To Catch A Player (Second Chance)

by Piper Sullivan

  “Oh.” Her shoulders fell for a moment and then she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. “Oh, well. I’m hopeless, and that’s an established fact. So if he’s too scared to speak up or make a move, then we’re both totally screwed. Or not screwed, I suppose.”

  “Just read the clues. No guy is coming to offer to buy you a drink because he thinks you’re thirsty. Or poor.”

  I bit back a laugh at Ginger’s sarcasm but Reese glared at her. “Blah, blah, blah. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Mostly. But don’t just be here, be present.”

  “What in the hell does that mean?” Even though her back was to me, I could almost see the incredulous look on Reese’s face.

  “It means you say yes to the next guy who offers to buy you a drink.” Ginger’s smug tone was guaranteed to rub Reese the wrong way, and I had just the solution to that problem.

  Or… something.

  Reese

  “The next guy? Absolutely not!” The next guy could be anyone. Some married sleazeball. Some frat boy barely on the right side of legal. Someone else unsavory. “That’s a little too adventurous for my blood.”

  Ginger growled at me like a little bear. “Seriously? It’s Tulip, do you think Wyatt Earp is gonna waltz in and steal your virtue?”

  “Virtue? Get real.”

  “Then what are you so afraid of?”

  “Nothing.” Everything.

  “Do it.”

  “No.” There was no way I would say yes to this, especially when I’d seen Jackson around earlier looking gorgeous and brooding. “Absolutely not.”

  “Yes!”

  A shadow crossed the table, and I felt the temperature change in the room. I was pretty sure the felt on the pool tables had started to singe. “Evenin’, ladies.”

  “Good evening, Detective.” I flashed my best professional smile, the one I wore when the town was bombarded with hungry, entitled tourists. “Having a good night?”

  “Better now that I’m looking at two of Tulip’s prettiest women. Mind if I buy you ladies a refill?”

  I looked down at my icy gin martini, half empty, and turned back to Jackson. “My drink isn’t empty yet.”

  He flashed a predatory grin and I knew I was in trouble. But then the irksome man went and claimed the extra seat at our table. “That’s all right. You can tell me how the sauce tests are going while you finish this one.”

  I was genuinely surprised, and I turned to Ginger who only shrugged, barely containing her delighted glee. “What’s going on here?”

  He leaned in with a gleam in his eyes. “It’s called conversation, Reese. So?”

  I didn’t trust it and I didn’t trust him. He was up to something and I didn’t know what, not yet. But I would. Soon. A middle-aged foursome gathered up the balls and the rack and I stood to claim the table. “You can buy the next round while we beat you at a game of pool.”

  “You’re on.” He followed us to the pool table without another word and I realized he was waiting for me to answer his original question.

  “The sauces are coming along fine. I’m not completely happy with either, but the cherry beer inspired another sauce that’s simmering in the slow cooker as we speak.” Cherry and cola flavored barbecue sauce would pair well with pork, I just had to figure out when to introduce it.

  “I’m happy to taste anything you need, just say the word.” He laughed when I glared at him, working hard to look something he hadn’t been in ages. Innocent.

  The thought of him tasting anything I needed was tempting. The memories were strong enough that it didn’t take a lot of booze or much imagination to take me right back there, to his head buried between my legs teasing, coaxing and demanding pleasure out of me with a sexy, lazy grin.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. You want to break ’em?”

  He blinked and looked down at the table with a confused nod. “Sure.” He looked up and spotted whoever he was looking for with a grin as he waved him over. “You sure?”

  “Completely,” I assured him, keeping a close eye on his ass when he bent over the table to make a shot. The way his thighs bunched beneath his jeans the moment the pool stick struck the cue ball was mesmerizing.

  “What do you think?” I heard the amusement in his voice and I was pretty sure he’d caught me staring at his butt so I kept on looking.

  Glancing at the table, I saw two striped balls missing from the lineup. “Sufficient, I suppose. I’m next.”

  “If you think you can do better, give it a try.” I ignored his patronizing tone and all attempts by his masculine scent to worm its way into my brain. My memory.

  “I think I will.” I found a stick I was happy with, chalked it up a bit, and nailed my first shot. And my second.

  “Lucky,” he whistled, more than a little impressed.

  The third shot quieted him completely.

  “Holy shit, Reese. You’re a pool shark.”

  “Not really, but I used to play with my uncle growing up.” I had almost no playmates, but Uncle Cameron loved bar games and he loved teaching them to me.

  “I’ve been hustled,” Jackson accused, and his put-out tone tore a laugh from me.

  “Hustled? We didn’t bet on anything.”

  “Still.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t be a sore loser, Detective.” I found my next shot—the solid purple ball would go into the center right pocket. The shot was lined up and I was ready to strike it.

  “I’m not. In fact, I like you bent over the table. Just. Like. This.”

  And just like that, I missed the purple ball by a hair.

  Jackson laughed.

  I groaned.

  “Well, that was… interesting.” I glared at Ginger’s words and she snapped her mouth shut. “Sorry.”

  It wasn’t interesting. Jackson wasn’t even flirting, not really, he just wanted to win the game and that made it worse. It was worse because his phony words sent a flush of warmth through me, as if they were real. As if he meant them.

  “Where’s your partner?”

  “Righ here.” Antonio Vargas stood behind Ginger looking like he’d rather be anywhere than here, at a bar. Having fun. “My turn.”

  “Yep. You’re stripes,” I told him happily.

  Antonio looked at the table and raised his eyebrows. “Your handiwork?”

  “It’s a team effort,” I told him.

  “Sure.” Antonio moved easily for a man his size, like he knew just how to stalk any type of prey before him, rounding the table with intent in his eyes. He lined up a shot and the sound of the balls cracking together was momentarily deafening.

  “Nice shot. Might have broken the sound barrier.”

  He stared at me for a long moment and then laughed. “You’re funny.”

  “Thanks.” I frowned, unsure how I felt about that compliment. One the one hand, he sounded surprised to an offensive degree; on the other hand, it was a compliment. Wasn’t it?

  Antonio missed the next shot and Ginger took her turn, sinking one ball before she sent the cue ball sailing in after the yellow one. “Sorry.”

  “No problem. Detective Slater here is gonna show us all how it’s done. Aren’t you?”

  He glared over his shoulder at me and I smiled. “Damn straight.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “I will,” he insisted and notched his chin in the air.

  “Go on.”

  “I’m lining up my shot,” he said, amusement lining his voice.

  “The fourteen ball is easier.”

  He glared. “I know.” Yet still he lined up the yellow stripe and sank it easily. “You were saying?”

  Jackson was one ball ahead of me, and I didn’t like that at all. “You’ve just made your remaining shots more difficult.”

  “I’m not worried.” The words came out easily enough, but he hadn’t looked at the table yet.

  “I’ll wait,” I told him and grabbed my glass, finishing off the martini.

  “Dam
mit!” He turned with a glare. “You got in my head.”

  “Me? Not possible.” I set the cocktail glass down a little harder than I needed to and grabbed my stick. I got in his head? Like that was even possible for a man who had literally done a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am on someone who lived in his same small town.

  Make that very small town.

  I sank the next three balls, leaving us each with one ball plus the eight ball. The last ball, the five rolled in easily and I smiled. “No pressure,” Jackson whispered when I walked past him.

  “None at all.” When I found the perfect spot, I lined up the shot and sent the white cue ball smashing into the black one before it rolled across the table and into its final resting spot. “Yes!”

  “We won!” Ginger squealed and wrapped her arms around me before turning to our opponents. “I believe you offered to buy Reese a drink.”

  “He offered to buy both of us drinks,” I insisted.

  “He did, but the gorgeous Sheriff just walked in, and I’m gonna go try to sit on his lap,” she fake-whispered and took off before I could even call her a traitor. A deserter.

  Antonio sighed in relief. “I’m picking up pizza and wings and going home to my woman. I’m too old for this crap.” He stomped off, sliding his half-full beer into Buddy’s hands as he made his way to the exit.

  “And then there were two,” Jackson said with grim satisfaction. “Rematch?”

  “Winner buys breakfast on Saturday morning.” I held out my hand, ignoring the shot of electricity when his much bigger hand engulfed mine and he applied the smallest amount of pressure.

  “You’re on. I’m breaking.”

  “Good. It’s the only balls you’ll get a chance to sink this round.”

  He turned to look at me, his hazel eyes filled with mischief and a kind of intense heat that I actually felt on my skin. “Game on.”

  Indeed.

  No matter how many times I was forced to get up before the sun rose, it always felt unnatural. Like an alien was invading my body and trying to turn me into a dreaded morning person.

  But this was the morning of the first leg of the countywide cook-off and the start of a very hectic month. Which meant I needed the coffee to work better than it ever had before. A second cup would help, right? Probably not, but I was desperate and nervous and trying to get my emotions under control before Jackson showed up. He was probably a morning person, he seemed like the kind of guy who smiled as he walked into the office, five minutes early. On a Monday morning. Ugh.

  A few minutes later, the back door opened and Jackson stepped inside, looking good enough to eat in a plain gray T-shirt and light blue jeans with a little tear at the knee paired with matching canvas sneakers.

  “Morning, Reese.”

  And his voice was all deep and thick from lack of use, like those were the first words he’d said this morning. It had an uncomfortable level of intimacy to it that was hard to deny and I took a step back, for some reason.

  “Uh, morning, Jackson. I wasn’t expecting you already.”

  He nodded and dropped a paper bag on the table in front of the stacks of containers that were ready to go into the van to make the long haul to Overton, about thirty miles away on the other side of the county.

  “I thought you might want some time to get your game face on, but I had an early morning visitor who wanted to make sure we didn’t starve. At a cook-off.”

  His tone was sarcastic and incredulous, making me laugh. “Excellent. Savor this non-barbecue dish because twelve hours from now, you’ll think of it fondly.”

  “In that case, let’s load up the truck first and eat second.”

  I gave a short nod. “I’ll load up the van, you can enjoy your breakfast. There’s coffee in the pot still.”

  “You don’t really think I’m gonna stand here and watch while you do all the heavy lifting do you? No matter how fine your ass is, that’s never happening, Reese.” His tone was firm. Intense.

  I frowned at his display of machismo. “You’re not even southern!”

  “Newsflash, sweetheart, southerners aren’t the only ones with good manners.”

  Maybe so, but I refused to give him an inch. “Break out in a sweat if you want to,” I mumbled under my breath and grabbed a box that contained a few side dishes. We loaded the van quietly. It only took about ten minutes, since I’d stayed up late to label and organize everything to get it packed and unpacked perfectly.

  “I’m not afraid of a little sweat,” Jackson said once we were on the road, his hand wrist-deep into the bag of mystery food he still had yet to share.

  “I didn’t think you were.” I’d seen him at the gym a few times, grinding it out, before I changed my own schedule. Not to avoid him, but to have my own space.

  “Right.” He held up a long cylinder wrapped in foil. “Breakfast burritos. From Elizabeth.”

  “Bless that woman!” I grabbed it and peeled the foil back with my teeth.

  Jackson shook his head and laughed. “You are an animal, you realize that, right?” His expression was incredulous.

  “I’m not an animal!”

  “Oh, you are, but it’s kind of cute.”

  Cute. That word was the bane of my existence—and just what I needed to stay focused on my breakfast burrito and the competition ahead. It was scheduled to be a long day and I was grateful for the sustenance when I realized just how far my tent was from the parking area.

  “Great. Thanks,” I told the event organizer with my fakest smile.

  Jackson grabbed the keys from me and slid behind the steering wheel. “Hop in.”

  “I can’t. I need to start unloading, or I’ll never get my chili started in the allotted time.” Three hours might seem like lots of time, but everything had to be done from scratch right here on the fairgrounds. “Come on, Jackson.”

  “Get. In.”

  “If I get a ticket, you’re paying for it.”

  “Fine.” In less than two minutes, we were unloading everything directly into the tent with my restaurant logo splashed all over it and I smiled as my pulse started to calm down. “Thanks, Jackson.”

  “No problem. I’ll take the van back and come back to get started.”

  “Thanks. Seriously.”

  “What else is a second in command for?” There was that charming grin again.

  “Using his big muscles to carry things?”

  “That, too. Be back soon.” He winked before he turned away, whistling. Why would he wink at me? What kind of game was he playing?

  By the time Jackson returned, I was no longer concerned with whatever thoughts were on his mind. I was squarely in competition mode. Focused on nothing but the two pots of chili I had to make in the next three hours. “Where am I, Boss?”

  I pointed to the chopping station I’d set up while he was gone. “The recipe is taped to the wall, just get through all the veggies and put them in the labeled bowl when you’re done. Sit them here in the middle and we’re good. Got it?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Thank goodness. So far, Jackson didn’t need a lot of watching or babysitting, which I was grateful for. Too bad his presence made the tent feel small. Too small. His scent, a mixture of leather, mint and man, permeated the space and clung to my skin as the temperature heated up.

  It was torture.

  “Why do you care about this competition so much?”

  His question caught me off-guard. “I’m thinking of selling my own sauces.”

  He was quiet for so long I thought maybe he’d lost interest or gotten distracted by a passing beauty. “Really? That’s a great idea. What’s stopping you?”

  “Nothing but time and research.”

  “That’s my strong suit, as a detective.”

  I risked a look at him. “Are you offering to help?”

  “I am.”

  “Why?”

  Jackson’s brows dipped into a low vee. “What do you mean, why? Because I’m a nice guy?”

  “Is
that a question or a statement?”

  Jackson growled his response. “What the hell did I do to make you so damn suspicious of me?”

  He probably didn’t mean it that way, but the fact that he could ask, as if he’d forgotten completely, stung. “Not a thing,” I told him and got back to work.

  We worked in silence for the first part of the morning as the judges went around and spoke to the different competitors, but when they showed up along with Ginger and half of Tulip, ignoring each other became impossible. “We’re not done talking about this,” he whispered in my ear just as Ginger appeared with Eddy and Betty at her side.

  “Yes, we are. Good afternoon, ladies! Thanks for coming out, I hope you’re hungry for chili?”

  “Darn tootin’,” Eddy said with a grin. “This is my favorite part of the contest, the chili. Hand over a bowl, honey.”

  I handed a small paper bowl to each of them with a nervous smile. They weren’t my first visitors, but they were the only ones I could count on to give me an honest assessment of my chili. “Bon appétit, girls.”

  I turned away while they ate, my stomach doing somersaults the entire time.

  “You don’t want to watch?”

  I shook my head at Jackson’s question. “If they even make a face, it’ll get in my head and I’ll start making last-minute changes and screw everything up.”

  He laughed. “Never pegged you for the superstitious type.”

  “I’m not. Not normally, I mean. But competition has a way of getting to me.”

  “Holy damn, this is fantastic!” Ginger’s disjointed swearing drew my attention and tugged a smile across my face. “Seriously. Delicious.”

  “She’s right, even if she’s supposed to be a professional writer, and not use that kind of language.” Eddy sent Ginger some disapproving side-eye for her colorful language. “What is a ‘holy damn’?”

  She shrugged. “A step above a holy hell in deliciousness?”

  “I’ll take it, whatever it was. Thanks.”

  “See, you were worried about nothing.” Jackson’s whispered words sent a sliver of heat down my spine that curled into my veins and spread throughout my body.