Page 5 of His Last Shot

So needless to say, my past relationships and heartbreaks have made it difficult to open up my heart again.

I’m jaded now.

I study the door, indecision picking away at the scab left on my heart. Did I just allow the bitter loss of some worthless exes to impede potentially getting to know a good guy?

And the truth of the matter is this: I use the no-dating-customers rule as an excuse to not date. Those two messy break-ups did a number on me, but my RA controls my life. It’s embarrassing, and I wonder if anyone will put up with it.

I mean, Sean couldn’t.

Chronic illness and dating don’t mix well. It takes a really special and understanding person to put up with me. Because it’s not just me.

It’s me and my RA.

We are a package deal.

And my little friend has been wrecking me lately.

Just in the past few years, bone spurs have developed in my elbows, which cause major pain and my joints to lock up.

But it’s not just my elbows that give me a hard time.

My shoulders, knees, and hips will all throw a fit.

Like today, for example. When I woke this morning, my right hip was screaming at me.

I’ve tried hard to hide the natural gait that happens when I walk, but it’s hard.

All of it is just so damn hard.

Which is why I have sworn off all men … at least until I can get my health under control. It’s hard to grasp that anyone would choose someone defective like me.

But Johnny only asked for my number .

God, this back-and-forth is driving me nuts.

Against the nagging tug of my better judgement, I hurl the rag on the counter, and as fast as my weak hip will take me, I rush toward the entrance.

With force, I swing open the door, and I’m instantly hit with the bright lights of his truck and a gust of chilly March air.

I squint against the harsh glare, my hand flying up to shield my face from the brightness.

“Wait!” I yell out, as the vapor from the air follows my plea out into the night.

He kills the lights, rolls down the window, and pokes his head out. “Are you okay?”

My breathing hitches, a frantic rhythm against my ribs, as disbelief in my actions washes over me. “I don’t date customers,” I blurt out.

Smooth, Rachel.

He grins, turns off the engine, and reaches out of the window to open the car door like the cool guy he is. Then he steps out of the massive white Silverado and leans against the door, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You had to come out here to tell me that?” he says with a chuckle.

Gosh, what am I doing? I curse silently. “Nevermind.” I pivot, my hand closing around the cool metal of the entrance handle. “What am I doing?” I mutter, shaking my head in frustration.

Boots stomp on the pavement behind me, and before I can register what is happening, his fingers reach for the handle before mine.

I turn, and this complete stranger I find myself irresistibly drawn to is right there. We are standing close. Too close. His eyes come alive as he scans my face. A single look from him is already my undoing.

Running his thumb along his lower lip, he leans in closer.

His undivided attention only on me, like a laser beam piercing through the night.

A curious glimmer softens his face. “Rachel, I hadn’t left yet because I didn’t want you to be here alone.

I wanted to make sure you locked up and got to your car safely. ”

Oh, my melting heart.

I swallow hard, and my body sags, turning to dough at his proximity .

“And I’m not asking for anything in return. Just your number and a chance to get to know you. That’s all.” His gentle tone and soft gaze compel me to pause and reflect.

He waited. Waited to make sure I was safe. This man, who I don’t even know, did that.

For me.

A customer not wanting anything is a new concept in my line of work. All men want something. Even your close relatives.

But his calm voice, soft eyes, and all-consuming presence paint a different story. All I see is …

Honesty.

Trust.

Temptation.

The words threaten to spill out uncontrollably; with a rush of adrenaline, I ask him back inside. “Do you want to come back in? Keep me company while I clean?”

He opens the door wide. “I’ll do you one better.” He grins. God, the dimples again. “I’ll help you clean up.”

Thirty minutes later, the bar is ready to go for the next day. With Johnny’s help, I got done with what normally takes me an hour to do. My joints are thanking him. Especially my hip and elbows.

It was hard to concentrate, though, because I watched Johnny clean, and cover the twenty pool tables as if he was getting paid.

You can tell the man loves the game. Plus, closing down those tables at the end of the night is the bane of my existence.

I watched as he brushed the tables, each stroke deliberate.

With a keen eye, he polished the rails, then covered each one with precision. As if he owned them all individually.

Suddenly, I find myself wanting to know his whole story.

I take off my apron and hang it next to my brother’s as Johnny strides over.

I check the time on my phone. One forty-five am.

I mean, doesn’t he have a job? I noticed the side of his truck said Givens Construction.

That’s the company that did the reno of the bar.

However, I was out with an extreme flare-up, so I wasn’t around much during the renovation.

My uncle kept me on light duty, mostly helping him in his office or working from home.

Plus, they roped off the construction area, so I didn’t see the workers much.

He leans his elbow and back along the bar while not taking his stare off the tables. “I love that you guys used worsted clothes on the tables. It plays faster, less napping, and it will last longer.” He turns to me, and I blink once, twice, because I have no clue what he just said.

He lowers his gaze. “Sorry, I’m letting my inner pool nerd show.”

I snicker. “It’s okay. I’ll let my uncle know you approve.”

“Is it true that he wants to have tournaments here?”

I nod. “Mm-hmm.” Flipping off the lights to the kitchen and bar area, I zip my coat and sling my crossbody purse over my shoulder. “He’s the president of the BPA.”

“I might love the game, but I don’t play in leagues.”

This surprises me because my stalking throughout the night revealed he is incredibly good. Like, really good. The other huge specimen of a man he was playing with never took a shot all night.

Walking out the front door, I lock it as my curiosity gets the better of me. “Why don’t you play in any leagues?”

“Too much politics. But I love the game. I’m not looking for prestige. I don’t need it.”

“Why don’t you need it?”

A sly smirk plays on his lips. “Because I know I’m great.”

A heavy silence settles, broken only by the distant chirp of a cricket, as I wonder what’s going to happen next.

“Rachel?” God, I love how he says my name. I focus on him again. “Will you come somewhere with me? I want to show you something?”

I huff out a laugh. He can’t be serious. “Yeah, okay. I don’t even know you.”

“I promise you, I am a decent guy.”

“Right. That’s what all the supposed good guys say. Trust me.” Even though I get a good feeling from this man, I still need to be cautious. My heart likes to fall fast. And that fast heart of mine has burned me .

“Fair enough.” He reaches into his back pocket.

“I tell you what.” Sliding his ID out of his wallet, he hands it to me.

“Here, take a picture of this and send it to whoever you want. Tell them you are going to Miller’s Bluff with me to hang out.

Turn on your location so whoever you send this to can track us.

We can even drive separate. What do you say? ”

I chomp on the inside of my mouth, contemplating. With hesitation and a surge of curiosity, I take his license. God, what am I doing? I just met this man.

A sigh of relief and a small satisfied smile graces his smooth, stubble-free face. Refusing to get lost in his stare, I dip my gaze to his mouth, trying to avoid being swallowed whole by his piercing eyes.

Well, that’s not any better. So I zero in on his chiseled jaw and the way his Adam’s apple rolls when he swallows.

I redirect my attention and snap a pic, texting it to my brother, and giving him Johnny’s instructions. His reply comes almost immediately.

Micah: I KNEW IT! It was the dimples, wasn’t it?

Micah: KIDDING! Be safe. Johnny’s company did our reno. Uncle Dexter says they are great guys.

A sense of peace fills my soul when he says this because I trust my brother’s judgement.

I hand him back his license, our fingers brushing as our eyes lock. Bravery propels me forward as I smirk. “Johnson Michael Givens huh?”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he drinks me in with a glimmer in his roving glare, neither of us letting go of his ID.

“You can call my Johnny.” His fingertip brushes my knuckle lightly as his words, smooth like silk, fill me from within.

Heat flares and whizzes from my hand, up my arm, and straight to my cheeks.

I let go of his ID and as I watch him pocket it, I immediately realize I didn't look at his date of birth to get his age.

Dang it!

I blink before dipping my chin and huffing out a laugh of utter disbelief in myself and my poor decision-making. “Okay. I’ll follow you there.”

At this point, I will follow him anywhere.