Page 42 of The Defender

“That hardly seems fair. I’m the novice. I’ll be the one spilling all my secrets while you sit back and log them in your little blackmail book.”

His eyes glittered with laughter. “I don’t have a blackmail book, but thank you for the idea. Besides, haven’t you heard of beginner’s luck?” When I remained skeptical, he shrugged and said, a little too casually, “Or do you have that little faith in yourself?”

Damn him. He always knew how to get me.

I wasn’t proud of it, but I took the bait and, as expected, I had to watch him sink the first ball of the night.

“Cough it up, buttercup,” Vincent said over my groan. “What’s secret number one?”

I searched for something small but significant enough to satisfy him. “I didn’t have my first kiss until my senior year of high school. I was the last person in my friend group to kiss a boy, and everyone nicknamed me Pope Innocent because, well, you know.”

He stared at me. A beat passed, and then—laughter. Deep, rich laughter that started as a chuckle and gradually escalated into guffaws.

“It’s not funny,” I protested even as a giggle rose in my own throat. “Seventeen-year-old me was traumatized! It wasn’t a good kiss either. It was like making out with a slobbery toad.”

He placed his hands on the table and dipped his chin, his shoulders shaking. “Pope Innocent,” he choked out. “Oh, that’s good.”

I tried to remain stern, but the giggle slipped out before I could stop it. It was followed by another, and another, until I was doubled over, my stomach aching from laughter.

“I’m sorry your first kiss was such a terrible experience,” Vincent said when we finally gathered ourselves. “I hope you’ve had better ones since then.”

“Don’t worry.” The high from my amusement lingered, and my voice ran a touch breathless. “I have.”

Our eyes met. My skin tingled, but the sensation washed away when he gestured toward my pool cue. “Your turn.”

I shook off the buzz and leaned over, adopting the form he’d taught me.Focus.

But I didn’t make my first shot, or my second, or my third. Vincent missed one but sank the other two.

Frustration chafed beneath my skin. I didn’t expect to win, but Ihadto make at least one shot. Otherwise, my pride would never recover.

I scanned the table for the best opportunity and chose a ball near the middle. It wasn’t as close to a pocket as some of the others, but the angle looked promising.

I hit it above its center and knew immediately I hadn’t used enough force, but at least it was moving in the right direction.

Come on.I strangled my cue stick with a white-knuckled grip. The ball rolled slowly toward a corner pocket. Did it have enough momentum to make it, or was it going to lose steam partway there?Go in. Go in. Go?—

It fell into the pocket with a soft thud.

“Oh my God.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. I stared at the table, half expecting the ball to pop back out with a “Gotcha!” It didn’t. “Holy shit, I did it! I did it! I sank a ball!”

I jumped up and down with a small squeal. I didn’t care if I looked like an idiot. I was too damn happy about scoring a point.

Ha! Takethat, pool gods.

When I finally calmed down enough to claim my prize, I glanced across the table and saw Vincent watching me with a half smile. It disappeared when my gaze caught his.

“Your turn to spill a secret.” A thrill of anticipation bolted through me. “What’s it going to be?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I own one pair of underwear.”

“What?”

“Onestyleof underwear,” he amended. “Most people won’t see it anyway, and sticking to one style frees up mental space to focus on other things. I buy them a dozen at a time.”

“Wow,” I huffed. “I tell you juicy secrets, and you tell me about your underwear-buying habits. This is starting to feel like an unfair trade.”

“Your last ‘secret’ was about kicking someone in the balls in middle school.”