Free Burn on the Western Slope (Crimson Romance) by Angela Smith

I’ll win.”
    “You’re that sure of yourself?”
    “No. I’m that sure of the team I’m betting on. You want to play a game of pool?”
    “Pool?” That wasn’t a game she played well. Actually, she wasn’t good at many games, except maybe Monopoly, but only because most people got bored before she did. “That won’t prove how good you are. Even my grandma can beat me.”
    His shoulders shook when he laughed. He closed his eyes as he tilted his beer to his mouth. Her eyes trailed the length of his Adam’s apple, to his jawbone, and to his hand that held the beer. His hands were rough in the way a man’s hands should be rough but smooth in a delectably masculine way. She vaguely noticed him bring the bottle down and quickly averted her gaze to his.
    “We better grab a table before they’re gone,” he said.
    “No, really. I’m not very good.”
    Garret grasped her elbow. “That’s okay. Neither am I.”
    “Don’t you want to watch the game?” She didn’t want to watch the game, but she preferred to keep her butt planted right here on this stool.
    “Nah. I’m recording it at home and it’s usually too loud to hear anything. I’ll watch it later. Besides, there’s a TV near the tables.”
    Reagan drained her drink and asked for another before following Garret. The cocktail helped her to relax. “Why do people come here to watch the game if they don’t watch it?”
    “For the party.”
    They pushed through the crowd to the tables. Garret parked his bottle of Heineken beside him and racked the balls on the table.
    She gulped her drink as she admired his shoulders contract and expand under the shirt he wore. Downing the cocktail like that was a stupid thing to do and put stupid thoughts in her head, but it helped to quell the loneliness she knew would greet her as soon as she opened her condo door.
    Her breath caught in her throat when he looked at her. This time his eyes were bottle green, matching the Heineken that rested next to him on the edge of the table. His golden hair, messy but relaxed in a sexy jaunt across his forehead, coasted the length of his neck, curling at the top of his shirt collar. Desire coiled in her stomach.
    She turned and fiddled with the cue sticks, pulling out a few as if sizing them up to choose the perfect one. He stopped beside her and took one as if he knew exactly the one he wanted.
    She knew exactly what she wanted. Him.
    “You need help?”
    “No,” she said, grabbing a cue stick and almost dropping it.
    He patted his hands with talc. She followed suit.
    “You wanna break?”
    “No way,” she said, turning to him.
    He had a beautiful smile. His eyes crinkled, the smoothness across his cheeks dimpled. He was tall enough that the top of her head barely came to his chin. He carried grace and poise without being arrogant and seemed streetwise but was all country. That lent to his appeal.
    “I’ll make it easier on you,” he said. “We won’t call the shots.” He blasted in a solid ball on the break and two more before her turn.
    Taking a deep breath, she leveled the cue stick on the table and eyed a ball that looked like an easy enough target. Her hands shook. Her body jittered. She prayed Garret didn’t notice. She’d never felt so juvenile but loved the screaming adrenaline.
    She managed to pocket the nine. “Whoop!” Straightening, she threw her fist up.
    “You’re fooling me,” Garret said. “You said you couldn’t play.”
    “Lucky shot.” She skated across the floor, eyeing the table for her next move. Her dad taught her to play years ago, but skill had nothing to do with her game.
    She missed the next and Garret took his turn. He pocketed another and grinned at her, taking another swig of Heineken before taking his next shot.
    Reagan fought the urge to touch him, to see if his biceps felt as tight as they looked. Instead, she leaned in a wee bit closer and used flirting to her full advantage. “You’re really good at this,” she