Smitty’s was packed to the rafters with locals out for a little recreation after a hard week of scraping a living from the black soil of North East Texas. Hank paused inside the door, soaking in the familiar ambiance of stale spilled beer and the lingering stench of cigarette smoke from the days before smoking had been banned in the bar. The jukebox belted out a country ballad. It wasn’t his style, but he could tolerate it. Someone shoved a cold Lone Star longneck into his hand as he passed the bar. He took a long swig and sized up the competition in the back room. Chris and Randy waited for the center table to free up. He joined them, leaning against the wall.
“Glad you could make it,” Chris greeted him. “The table should be free in a few minutes.”
“I’d never miss a chance to whoop the two of you.”
“Right.” Randy smirked. “Be prepared to put your money where your mouth is. I’ve been practicing while you’ve been gallivanting your pansy-ass all over the world.”
“I’ve never needed practice to clean your pockets. How much are you planning to part with tonight?”
They were still haggling over the size of their bets when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Hank turned, scanned the room. He was just about to dismiss the feeling as nothing when he saw her. Mel Harper. It took a couple of seconds before her gaze met his, but when they locked, something flared between them, and he couldn’t look away.
She wore denim. Expensive, designer denim. The short jacket matched the jeans and parted to reveal a white lace camisole. His gaze skimmed down her long legs to her sexy high heel sandals. Her toenails, painted a soft pink, matched her fingernails. She’d pulled her shoulder length hair into a high ponytail that swung side-to-side every time she moved. She sparkled like a diamond in a box of rocks.
Lord help him, but he wanted her.
He took a step in her direction, his gaze fixated on the patch of skin peeking out from the collar of her jacket. He’d start by tasting her there. A swish of hair crossed his line of sight, drawing his gaze up to troubled blue eyes. She shook her head and turned to leave.
He pounced, crossing the room in three steps and grabbed her by the elbow to halt her retreat. “Wait.”
“Let go of me, Hammer.”
Hank flinched at the nickname. He loosened his grip on her arm, and she twisted enough to break the contact. The voice of reason whispered in his head, Let her go, but instead he said, “Stay a while. We were about to play a game or two.”
Her gaze darted around him to Chris and Randy. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
There was disgust and something else, fear perhaps, in her eyes. She turned, making a beeline to the door. He let her go. What else could he do? He cursed the nickname Karen had given him and the reputation that went along with it. It was shit like the stunt Karen had pulled on him that made celebrities wary of the media.
“What was that all about?” Chris asked when he rejoined his friends in the back. A table became available, and they moved in to claim it.
“Hell if I know.” He leaned against the table and stared at the worn floorboards, absently rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. A part of him told him he’d just dodged a bullet, but another insisted she was worth the risk. Which one was right?
“What did you do to her?” Randy asked. “She high-tailed it out of here with the chick who owns the bakery downtown. You would have thought there was a skunk chasing them they were moving so fast.”
He straightened. “All I did was invite her to play a round of pool with us. I hardly know the woman.”
“Didn’t look that way from here,” Chris said.
Hank grabbed a pool cue and chalked the tip. “She called me Hammer.”
Chris racked the balls. “So?”
“So, she knows who I am. I guess she believes everything she reads.”
“She’s a reporter. She should know better,” Randy said, circling the table to give Hank room at the end.
Hank positioned the cue ball and lined up his shot. “I don’t want to talk about it. Okay? I came here to play pool. Let’s get on with it.”
“There is some good news in all of this,” Randy persisted.
“You obviously see something I don’t, so fill me in,” Hank said.
“Well, she knows who you are now, and it’s obvious she doesn’t want to be anywhere near you, so the chances of her using your dad to get close to you just dipped to zero.”
Chris nodded. “He’s got a point.”
“Will you two stick a sock in it and just play?”
Leave it to those two to point out the flaws in his logic.
His friends were like two dogs with a ‘coon in a tree. They wouldn’t leave it alone. He lost the first game to Chris, and the second to Randy. He paid up without comment and settled his bar tab. He left his friends to play a winner-takes-all round without him.
Randy was right. She should know better than to believe everything she reads, which begged the question, why was she so upset to find out who he was? And the other question he couldn’t shake—why did he care?
“Glad you could make it,” Chris greeted him. “The table should be free in a few minutes.”
“I’d never miss a chance to whoop the two of you.”
“Right.” Randy smirked. “Be prepared to put your money where your mouth is. I’ve been practicing while you’ve been gallivanting your pansy-ass all over the world.”
“I’ve never needed practice to clean your pockets. How much are you planning to part with tonight?”
They were still haggling over the size of their bets when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Hank turned, scanned the room. He was just about to dismiss the feeling as nothing when he saw her. Mel Harper. It took a couple of seconds before her gaze met his, but when they locked, something flared between them, and he couldn’t look away.
She wore denim. Expensive, designer denim. The short jacket matched the jeans and parted to reveal a white lace camisole. His gaze skimmed down her long legs to her sexy high heel sandals. Her toenails, painted a soft pink, matched her fingernails. She’d pulled her shoulder length hair into a high ponytail that swung side-to-side every time she moved. She sparkled like a diamond in a box of rocks.
Lord help him, but he wanted her.
He took a step in her direction, his gaze fixated on the patch of skin peeking out from the collar of her jacket. He’d start by tasting her there. A swish of hair crossed his line of sight, drawing his gaze up to troubled blue eyes. She shook her head and turned to leave.
He pounced, crossing the room in three steps and grabbed her by the elbow to halt her retreat. “Wait.”
“Let go of me, Hammer.”
Hank flinched at the nickname. He loosened his grip on her arm, and she twisted enough to break the contact. The voice of reason whispered in his head, Let her go, but instead he said, “Stay a while. We were about to play a game or two.”
Her gaze darted around him to Chris and Randy. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
There was disgust and something else, fear perhaps, in her eyes. She turned, making a beeline to the door. He let her go. What else could he do? He cursed the nickname Karen had given him and the reputation that went along with it. It was shit like the stunt Karen had pulled on him that made celebrities wary of the media.
“What was that all about?” Chris asked when he rejoined his friends in the back. A table became available, and they moved in to claim it.
“Hell if I know.” He leaned against the table and stared at the worn floorboards, absently rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. A part of him told him he’d just dodged a bullet, but another insisted she was worth the risk. Which one was right?
“What did you do to her?” Randy asked. “She high-tailed it out of here with the chick who owns the bakery downtown. You would have thought there was a skunk chasing them they were moving so fast.”
He straightened. “All I did was invite her to play a round of pool with us. I hardly know the woman.”
“Didn’t look that way from here,” Chris said.
Hank grabbed a pool cue and chalked the tip. “She called me Hammer.”
Chris racked the balls. “So?”
“So, she knows who I am. I guess she believes everything she reads.”
“She’s a reporter. She should know better,” Randy said, circling the table to give Hank room at the end.
Hank positioned the cue ball and lined up his shot. “I don’t want to talk about it. Okay? I came here to play pool. Let’s get on with it.”
“There is some good news in all of this,” Randy persisted.
“You obviously see something I don’t, so fill me in,” Hank said.
“Well, she knows who you are now, and it’s obvious she doesn’t want to be anywhere near you, so the chances of her using your dad to get close to you just dipped to zero.”
Chris nodded. “He’s got a point.”
“Will you two stick a sock in it and just play?”
Leave it to those two to point out the flaws in his logic.
His friends were like two dogs with a ‘coon in a tree. They wouldn’t leave it alone. He lost the first game to Chris, and the second to Randy. He paid up without comment and settled his bar tab. He left his friends to play a winner-takes-all round without him.
Randy was right. She should know better than to believe everything she reads, which begged the question, why was she so upset to find out who he was? And the other question he couldn’t shake—why did he care?
