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But no matter how many times she told herself that, her thoughts always circled back to him. To the way he had looked at her when their eyes had met, the way his presence had soothed the ache she didn’t know she had. And she wondered—just for a fleeting second—if he was laying in his bed just like her, wondering the same thing.

Had he stood there waiting for her to open the door? Or had he simply walked away, content with the distance?

The silence in her room seemed louder now, each second dragging on, and once again she pulled the covers tighter around her, trying to block out the thoughts, the feelings coursing through her body.

It didn’t matter how hard she tried, the ache remained.

Chapter Twelve

Leaning over the pool table, Hemlock lined up the winning shot. Truck and Razor should know better than to bet him in pool. “Eightball corner pocket, boys,” Hemlock called his shot, stood back, and smiled watching as the cue ball sailed down the rail knocking the eight ball into the corner pocket. He loved the look on his brothers’ faces when he beat them. Like it was a shock. The look never got old.

“Son of a bitch,” Truck said, shaking his head and laughing as Razor tossed the pool stick on the table. “I swear I don’t know why I subject myself to this crap.”

“Lucky bastard.” Grumbling, Razor dug money from his wallet. One day he would learn not to bet against the kid.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, boys,” Hemlock responded as he picked up his beer. Everyone had something they were good at—pool was his. Well, pool and a few other things. However, luck with the ladies was not one.

Thinking about ladies, he thought about the girl he was currently sharing his home with. Determined not to be distracted byCharlie Rose, he answered Truck’s question, “The answer to your question, Truck. You’re a sucker for a bet.”

Truck laughed and tipped his beer back. Taking a sip, he watched Hemlock rack the balls again. “So, tell me why you’re here and not at the house with cinnamon girl?”

Hemlock knew it would come up at some point with the brothers. It was common when he was involved with the fairer sex. “I gave her a place to stay, it doesn’t mean she owes me anything.”

“Is that because you’re scared of her kisses?” Razor asked before he burst into laughter.

Hemlock saw where the conversation was going. As he slowly sipped his beer, he listened as the brothers ragged on him before commenting. Unless his luck with women changed, he would continue to be the butt of his brothers’ jokes. What was he supposed to say, that Charlie was right up his alley. Having her in his home kept him awake at night. That everything from the smell of her shampoo to the way she walked through a room grabbed his attention.

“Hemlock!” Truck snapped his fingers, bringing the kid’s attention back to the now. He knew that look; Hemlock was into Charlie Rose Cote. It would end like the rest had before her, with Hemlock disappointed.

“What?” Damn, he really needed to get his mind off the girl.

“Break the rack, brother.” Truck pointed to the balls on the table. “Where were you just now?”

Ignoring the question, Hemlock turned his attention to the game. “Hold your horses. Are you in a hurry to lose?” Hemlockset his beer down and chalked his stick. He needed to keep his head on the game. Lining up his stick with the cue ball he shot the stick forward, breaking the rack—badly.

“That was a crappy break.” Razor chuckled.

“You can break next time, asshole.” Hemlock set his pool stick aside and took a seat as he waited for the others to take their shots. Lighting a clove cigarette, he watched Truck and Razor pondering their moves. He could tell they were waiting for him to tell them about Charlie. The question was, did he want to talk about her with them. It was one thing to talk to Truck about shit, but Razor he wasn’t sure about. Not yet.

Truck stood holding his pool stick in front of him as he watched Razor lining up his shot. Glancing over at Hemlock, he worried the kid was falling for the pretty brunette staying at his house. The girl was a pretty thing. Hell, if Hemlock hadn’t met her first, he would think about making a move on her himself.

“Hemlock’s somewhere else tonight.” Truck heard Razor say when he leaned into him.

“He’ll talk to us in his time.” Turning his attention to Hemlock he saw the kid was deep in thought. Truck left him sitting quietly and waited his turn at the table.

“Razor, how’s Lottie doing at the clinic?” Truck asked trying to take the focus off Hemlock.

“She’s a great addition to the staff. If I can keep Dr. Primo from running her off with his offhanded remarks and insults,” Razor said, sinking the cue ball.

Leaning over, Truck waited for the cue ball to roll out. “I’m sure Lottie can handle herself with the old man,” he commented placing the ball on the table.

Razor chalked his stick. “I think he asked her out and she turned him down.”

Truck choked on his beer. That was an image he didn’t want to have in his head. “How old is the doc? 108?” Truck asked, smirking.

“Nah, he just looks ancient,” Razor commented as he watched Truck sink his shot. Setting his beer on the rail he lined up his next shot. It took Razor three consecutive shots to win the game and take Truck’s money. “Brother you should stop betting on pool.”

“No shit,” Truck mumbled. Putting the stick in the wall rack, he took a seat next to Hemlock.