“Someone spilled the beans.”
The smooth, masculine rumble was familiar. The sharp edge to that smooth voice was not.
“Don’t be a grump, Graham,” Lana said breezily. “It’s a free country.”
Despite Zoey’s heels, she was still shorter than her companions and had to crane her neck to see the owner of the grumbling voice.
In a room full of strangers, Graham Barnett was a sight for sore eyes. Or just regular eyes. All eyes. All eyes enjoyed Graham Barnett, especially in dark jeans and a snug black T-shirt.
He’d pulled a ball cap down over his hair, cell phone and leather wallet tucked in his back pocket, and Zoey couldn’t keep herself from staring at the broad expanse of his muscled shoulders as Graham bent over his group’s pool table, taking—and making—a shot.
“It’s free, but sometimes it feels a little crowded, L.”
“We can leave.” Zoey touched Lana’s arm to get her attention. “There’s plenty of other things to do.”
Graham blinked, then the annoyed expression was gone, instantly replaced by the sweetest, sexiest smile.
“Of course, some crowds are better than others.” Abandoning the table, even though it was still his turn, Graham approached, smiling down at her. “Hey there, Zoey Bear. I thought I might have to go back to the big house to see you again.”
“How are you feeling?” Lowering her voice so as not to announce anything embarrassing to the people around them, Zoey glanced down—then very quickly back up again. “You know…there.”
“In my balls? Where you kicked me?”
His voice was so loud. Graham’s cheerfulness was infectious, but the attention they were receiving with his antics made Zoey want to disappear beneath the plank flooring.
“You kicked yourself in the balls,” she shot back. “I have the police report to prove it.”
“So do I.”
Graham leaned in and took her completely by surprise with an unexpected hug in greeting. The hug was brief, just his palm touching her upper back for a moment, hers braced awkwardly on his muscled arm and the pool cue wedged in between them for safety.
Still, he was warm and smelled like buns.
Crap. She was as bad as Ulysses.
“It’s good to see you, darlin’.”
“Thanks for not having a chainsaw in your hands,” Zoey quipped in reply.
“Don’t knock my preferred art form.” Lingering just a moment in their still awkward hug, Graham added, “One day, I’ll be famous.”
“You already are, love. For all the wrong reasons.” Lana set a hand to her hip, raising an eyebrow at Zoey. “Are you playing with us or playing with the handsome boy tonight? I know it’s been a while for you.”
One of Graham’s companions tried to cough to cover a snort. Could her cheeks be any hotter? Zoey’s entire front side was on fire from embarrassment.
“That’s why we’re friends,” Zoey grumbled. “There’s not enough abject humiliation in my life without her.”
Graham’s grin just grew. “Save me a game, Zoey?” he asked her, sounding far sexier than the man had a right to.
Aiming a look her friend’s way, Zoey immediately scooted back out of the range of hugs and misunderstandings. “Sure…ummm…yeah. Maybe. Good luck to you…and all your…evening endeavors.”
Killian had already secured a pool table on the other side of the room. With an awkward wave of her fingers, Zoey scurried over to the dubious safety of Lana’s cousin and his acquaintances. Lana followed, a knowing look on her face. Slipping an arm through Zoey’s, Lana glanced over her shoulder at Graham.
“Good luck to you in your evening endeavors?” Her eyebrow rose.
“Shut up.” Zoey all but dragged Lana toward their newly acquired table. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“How about ‘the pool table looks nice and sturdy, but let’s check to make sure before my vagina gives up all hope, withers, and dies’?”
“You don’t get to voice my vagina’s opinions,” she hissed.
“Free that speech, love.”
“You’re actually the worst human being I’ve ever met. You know that, right?”
Lana’s laugh pulled the few eyes that weren’t already following them. At least Zoey knew their attention was firmly on her friend and not herself. No one ever managed to stand next to Lana Montgomery and be noticed.
“Who’s that guy?”
Curious, Killian lifted his chin slightly to indicate the table of Graham and his friends.
“He’s a long story.” Zoey picked up a cue stick. “Okay, boys, you might as well get comfortable. It’s my break.”
* * *
“I don’t like that guy.”
Graham didn’t know who the man was who’d accompanied L and the Zo-ster into the pool hall, but he had that look.
The look. The pinched nose, squinty eye, chin to the ceiling, stick rammed super far up the ass look Moose Springs residents got drunk and made fun of every time they were together. Was it too much to ask to have one night, just one single night, without being overrun by the rich and infamous? Wasn’t that why he kicked all his customers out early?
“What’s she doing with them anyway?”
Ash raised a dubious eyebrow. “She looks like she knows them. Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
She snorted, shaking her head.
“I mean. Just look at him,” Graham continued. “Five bucks he goes in for the ‘Here, baby, let me show you how to shoot’ routine.”
“I don’t care,” Ash reminded him as she missed her shot. “Easton, do you care?”
A grunt of reply was muffled by the beer stein against Easton’s mouth. “Nope.” Draining half the beer in one long swig, Easton set it down, wiped his mouth free of foam with the back of his hand, and grunted again. “But he does.”
The language of Easton was deep, multifaceted, and consisted of varying intonations on the same guttural noise. Being fluent in Easton had saved Graham a lot of trouble having to actually communicate in words. Still…
“There he goes. Lean in, let me help… That’s right, send that jerk packing, Zoey. You don’t need him. Use that stick if you have to. You’re not above a solid groin shot.”
“It’s your turn,” Ash reminded him.
“Yeah, I know.” Grabbing a cue chalk, Graham ran it over the end of his cue more times than necessary, grinding the chalk down with a squeaking noise. “Do you think she actually likes him? Because she looks annoyed to me.”
“Really? You seem like the type to totally miss female annoyance.” A boot kicked him in the back of the calf. “It’s your turn.”
“Oww. What’s with all the violence lately?” Limping over to the far side of the table, Graham haphazardly bent over and missed his shot. “I should go over there.”
“And say what?”
“I don’t know. Hey, Ash, did you know moose can become zombies?”
Ash sighed the sigh of someone on their last nerve. “There are literally no words for what’s wrong with you.”
“Did you see that? He just offered her a drink. What a schmuck. She clearly doesn’t like him, which is to be expected. The Zo has discerning taste.”
“You know this from—?”
“Breakfast. And one accidental encounter where she thought I was going to murder her. What’s this jerk’s problem? I really should go over there.”
As he started to move, Easton reached out a hand and clamped it down on Graham’s shoulder. “Stop picking fights with the tourists,” Easton rumbled. “Jonah said the next time he gets called, he’s going to charge you with assault. No more warnings.”
“It’s fine. I’ll let him have the first swing.”
“Why are the pretty ones so stupid?” With another, more expressive sigh, Ash rounded the table. “What exactly will you accomplish by doing this?”
Graham didn’t know. But as the rich son of a bitch put his hand on her shoulder, he decided Zoey Caldwell might be worth it.
* * *
Zoey wasn’t sure what had caught Killian’s attention, but from the moment she returned to their pool table, he was laser focused on her. At least he wasn’t trying to “teach” her how to play a game she was better at than he was. That would have been beyond annoying. Instead, Killian kept leaning in as if to impart wisdom and murmuring jokes to make her miss her shots. So far, Zoey had indulged his antics, if more for Lana’s sake than anything. After all, this was the second-rated Killian of the family, and by his self-deprecating humor, he knew it. Still, Zoey took her pool seriously. And seriously, if the others around her would drink a little less and focus on their game a little more, she wouldn’t be cleaning the table with them.
In between calls for more shots, Enzo and Haleigh showing far too much of their mutual enjoyment of each other’s company, and Lana’s constant tapping at her phone while standing in other players’ ways, they were making quite the spectacle of themselves.
“So, Zoey.” Killian glanced at her. “Tell me something about you.”
“Oh. Umm. I’m not very interesting.”
Actually, Zoey thought she was at least adequately interesting, but she didn’t want Killian to get the wrong idea. He was nice enough and attractive when he wasn’t staring into space with bored eyes, a thousand miles away, but not her type. Zoey wasn’t sure what her type was—her past was filled with an eclectic hodgepodge of the yawn-inducing, a few solid disappointments, and at least two unsavories. But instinct told her Killian was as much her type as she was his. Like the only blueberry muffin at an empty breakfast buffet, it was either her or a plate of cold, soggy bacon.
“Tell me one thing interesting.”
“I can’t ride a horse for shit.”