“Um...” She shrugged. “I guess. I was going to throw it out.”
What a waste of stunning art. He folded the napkin before placing it in his wallet. “What next?”
The scents of oregano and beer filled the air with a comforting aroma. The stack of tokens that came with the meal sat on the table between them. They’d agreed food first, games second.
She swung her feet below the high seat, occasionally hooking them on the rungs before tugging loose again. “Pool?”
He’d known that was coming. Even if the case sitting next to her purse didn’t have her custom cue in it, he could have guessed she’d pick pool. “Air hockey first,” he said. It was as unfair as her suggestion, but since he’d relent eventually, his masculinity wouldn’t suffer as much if he at least won at one thing before the night was over.
She screwed up her face, but laughter danced in her eyes. “All right.”
He pocketed the tokens and led her toward the tables near the far end of the bar. The racket of pucks zooming back and forth clattered off walls and his eardrums. That wouldn’t stop him from trying to carry on a conversation. The compressor under the table rumbled to life, and he grabbed his mallet before it vibrated out of reach. The smooth plastic was cool against his palm.
“So, six years in the Air Force, talk of going career, and suddenly you’ve been discharged. What happened?” She raised her voice when the puck started flying between them.
He faltered, and the puck slid into his goal. Of course she was going to ask from a different angle. If it was an off-the-cuff question, he could give her a generic response and be off the hook. “Things change.”
“That’s definitive.” She followed the movement of the plastic disc as it slid everywhere. “What kind of things?” The projectile bounced off her fingers, and she jerked her hand away. The puck rocketed around and found its way to her goal before she could recover.
“I got an offer from the CIA.” Even though it was one of the last things he wanted to do. Memories and guilt assaulted him. He summoned a wall from deep inside and blocked off the emotions associated with that part of his past. Mostly. If he kept his response casual, maybe she’d move to another subject.
“Wait. What?” Riley watched, as the next six shots slid past her. Her attention wasn’t on the game anymore. The table stopped rumbling with the finality of Zane’s winning goal. She joined him on his side before he could ask for another round. “I thought you were looking for work,” she said.
He should have known changing the subject wouldn’t be that simple. He shrugged. “I turned them down.” Discomfort churned inside, joined by regret and the phrasenot soon enough.Even if part of him still considered going back. Calling Sabrina and telling her he was in after all. He jammed the doubts back down. They wandered the room until they stopped in front of a racing game with two plastic cars side by side.
She picked the red one. “Because they weren’t going to challenge you enough?”
Beyond paying the bills, he’d never been concerned about the size of his paycheck. From the time Zane was old enough to understand, Granddad had drilled home that someone only needed enough money for comfort. There was no need to be greedy, but the thought of doing any work that didn’t make him think made Zane’s skin crawl. Which, conveniently enough, meant Riley had given him his way out.
“Something like that.” He dropped a couple tokens into the machine. The digital racetrack roared to life on screen, and the countdown to the start of the race began. He gripped the wheel in front of him and steered, leaning with each turn. The plastic car moved with him, though it didn’t impact his driving onscreen.
“I get it. You could’ve just saidtopic off limits.” Riley squealed as her car skidded around a tight turn, and he passed her. She corrected her direction onscreen and caught up, managing to pace his silver roadster. “Anyway. How’d the interview go yesterday?”
While his job hunt wasn’t as unpleasant a topic as his military service, it was pretty high on his list of things he’d rather not dwell on. Mikki had gotten his foot in the door, but he hadn’t been able to close the deal. Or even make it past the screening.
His car slowed and then stopped, and she left it in the dust, crossing the finish line third. The screen flashed, prompting them to insert another coin to continue.
He dropped his hands from the wheel. “Pool next?” He couldn’t put off the game forever, and it should get the lighter mood back.
“I’ll go easy on you.” She pulled a small tube from the purse dangling from her wrist and applied gloss.
He forced back the pulse that raced through him at the shine on her full lips and the hint of cherry in the air. “I’ll be fine.” His protest was weak as they walked toward the billiard tables. He’d never been able to figure out pool. Drunk off her ass and blindfolded, Riley could still whip him. She’d competed when she was in college. “I’m going to pretend I know what I’m doing and that you’re just more pro than me,” he said. The latter was true. Riley was more pro than most people.
“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” she teased. She grabbed a couple of different cues, tested their weight, and then handed him one, before pulling hers from its case and piecing it together.
He fumbled to hold the stick right, but her cringe told him the impossible positions he kinked his fingers into weren’t the right ones. She set her cue aside and covered his hand with hers. A pleasant warmth rushed through him at the contact. She positioned his grip in a more natural way. Her touch lingered, palm soft and inviting against the back of his hand.
“It was for ethical reasons.” The admission slipped out before he could stop it. “Me turning down the CIA job.”
“Oh.” She dropped her hand and stepped away. “I think you’ve got it. Want to try taking a shot?”
“Not really. You show me how.”
He shouldn’t have said that. It was going to be tough enough to get things back to normal between them. Now a secret that really only needed to haunt him was trying to force its way out. She knew he’d been on the front line overseas, but for the most part, they never talked about the details. He tended to change the subject, and she never pushed.
She racked up the balls and set the cue ball a few feet back. The way she moved was flawless as she slid into the correct posture and lined up her angle. She knocked off her shot, and colored balls scattered across the table to bounce off rubber bumpers. Three of them slid into pockets.
At least he already expected her to kick his ass. It almost took the edge off. Zane snorted. “That was the equivalent of showing me a scribble next to a Rembrandt, then telling me to just add shading, to make one into the other.” He dropped his stick on the table. “We should go back to the air hockey.”