Page 11

I wait for the inevitable “I’m so sorry” to begin.

I’m already prepared to hate him for it, just like I do when everyone else says the empty words.

But to my surprise, he doesn’t respond at all.

Instead, he bends over to line up another shot.

He has two options on the table—one straight shot into the corner pocket and a more challenging side-pocket option.

He aims for the latter and chips it, missing.

“Your turn.” His fingers brush mine as he quietly hands off the stick.

My heart stutters as I recognize his subtle kindness. He’s giving me a temporary reprieve.

“I hope you’re not going easy on me,” I warn, accepting the pool cue.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. It was a tough shot.”

“Hooey,” I mutter, but I’m secretly pleased. Moments later, I drop my first stripe, and I turn to consider him. “When’s your birthday?”

He flashes his dimples. “September 1, 1894. I just turned twenty-five.”

“Oh.” I’m surprised to realize he’s only a few months older than Paul. I wrinkle my nose, because for some reason, Matthew and Paul do not coexist well in my brain.

I lean over the table again, my mind swimming. Paul floats to the forefront as my stomach churns with an unfamiliar sensation: guilt. It unsettles me. Matthew is far from the first simp I’ve fed lines to. It’s harmless, always is. But I’m woefully distracted nonetheless, and I miss my next ball.

“My turn.” Matthew lines up his shot and another solid slides into the pocket. He rises slowly, victorious. “Where is your apprenticeship?”

“At Raymond’s in downtown Savannah.”

“The jeweler? That Raymond?”

I’ve surprised him again. “Yes. Are you familiar with him? ”

“Of course. My mom’s engagement and wedding bands are Raymond’s. Along with half her jewelry collection. It’s a very prestigious place to apprentice.”

“Well, I work mostly in the back,” I admit. “Examining shipments, tracking inventory, and…making things.”

“You’ve made pieces that have sold at Raymond’s?”

“Yes.”

He shakes his head, hair flopping over his eyes again as he bends over. “That’s impressive, Katarina. Raymond’s standards are incredibly high.”

Matthew stands right beside me as he aims. I let my gaze wander over his grip on the pool cue and the angle of his jaw. Fresh blond stubble coats his chin and cheeks. I splay my fingers on the table as he shoots. Unsurprisingly, it’s another strike.

He thinks hard before he speaks. I tap my fingers on the table, waiting not-so-patiently for his question. He looks down, then points to my fingers. All ten are bejeweled, as usual.

“Did you make your rings?”

“All but this one,” I admit, pointing to Paul’s thick silver band on my right hand. Thank goodness the tattoo is fully hidden because he examines my fingers closely. Each one. It feels like an eternity when he stares at Paul’s ring.

Matthew misses his next shot. I sink mine.

I don’t have a question prepared, but I trace my eyes over the blond scruff on his face again. He didn’t have that when we met last week.

“When did you last bathe?”

“What?” He bursts out laughing. “What kind of a question is that?”

“And shave ,” I add, revealing my real interest. I mime rubbing a hand on my chin. “You’re all…scruffy.”

“If you must know, I haven’t bathed since yesterday morning, some thirty-six hours ago. I worked yesterday, stayed on overnight call at the hospital, then worked another full shift today. I came straight here after getting off.”

“You worked thirty-six hours at the hospital, then came here ?” My jaw drops. “Why?”

“That’s a new question, I believe.” He puts his hands on the table, challenging.

I bend over and take the shot. When another stripe bites the dust, I rise, triumphant. “Why did you work thirty-six hours straight and come here, of all places?”

“Because I wanted to see you again,” he answers, shrugging. “I wanted to see if you’re as good as I remember.”

“And?” My palms are sweating slightly. I adjust my grip on the pool stick.

“And you haven’t disappointed me,” he admits with a chuckle.

After that disclosure, I miss my next shot, but Matthew proceeds to sink two more. First, he asks me what my favorite color is.

“Today? Green.” I pluck at my emerald pantsuit to illustrate.

While I’m waiting for his sixth question, he buffs the tip of the cue with chalk.

“Any day now,” I remind him, but he continues to take his time, fingers moving around and around. He examines the head closely when he’s done, blowing lightly to scatter the excess.

“Do you have a fella? Someone courting you?” His cheeks tinge adorably pink after he asks.

I bite my lip, Paul looming once more. I’m not wholly sure what he would want me to say.

On the one hand, I absolutely know. On the other…

Paul trusts me to make the right decisions for myself and for the Wolfpack.

To do what I need to do so we build the strongest circle of contacts. He encourages it.

“Perhaps.” I stick partially to the truth. “There’s a fella back home…it’s rather complicated.” Matthew listens patiently as I waffle. “You know, I mean…we’ve known each other forever. And just…well, you know how it is.”

“Not quite.” He smiles. “Is it a yes or a no?”

“I’ve made him no promises, nor him to me.” Yes, this feels true; this I can say. “So I suppose…no? No, I’m not being ‘courted.’ It’s not like that.”

I swallow reflexively. He’s standing very close, and I’m simply fascinated by his stubble. It’s different from Paul’s and Abe’s. Theirs grows dark and full, thick sandpaper. Matthew’s blond is intriguing, and I really want to touch it. For investigative purposes, of course.

Matthew looks closely at me, and I wonder, for the briefest flicker, if he’s going to kiss me. The thought makes me terribly anxious. I hold my breath, waiting, but he steps back.

“That,” he says, pointing at me, “is the most nervous I’ve ever seen you. And the fastest I’ve ever heard you talk.”

Unnerved, I walk around the table to put some distance between us. “It’s still your shot,” I remind him. The table is quite lopsided with his one remaining ball and my five.

The way the field is aligned, he can attempt an angled chip into one of the side pockets. But it’s a steep angle. His eyes are focused, and he exhales gently as he shoots.

“This is absolute malarkey,” I announce after the ball rolls into the pocket.

He smiles and positions himself to take a chip at the eight ball.

“What, no question for that one? You don’t want to know what I plan to name my firstborn son? Or what I do at night during the full moon?”

“I can’t think of one right now, so I’m banking it for later.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be good for it later,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes.

“Eight ball, side pocket. ”

“Horsefeathers!” I examine the trick shot he’s going to attempt.

He concentrates, gnawing on his lower lip. My eyes widen, following the trajectory after he shoots. Mercifully, the ball bounces just to the side of the pocket, granting me a final reprieve.

The state of the table is downright embarrassing, and I’m desperate to rectify the situation. I pick my angle, bending down slowly.

All of a sudden, Matthew is behind me. He leans over as I line up my shot. His hand goes to my hip, more confidently than last time, with far more contact than when he thought he was teaching me how to shoot. His lips are less than an inch from my ear when he whispers to me.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, thank you. I know exactly what I’m doing,” I snap. “And so do you, ya scoundrel. Shoo!”

“But I finally thought of my question.”

I ignore him to concentrate on my shot. Just as I’m preparing to flick my wrist, he plays his trump card.

“Who did you play strip pool with, Katarina?” His whispering breath is hot against my ear.

His shocking question more than does its job. I miss my target disgracefully.

“No fair,” I whine, turning to him.

“If you don’t play fair, I certainly won’t.” He smiles wickedly. “I’m waiting on your answer, by the way.”

“I am not answering.”

“You most certainly are.”

“I most certainly am not. It’s none of your beeswax!”

“Was it a guy? The guy?”

These are dangerous waters, but I was made to swim there. And he’s had me on my heels for far too long in this game. You get what you ask for, Matthew .

“Not guy. Guys,” I stipulate boldly. “Plural.” Three of them, to be exact.

He whistles and steps back.

“Again, not that it’s any of your beeswax.”

“Guess I deserve that.”

“So what do you think?” I challenge. “Am I still living up to your expectations?”

I’m determined to show him I’m not ashamed of who I am. Because I’m not. Paul, Abe, and Tony are nothing to be ashamed of.

“You, Katarina, exceed expectations. Every time.” With that, he sinks the eight ball, and the game is finished.

“You don’t get a question for that one,” I say. “It’s game over.”

“Oh, I certainly do.” He chuckles. “But I’ll save it for later.”

As our game breaks up, so does the larger gathering. I glance sidelong at Matthew’s wristwatch as people trickle outside. It’s already after ten p.m.

“Heavens to Betsy!” I grab Matthew’s arm. “Is your friend Daniel still here? I need to talk to him.”

Matthew’s expression is puzzled, but he scans the room and points. “He’s over there, with Harry.”

Target acquired.

On the periphery of my focus, my wolf has been tracking Harry all evening—cataloging his interactions—and Daniel hasn’t left his side. The best route of attack is indirect, and tonight, my route is Daniel.

Also, rather conveniently, Matthew.

I grab my leverage’s arm and steer him toward the other gentlemen. As we move, I release an under-the-breath murmur. “Time to reunite the trifecta.”

“The what?”

“Oh gosh.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Gracious, Matthew, why can’t I control my mouth around you tonight? ”

“I wish you wouldn’t try.” He laughs. “I’m learning all sorts of interesting things. What in tarnation is the trifecta ?”