Page 13 of His Last Shot

It Could Never Happen, Slick

Rachel

A nother month and four truck dates later, I’m still obsessed with the man currently bending over the table to take his final shot. And winning another pool game for my uncle. And getting his team one step closer to the tournament.

How do I know I’m obsessed? Because I can’t stop staring at him in those jeans. It’s pure torture. I’m falling headfirst into a sinkhole I can’t crawl out of.

I avert my ogling … for the hundredth time tonight.

Okay. One more peek. Dear Lord, he’s beautiful.

The bar has died down, with a lot of the tournament guys leaving for the night, which gives me a chance to start my closing duties.

With a final stocking of beer for the next day, I close the cooler and immediately find Johnny again.

Like I always do. He’s showing another member of his team a few tips and tricks.

Slick follows my line of sight. He swivels back in his chair with a smirk on his face, lets out a low chuckle, and shakes his head.

With his subtle shift in posture and the amusing twitch of his lips, I’m pretty sure I know what’s going through his head. “What’s so funny?”

Sighing wearily, Slick slowly lifts the glass of water to his lips, the ice clinking softly, and takes a long swig. “When are you going to get out of your own head and ask him out? ”

I almost drop yet another glass, juggling it in my hands, shocked at his question. “What? Me?” Slick shrugs, with a ' Why not' expression on his face. “Maybe I’m waiting for him to ask me out.”

“Yeah, right.” He lets out a puff of air. “That man is waiting for you to make a move.”

Curiosity gets the better of me as I lean on the bar to get closer to Slick. “How do you know that?”

“He told me that night he drove me home. Which was out of his way, by the way.”

“Out of his way? How?”

He points in Johnny’s direction. “He lives forty-five minutes north of here.”

My jaw drops in surprise . How did I not know that? “Are there no other bars around closer to him that have tables? I mean, why would he drive all this way? He doesn’t even like pool tournaments.”

Slick chortles and stands, throwing three fifties on the bar, even though he’s only been sipping water all night. “Oh, I’m sure there is. But, Rachel, we both know why he drives all the way here to Dexter’s. And if you don’t know, then you’re blind.”

I do know. But still…

I shake his absurd assumption out of my head as I refill the straws and napkin holders. Johnny comes here for me … I know it’s true. But that doesn’t change anything. “It could never happen, Slick. As soon as he found out about me, that would be it. There’s no point even dwelling on it.”

Slick’s old and weathered hand lands on top of mine, stopping it.

I drag my gaze to meet his. A stark line etches across his forehead.

“Don’t take away his right to choose if that would be a problem.

You are deciding for him, and that’s not fair.

That man has showed up here almost every night to see you.

Sure, he plays incredible pool, but that’s just an excuse, and you know it.

” He squeezes my hand. “He could very possibly be exactly what you deserve in your life. Don’t let your insecurities get in the way of a lifetime of happiness.

” He gives me a final tap of his hand, grabs his jacket, and walks out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts .

His words give me pause. Is he right? Am I sabotaging a possible good thing with my own hang-ups and insecurities? Johnny is a good guy. No, strike that, he is a GREAT guy. Hope swells in my chest as I build up enough nerve to ask him out tonight.

Can I do this?

Heavy footfalls come from the hallway beside the bar, and that can only mean one thing: My uncle is leaving for the night. All hopeful thoughts of Johnny get tossed out the window as he makes his approach.

“How were sales tonight, Rachel?” he asks as he swivels a bar stool and sits.

“I haven’t closed out the register yet, but good. We were busy. Word is getting out about that one”—I point to Johnny—“and people want to come and try to beat him.”

He turns, the sharp crack of another pool ball breaking echoes in the otherwise silent bar, to watch Johnny shoot. He observes him land four balls in a row with little effort. “Huh. He’s that good?”

“No one can beat him. Basically, they are just showing up to rack. So yeah, he’s that good.

” My uncle’s attempts at conversation are lame.

He knows about the gambling that goes on around these tournaments.

Gambling that I am sure isn’t one hundred percent legal.

Needless to say, Johnny has made him a lot of money these last two months.

My uncle assumes that Micah and I are ignorant to what goes on behind the scenes at this place. Illegal gambling and tax evasion are the two that we know of. Which is another reason I want to go to nursing school and get out of here before it all catches up to him.

And it will catch up to him.

It’s just a matter of time. And I don’t want to be here for the fallout. Whether it’s from the cops or someone he’s wronged, count me out of all of it.

Micah, too.

I need a conversation change because there is no way I want my uncle to figure out that I may or may not have feelings for Johnny.

Okay, fine. I have feelings. Lots and lots of feelings that I need to squash.

Pronto .

I clear my throat as I cover the lime and lemon wedges. “Have you picked up your tux for the wedding yet?” This weekend, my brother and his lovely fiancée, Shelby, will be tying the knot. It’s been a long time coming, and I’m excited.

“Not yet.”

I roll my eyes. “You realize you need to do that by tomorrow, right?” The wedding is in two days, and my uncle is the biggest procrastinator.

He waves me off, not even glancing at me as he studies Johnny. “I will. Don’t worry.”

Johnny unscrews his cue and puts it away, grabbing it, and heading in our direction.

“Crap,” I mutter under my breath. I do not want Johnny anywhere near me when Uncle Dexter is around. I don’t trust my natural reactions to his presence.

My uncle whips his head around. “What?”

Before I know it, Johnny is right in front of me. His enormous, muscular tree trunk legs carried him over here faster than the average person could. He sits his pool case down and leans forward, his forearms resting on the bar, flashing me his famous smile.

God, those stupid dimples! I just want to stick my finger in them, then kiss them.

Okay, Rachel … not now.

He’s wearing his signature dark denim jeans that are tight but not too tight and a gray Henley that hugs his broad shoulders and chest. His hair is styled to perfection as usual, and the way he smells is simply divine.

Cedarwood mixed with vanilla. His face is smooth and clean-shaven.

There has been no stubble on this man’s face.

Ever. And all I want to do is run my fingers over his jaw to know if it’s as velvety smooth as it looks.

It probably is.

I sigh internally. He’s perfect.

“Hey, Rachel.” His deep, smooth voice instantly churns my insides to goo. “Let me know when you want me to start shutting down the tables. ”

This catches my uncle’s attention. He immediately sits straighter, his piercing gray eyes pin me in place. His accusatory expression is full of questions I don’t want to answer.

With clenched fists, his attention focuses on the object of my affection. “You’ve been staying to help Rachel close up?” He raises his voice slightly, being dramatic as usual.

Johnny pivots effortlessly, unfazed by my uncle’s aggressive stance and booming voice. “Oh, hey there, Dex. Didn’t see you sitting there.”

I snort out a laugh at Johnny’s obnoxiously cheerful tone. Oh, he saw him, alright. No one has ever made such an effort to make my uncle appear unimportant. I like it and fear it, all in equal measure.

“It’s Dexter,” my uncle retorts, his grip tightening around the stool handle.

Ignoring the correction, Johnny continues.

“Yep, I’ve been staying and helping Rachel with the tables at the end of the night when I’m here.

” Johnny turns, scanning the worn green felt of the pool tables, and lets out a long, low whistle that echoes slightly in the dimly lit room.

“I mean, that’s a lot of tables to clean,” he states, addressing my uncle again, “especially on tourny nights. As a man, it would be unkind and rude of me to leave her here to fend for herself.” He regards my uncle again and cocks his head to the side. “Wouldn’t you agree, Dex?”

The accusation hangs heavy in the air. Johnny has seen Dexter leave night after night. Leaving me here to close on my own, not once offering to help, knowing I did it all by myself before Johnny waltzed into my life.

Uncle Dexter, never one to look like the bad guy, changes his mood. He smiles. But it’s his fake one. The one he wears when he’s about to destroy someone. “Your mom must have raised you right.”

Johnny smirks. “She sure did.”

Now they are having a full-on shoot-out-at-the-OK-Corral kinda stare down. Johnny’s shoulders are tense. Uncle Dexter clenches his fists, his knuckles bone-white with anger.

Dear Lord, this is ridiculous. My head pings back and forth between the two of them as if I’m at a tennis match, not knowing what to do .

Uncle Dexter breaks eye contact first. He stands and yanks the keys out of his suit pocket. “You feel okay and safe here with him?”

Oh, please. Now he’s concerned? It only shows how little he pays attention. I have been alone here in this bar with him for the past two months. His head would explode if he knew how alone we are in the back of Johnny’s truck.

“Of course. Johnny has helped a lot recently and has been nothing but kind. I’ll be fine.”

His downcast eyes, the way he lingers, and the slight tremble in his hands tells me he is reluctant to leave; my uncle, who knows me better than anyone, can see I like this guy. And that he likes me.

My breakup with Drew utterly devastated my uncle.

They are close, and he has tried and failed to get me to reconcile with him.

And in the meantime, he blocks any guy that has tried to ask me out.

Uncle Dexter is all about control. Everything and everyone around him.

And that includes me. But I can tell Johnny is different.

He is bringing in a lot of money for Uncle Dexter.

Therefore, he will put up with him pursuing me.

But for how long is the question?

Johnny addresses my uncle. “I’ll make sure she’s safe”—he turns to me and grins —“like I always do.”

My heart explodes. God, this man.

Uncle Dexter wiggles out of the barstool and faces me, done with Johnny. And, per usual, he has to have the last word. “Remember Drew is picking you up for the wedding Saturday at noon? Be ready. He’ll be excited to see you.”

Shoot me now. He knows what he’s doing. Tossing Drew’s name out there as if we are a couple to throw Johnny off. My eyes dart to the object of my desire. His shoulders sag in defeat. I only agreed to go with Drew to, again, keep the peace with my uncle.

Uncle Dexter lets out a huff and waddles out of the bar, humming, satisfied with himself.

There's a churning deep in my gut, wondering what’s going through Johnny’s head. His retreating form, fading footsteps, and head hanging low cause my chest to pinch. He probably thinks Drew and I are back together. Panic creeps up my neck.

I need to do some damage control, pronto.