His Risk to Take

Her hand rested on the bar’s edge, feminine fingers curling and uncurling into her palm as if restless to touch something. He thought of that hand sliding down the front of his jeans while he sucked on her bottom lip. Her breath would catch against his mouth, right before those graceful fingers gripped him.

All at once, the idea of taking her home became irresistible. Urgent. Unable to help himself, he leaned in closer. Too close. “Ask nicely, and I’ll think about it.”

She stilled, the smirk vanishing from her face. Troy could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

He’d shocked her right back. Good. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m not particularly in the mood for fun.”

“That’s too bad.” She accepted a handful of quarters from the bartender with a nod. “I’m a regular laugh riot.”

He flicked a glance over her shoulder at the pool table. “If you’re looking for fun, you won’t find it there, either. I think you might be a little out of your league.”

“You think so?” Amusement flashed across her face. “Care to make it interesting?”

“Bet on you to win?” Troy shook his head. “I don’t gamble.”

Ruby crossed her arms and leaned against the bar, facing him. “You don’t gamble, and you’re not in the mood for fun. Maybe I picked the wrong guy to buy me a drink. Should I ask one of your friends instead?”

Over his dead body. They weren’t getting within two feet of her. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

“Then I’d advise you to be a little nicer.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

At having her words thrown back at her, Ruby tossed back her head and laughed. Heat flooded Troy at the sight of her long, elegant neck exposed in the soft bar light. Her lips parted to release a slow, throaty sound that he immediately wanted to hear again. “I’ll tell you what…” She raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Troy Bennett.”

“Troy Bennett.” She repeated his name, and the muscles in his belly tightened. He had a sudden vision of her moving beneath him in the dark. Eyes closed, head thrown back as she screamed his name. “My turn is up. If I win my game, you buy me a drink. Is that fair?”

Leaning back in his chair, he nodded. “And if you lose?”

She didn’t answer, merely sent him a wink and sauntered toward the pool table. After exchanging a few quick words with her opponent, who looked to be humoring her, Ruby took off her coat and threw it over a chair. Troy watched dumbfounded as she shook her yoga mat and two unconnected ends of a pool stick fell out. As she screwed the two ends together, she blew him a kiss.

Chapter Two

Ruby leaned against the wall, chalking her stick, waiting for the dickhead wearing artfully ripped jeans to break. Feeling eyes on her, she looked up and met Troy’s gaze where he sat with his friends at the bar. To his credit, he hadn’t turned to them the second she’d walked away to dissolve into a dude-giggle-fest over their decidedly odd encounter. Instead, he sat there watching her, all steamy and intense-like, as if he didn’t want to let her out of his sight. It kind of rattled her.

She liked it.

As a lifelong gambler, she’d put money on him being new in town. He hadn’t quite developed that polite, polished disinterest New Yorkers tended to have. His dark brown hair hadn’t been cut in a while, his clothes were a touch too casual for a Friday night.

A little rough around the edges, Troy stood out.

And he’d actually refused to buy her a drink. First time for everything. She mentally shrugged, pushing his presence out of her head and focusing on the game.

Although Denim Dickhead had pretended to be shocked by her offer to play for money, he’d ponied up in the end. Twenty bucks a ball. Not bad, considering it had been a slow night. Finally, he leaned across the green felt and broke. Ruby smiled as the colorful balls rolled into various positions, none of them ending up in a pocket. She began to circle the table.

All right, here we go. Mama needs a new pair of shoes. I’m taking stripes. Sink that eleven hanging over the pocket and use the rail to knock out the nine ball where it’s wedged against the six. That’ll leave open the twelve, fourteen, and fifteen. Once I drop the fifteen, using a little English to bring me to the other end of the table, I’ll sink the nine and the thirteen into the same corner pocket, gently tapping the eight off the rail in the process so I don’t get stuck later having to bank it.

Knock in the ten, then I’m wide open to finish it off. I’m 160 dollars richer, and he’s still a dick in ripped jeans.

Ruby leaned over the table and got to work. She tried not to let the whispers from the guy’s girlfriend unnerve her as she followed her plan, methodically and precisely. It had always been her Achilles’s heel.

Girls her own age whispering about her. Commenting on her clothes. Wondering what kind of a girl shows up to a bar alone, late on a Friday, and proceeds to hand their boyfriend an ass-whipping on the pool table. This kind of girl. The kind who doesn’t know any other way to put food on the table.

As she lined up her shot on the ten ball, she looked up at Troy and felt a little of her concentration slip. He didn’t have an ounce of amusement on his face, like his two friends did. More than anything, he looked fascinated, like she was a puzzle he wanted to figure out.

She didn’t need figuring out.

“Go ahead and order me a Maker’s on the rocks.

I’ll be there in a second,” she called to him and had the pleasure of watching his mouth tilt up at the sides. God, but the man was drop-dead, crazy-as-hell sexy. She’d dropped into O’Hanlon’s on a whim, never having stumbled across much competition there before, but felt lucky now that she had. If Troy turned out to be half as interesting as she suspected, she might even let him kiss her before she hopped on the R train back to Brooklyn.

As Troy turned to signal the bartender, she leaned back over the table and sunk the remaining two balls. When she finished, her opponent stood next to his girlfriend, looking, well… hustled. And not the least bit happy about it. Ruby tamped down a flare of apprehension when he pushed away his consoling girlfriend with a muttered obscenity and strode toward her purposefully.

“You’re not getting a dime of my money,” he said inches from her face. “I don’t pay cheaters.”

Ruby held her ground, even smiled pleasantly.

“I didn’t realize winning equaled cheating. It’s no one’s fault but your own for assuming I couldn’t play because I have boobs.”

His cheek twitched in warning. “You know what you need? A good—”

“Stiff drink?” Troy spoke up behind Ruby, handing her a rocks glass of bourbon over her shoulder. “That’s what you were going to say. Right?” His words were smoothly good-natured, but she could hear the underlying steel in his tone as he addressed Angry Denim. The guy looked like he wanted to keep arguing, but when Troy silently edged around to stand in front of her, he thought better of it. Splitting a furious look between her and Troy, he tossed a wad of money on the table and walked away. Ruby slipped it quickly into her back pocket without looking at Troy.

She unscrewed her cue and replaced it inside the yoga mat, then hopped up onto one of the bar stools surrounding the pool table. Troy leaned against the high, round table, close enough that her knee brushed his stomach.