on the felt with trembling fingers.

As usual I’m caught between the oblivion I crave at his hands and the knowledge that for him I truly am the cheap fuck I admitted to before.

“Double or nothing,” Griffin says, grabbing a pool stick.

Lifting my face to his in shock, I search his wicked eyes. “What?”

“Double or nothing. What did you win?”

“Um, a date,” I say, the words awkward in my mouth. I suspect in direct relation to Griffin’s amused stare.

“What did he bet?”

“A kiss.”

“Amateur,” he says silkily, causing a riot of shivers to roll down my spine. “You in?”

Unable to ignore the challenge in his eyes, I pick up the stick grimly and eye the table. Griffin taught me everything he knows, so this won’t be as easy as the last time, but maybe I can kick his ass.

He’s so confident as he racks up the balls and makes his first move, smirking at me devilishly that I’m spellbound, and of course, he sinks the first ball easily.

For the briefest moment, I’m cast back in time to when Griffin actually liked me, or so I thought, and that expression would have been light-hearted and free.

“Stripes,” he drawls, giving me a wicked smile, and I break away from my reverie with a flush.

I aim for the red solid, and it shoots smoothly into the pocket, and with a victorious grin, I aim for the next but miss.

It goes like this through the entire game until we’re both down to one ball. Others have trailed in, but I can’t see them for Griffin, who says nothing but keeps me captivated with every smile and raising of his brow.

At the last, when I miss my shot, I’m both annoyed and anticipatory because, in this, I don’t feel like I can lose. I just wish my heart wasn’t on the line also.

Griffin lines up his shot, glancing at me with a heated stare before he makes his play, and the blue striped ball sails into the pocket, ricocheting off the black ball which follows behind, signaling the end of the game.

Turning to me with a burning gaze, his eyes flame hotter. “I win.”

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