“You have a lot of experience with carpentry?” Gabe interrupted.
“I helped my brothers build a tree house! Although, technically, it collapsed,” she added, not looking the least bit abashed by this admission.
He raised an eyebrow.
“It was an educational experience! Now that I’ve learned from my mistakes, I—”
“Night,” Patrick called as he walked past toward the exit. “It was nice to meet you, Arianne.”
“You, too.” She shot the man one of her uninhibited, all-encompassing grins, and something sharp shifted inside Gabe.
Something like…possessiveness? Though he’d told himself he didn’t want to be saddled with an unrelentingly cheerful sidekick, he was growing accustomed to—maybe even appreciative of—those smiles.
“And I’ll see you this week for that pool game?” Patrick asked. But he didn’t give Gabe a chance to answer before he quickly shifted his gaze back to Arianne. “Hey! Why don’t you join us? You and Quinn? That is, if you think she’d—”
“Oh, she would!” Arianne assured him, her tone delighted. “It’s a date. So to speak.”
Gabe simply stared, his strange new to-do list slipping further out of his control. Four, go on double date.
QUINN SHIFTED in the passenger seat—she’d been uncharacteristically fidgety in the ten minutes since they’d left her house. “So would you classify this as a date, or—?”
“If it’s not, you certainly went through a lot of trouble with your appearance for no reason,” Arianne teased. “I lost count of the times you’ve asked how you look.”
Quinn sniffed. “Only twice! But I see your point. I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I? It’s not like I never date.”
“True, but when was the last time you went out with a guy you were really interested in? If it helps your nerves at all,” Arianne offered, “I think he likes you, too. I got the impression Patrick only asked me to come play pool because he was using me as a way to invite you.”
“Well, I appreciate you sacrificing your Thursday night for my sake,” Quinn said.
Arianne sent her a sidelong grin. “Hey, there are worse ways to spend an evening than shooting pool with friends.” And Gabe.
What were his thoughts on tonight’s outing? When Patrick had asked her about making this a foursome, she’d seized the chance to help Quinn jump-start her love life, not pausing to check with Gabe first. Arianne hadn’t spoken directly to him since Tuesday night’s volunteer meeting, although she had left a message on his cell phone that Kasey Kerrigan had put a deposit on the ball pit and that the principal had approved their walk-the-plank benefit.
She turned the car into the parking lot of the pool-hall-slash-dance-hall. On Tap was a favorite local hangout, known for its outdated jukebox and eye-watering hot wings. To kick off the weekend, the owners offered half-price pool and various drink specials on Thursdays, so Arianne wasn’t surprised to find that the lot was nearly three-quarters full.
“You’re sure you aren’t the tiniest bit anxious?” Quinn asked as Arianne parked the car.
“Me? Why would I be?”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “Gabe Sloan? Maybe you remember him? Guy you asked out who said no, and yet here you are on a—”
“It’s definitely not a date for us. We’re more like…the chaperones for you and Patrick. But don’t worry. I promise to turn a blind eye if you two crazy kids want to make out.”
They got out of the car, and Arianne spotted Gabe’s red truck among the other vehicles. A frisson of anticipation zinged through her—involuntary and completely unwise. Still, she heard herself ask, “Just for the sake of argument, if I wanted to know how I looked—”
Quinn flashed a thumbs-up. “Gorgeous. Different but gorgeous.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Though both women were wearing dark jeans, Arianne’s top was nothing like her friend’s fuzzy pastel sweater. Arianne had second-guessed her first choice—a long-sleeved V-neck—because of how revealing it would be when she leaned across the pool table. She didn’t need to distract her opponents with cleavage to win. Instead, she’d gone with a black turtleneck that looked fairly dramatic with her coloring. She’d braided her hair and selected a pair of long silver earrings Rachel had given her for Christmas one year.
The noise hit them before they’d even reached the front door—a buzz of voices, billiard balls clicking against each other as they spun across the green and the guitar-heavy angst of an ’80s hair-band ballad. Inside, Arianne felt absorbed by the sound and energy of the crowd.
“There they are,” Quinn said from behind her.
The men had already secured a pool table and were selecting cues. Gabe took a practice shot, and Arianne’s mouth went dry as she watched the play of muscles beneath his T-shirt. The scuffed leather jacket he’d worn the other night was draped over a nearby chair.
Quinn laughed suddenly. “I feel like I missed the uniform memo.”
“What?” With disciplined effort, Arianne did not check out Gabe’s denim-clad backside as he bent again.
“You two look like twins. Or at least partners in crime,” she amended.
Gabe and Arianne were both clad in monochromatic black. Patrick was more colorful in a red-and-blue-striped shirt with khakis. He brightened visibly when he spotted the women approaching.
“Quinn! Ari. Looks like we just beat the rush,” Patrick observed. “This was the last table available.”
Gabe nodded his hello. “Ladies.” His gaze flicked from Quinn to Arianne. His features were unreadable, but Arianne could have sworn that his glance lingered. Her skin warmed. Did he like what he saw?
“Can I get either of you a drink?” Patrick volunteered.
“I’ll take a beer.” Arianne pulled a five-dollar bill out of her pocket.
“I’ll come with you,” Quinn said.
Patrick grinned at her, then turned to Gabe. “Ready for a refill?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He’d placed the triangle on the felt and was racking the balls.
The two teachers headed for the bar, leaving Arianne and Gabe alone.
“I hope this is okay with you,” she said. “Quinn and I joining your boys’ night?”
He raised his eyes just long enough to give her a pointed look. Was he implying that it was unlike her to worry about boundaries?
She cleared her throat. “You got my message about the plank and ball pit? We’re officially a ‘go.’”
“Yep.”
“Have you had time to think about the actual ship yet?”
“Yep.”
She walked toward the wall where the cues hung. “So, are you any good at pool?” If he said yep, she was bashing him with one of the sticks.
“Not bad.” But there was a spark of underlying mischief in his tone that made her suspect he was being modest. “You?”
“I hold my own.” She studied a stick, then rolled it over the table to make sure it wasn’t warped. “My brothers taught me to play. Tanner used to be the black sheep of our family. For a while, I thought he might skip college and just hustle pool for a living. But he went on to get a prestigious degree and a job in finance. Just goes to show people can change, huh?”
Gabe leaned against the side of the table, his expression pained. “If that’s your way of suggesting I—”
“I wasn’t ‘suggesting’ anything, only making conversation.” She peered up at him with innocent eyes. “Do you always think everything’s about you?”
He shook his head at her denial. “Like I’m going to trust someone dressed as a junior cat burglar?”
“You’re one to talk,” she rejoined, raking her gaze over him. “Quinn said we look like twins.”
That startled a rusty laugh out of him. “Arianne, we couldn’t be less alike if we tried.”
After Patrick and Quinn returned with the beverages, it soon became clear that Gabe and Arianne had at least one thing in common—they were definitely better at pool than their companio
ns.
Quinn reached blindly toward the wall rack and grabbed the closest cue stick to her. “Do we have to play by the formal rules of calling a shot for it to count?” She wrinkled her nose. “If I have to give up the ones I make out of sheer dumb luck, I could be in trouble.”
“How about for the first game, while we’re getting warmed up, we only call the last pocket to win?” Patrick suggested. He grinned boyishly. “I’m out of practice, but even when I played, I was never exactly pool-shark material. No pointing and laughing, I beg you.”
“And,” Quinn added, “no accidentally knocking your opponents’ balls in just to give yourself competition.”
Arianne studied the ceiling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m starting to think,” Patrick said, “that Quinn and I should not be on the same team. No offense, Quinn.”
“None taken,” she agreed cheerfully. “It would be a slaughter.”
“So how do we want to pair up?” Arianne asked. “Girls against guys?”
“Or you and Patrick can take on Quinn and me,” Gabe suggested.
That met with everyone’s approval, and they flipped a coin to see which team would break. Patrick did an all right job with that task, although no balls were pocketed. Quinn put in a stripe but scratched in the process. Arianne knocked in two solids before misjudging a bank, and then it was Gabe’s turn. He sank three consecutive balls, one of which was a beautiful behind-the-back shot.
“All right, now you’re just showing off,” Arianne chided.
He dazzled her with a lazy smile. “Maybe.”
It was criminal that he had a smile like that and so seldom used it.
On the other hand, at least he wasn’t abusing its power—irresponsibly flashing it at unsuspecting women. When he grinned at her, Arianne couldn’t even look away. She wanted to go to him, run her thumb over the dimpled brackets along his mouth, brush her finger over those lips…
“Um, guys?” Quinn’s voice was hesitant. “It’s still our team’s turn, right?”
Embarrassment warmed Arianne as she realized she’d lost track of time and place staring at Gabe. Then again, he’d been staring back. His smile had disappeared, but he looked no less sexy without it. Stop gawking already! Arianne whirled around to the railing where her beer sat. She sipped slowly, taking a moment to compose herself. With her back turned, she missed Gabe’s shot.
Apparently so did he. She caught his soft “damn” and smiled against her glass. Her flustered reaction to him wouldn’t be nearly as humiliating if he was equally rattled.
They completed another round of turns with Patrick making the only shot. Though Quinn missed, she made strategic progress by leaving absolutely nothing for Arianne. Gabe lined up a shot, but put too much spin on the ball, ricocheting it off the corner tip instead of into the pocket.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Patrick, you’re up. I believe it’s my turn to get drinks? Anyone need anything?”
When Quinn and Patrick both accepted a second round, Arianne slid off the stool where she’d been perched. “I’ll help carry.”
Of course you will, Gabe thought ruefully. Last week he’d had the exasperated thought that Arianne Waide was difficult to escape. She had a certain aura of inevitability, but he no longer found that annoying. When had that changed?
Maybe at Tuesday’s festival meeting, when she’d been so protective of grandmotherly Mrs. Momsen and so sincere in her gratitude. In small doses, Arianne’s exuberance could be refreshing.
Or maybe his feelings toward her had softened tonight when he’d caught sight of her in the formfitting turtleneck. It was difficult to think of her as nothing more than an adorable pain in the butt when she looked so artlessly sophisticated.
And he wasn’t the only one who noticed. As they walked through the crowd, Gabe wondered if she was aware of the way men’s gazes followed her. It occurred to him for the first time to be surprised that she, unlike her happily married brothers, was single.
They reached the bar, politely elbowing their way into the waiting throng.
“Lot more crowded tonight than on Wednesdays,” Gabe noted.
She slanted an assessing look at him, searching for something.
“What?”
“I have a question that’s none of my business.”
“And you’re showing restraint and decided not to ask?”
“Hell, no. I was just debating the best way to broach it.” She smiled at him unrepentantly.
Gabe smothered a laugh, not wanting to encourage her. “You’re something else.”
“Lovable,” she supplied promptly. “That’s what my family calls me.”
“Maybe when you’re in earshot.”
“Why, Mr. Sloan, did you just make a joke?”
“No, I was serious.” But he grinned down at her.
“So why don’t we see more of you in here on the weekends?” she asked. “You used to drop by on occasional Fridays and Saturdays.”
“My God, you really are a stalker.”
The blush climbing her cheeks belied the dismissive way she rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like I memorized your schedule. It’s just that you don’t exactly blend into the crowd.”
His humor faded. She didn’t know how accurate the statement was. Even before his escalating flirtation and doomed one-night stand with Shay had made him an outcast in Mistletoe, he’d never even felt as though he belonged in his own home. He had early memories of feeling self-conscious in school when the class worked on crafting homemade gifts for Mother’s Day and events where parents were invited to participate.
“I meant because you’re tall,” Arianne said, the soft apology in her voice like a blade.
He flinched away from her pity. “Well, we can’t all be short.”
“What can I get—” The bartender, who had just handed over two drinks to the people in front of them, began the question by rote but stopped when he saw it was Gabe. “Usual?”
“No, make it a beer tonight,” Gabe said. “Four beers.”
The man did a double take. “Really?”
Gabe glared.
“Coming right up.”
Would Arianne attribute the man’s surprise to Gabe’s actually being here with others?
“I normally stick to sodas,” he found himself explaining.
“You don’t drink?”
“I just ordered a beer, didn’t I?” How could someone like Arianne Waide, with her cheerful can-do attitude and supportive family and friends, understand why Gabe felt like he couldn’t indulge in the luxury of relaxing, of just letting go? In the past year especially, he’d felt compelled to stay on his guard. It wasn’t that he was afraid of fueling gossip. It was more…Anger, he realized.
Tara Hunaker hiring him as a flimsy ploy to seduce him, Mike Renault—the closest thing Gabe had to a friend—moving to Athens over the summer, Gabe’s own certainty that his father was never going to forgive him for sins real or imagined. If he wasn’t guarded with his emotions, they might spill over in dark ways. I should’ve left a long time ago.
The bartender passed over their beers, and Gabe handed Arianne hers. “Cheers.”
Back at the pool table they found Patrick and Quinn deep in conversation. By their body language, it was easy to see that the attraction between them was mutual, and Gabe wasn’t the least surprised when Patrick sheepishly asked if Arianne and Gabe would mind playing the next game alone.
“Somehow Quinn tricked me into agreeing to dance.” He smiled into the woman’s eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you—I’m actually better at pool than dancing.”
She laughed. “I’m good enough on the dance floor to compensate.”
“Lead on,” he said, looking as if he’d follow her into traffic if that’s what she wanted.
Arianne watched them go, and Gabe noticed the wistful tinge to her expression. Again he wondered why she was single.
Gabe could think of a dozen guys
easy who would be happy to date her. The thought set his teeth on edge, and he grabbed the triangle. “You know how to play nine ball?”
“Of course.”
“Best out of three?”
She held out her hand. “I’ll rack.”
He passed over the triangle, and their fingers brushed. There was no reason, except for prolonged celibacy, for his blood to beat harder in his veins. After all, it was a mere touch, not the full-body contact of her hug the other night. Still, as he watched her set the balls in the appropriate diamond, he couldn’t quite marshal his physical reaction or the direction of his thoughts. Arianne was a beautiful woman with a very sexy body.
And a hell of a pool player, he was forced to admit when she beat him handily in the first round with a four-nine combination.
He raised his beer in salute. “Impressive.”
She grinned over her shoulder, reaching for her own drink. “Hey, I have moves.”
“I’ll bet.” He’d said that aloud? He busied himself setting up the next game to avoid her reaction.
She broke. After he’d bent to take his turn, she said, “You know when I said earlier that I’d seen you in here on the weekends? Your height wasn’t the only reason I noticed you.”
His shot went wild. Was she flirting with him? The prospect was far more tempting than it should have been.
“No comments from the peanut gallery while I’m shooting,” he admonished.
“All right.” She stepped forward and called the one in the side left pocket. Then she stalled under the pretext of aiming. “You’re a memorable guy, Gabe.”
“I’m aware,” he grated. First thing tomorrow, he was calling his cousins, calling Mike Renault, calling any damn person who might be able to help him make an anonymous fresh start somewhere.
“You turned down Candy Beemis,” she said, sounding awestruck.
“If you say so. Take your freaking shot already.”
She missed and moved aside, seeming unfazed. “I was buying a drink and heard her ask you to dance. You told her no. That was extremely memorable and possibly the only refusal she’s ever received. Candy’s the most attractive woman in Mistletoe.”
Mistletoe Hero Page 6
