Good with His Hands. Tanya Michaels

few seconds later. Dani ordered a Belgian white they had on tap. Gray asked for a dark ale. As the waitress departed, the two of them selected cue sticks and continued quizzing each other on the right cocktails for increasingly absurd occasions.

      “When your team wins the Super Bowl?” Gray asked.

      “Alabama slammer. What about if you win an Academy Award?”

      “Famous gold statue? Goldshläger, obviously. Toasting your fortieth birthday?”

      “Something sophisticated and grown-up. A martini, maybe?” She shrugged. “I’m nowhere close to knowing that one.”

      “Me, neither. Monday’s my thirty-fourth birthday.”

      “Oh.” His birthday was in two days? “Happy birthday.”

      He gave her a wolfish smile. “As early celebrations go, today has been off the charts.”

      Did he see her as his gift to himself? She swallowed, hoping she lived up to his expectations. “Perfect cocktail for a zombie apocalypse?”

      “Rookie mistake. Zombie apocalypse is the time to stay sober. It’s critical to keep a clear head and steady shooting hand for those all-important double taps.”

      She laughed. “Good point.”

      After the waitress returned with their drinks, Gray clarified that they were playing basic eight ball and that they had to call their intended shots.

      “Hell, yes,” Dani insisted. “Miss your pocket, lose your turn.”

      He set the plastic triangle on the green felt. “Ladies first?”

      “Or we could lag for the break,” she said, suggesting the more official method of shooting a ball off the far rail. Whoever’s ball came back closest would break.

      “Serious player,” he said approvingly. “Most of my construction buddies just flip a coin.”

      Construction buddies? Dani knew it wasn’t uncommon for architects to visit build sites, so it shouldn’t surprise her that he had friends among the construction crews. Yet she had trouble picturing the man who normally wore expensive suits, the one who was so reserved he’d never fully smiled at her until today, trash-talking construction guys over beer and pool. She started to tell him that he seemed different, which she meant as a compliment, but she couldn’t think of a way to say it that wouldn’t make him sound previously aloof or stuffy. Weren’t most people more likely to loosen up on the weekends? So stop overanalyzing and just be thankful you ran into him on a Saturday.

      They each selected a solid-colored ball and shot for the foot rail. The balls rolled back, hers stopping a fraction of an inch before his.

      “Your break,” she said.

      “Close, though.” He gave her a look of mock regret. “I guess a player with your skill isn’t likely to do the girl thing, huh?”

      “Girl thing?”

      He sipped his beer. “You know, where you ask a big strong guy to help you with your form so he has a reason to put his arms around you.”

      Dani stepped forward, leaning her pool cue against the railing. Looking intrigued, he set down his beer as she moved closer, invading his personal space.

      She reached for his hand. His fingers were cool from the beer, but heat rolled through her anyway. “I’m a woman, not a girl. If I want a man to touch me, I don’t need a lame excuse.” She settled his hand on the curve of her hip, her pulse kicking up a notch when they were close enough that they could have been kissing.

      His eyes were mesmerizing, light-colored but blazing with intensity. “Good to know.” Raising his free hand, he traced her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. Desire had been sparking inside her since the moment he’d smiled at her in the office hallway, but now a pang of sharp arousal jolted her—and they were fully dressed in a public place. Imagining the kind of magic he could work in the privacy of her apartment left her dizzy.

      If she didn’t move away from him, she would be in no condition to shoot pool accurately. Which might not matter in the larger scheme of things, but she had to admit, part of her wanted to impress him.

      When she stepped back, reaching for her drink, Gray gave her one more scorching look, then took his place at the table. The competitor in her wanted to watch the balls scatter and check for strategic positioning; the female in her was having difficulty looking away from the back of his jeans. When he’d said earlier that he liked physical activity, it had obviously been more than innuendo. He was in fantastic shape.

      “You’re up,” he said, drawing her attention back to the game.

      She scanned the table. He’d pocketed the seven, so she was stripes. She called the eleven and leaned down to take her shot. Recalling the appreciative way she’d watched him shoot, she stole an involuntary glance toward the mirrored wall at the last second. His reflected gaze locked on hers—avid and hungry—and she fumbled her shot. The eleven rolled in right where it was supposed to, but the cue ball followed.

      Annoyed with herself for the undisciplined lapse in concentration, she let loose a stream of profanity.

      Behind her, Gray laughed. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

      “Actually, she died when I was a baby.”

      He paled. “Oh, God. I’m—”

      “You didn’t know.” Whenever she told someone about her mom, she felt as if she should be sadder, but she didn’t remember the woman at all. The deepest sorrow she’d experienced was for her father’s loss. “My dad raised me and, incidentally, taught me most of the bad words I know. He wasn’t above swearing at soldiers if it motivated them, and sometimes he forgot to turn it off at home.”

      “Military, huh?”

      She nodded. “Army.”

      “My father had his own roofing company and took on a lot of small construction jobs for extra income. He was careful, but anyone who works with tools that often is gonna catch his thumb with a hammer from time to time or run afoul of a circular saw.” He smiled. “Colorful words abounded. Of course, he swore me to secrecy. Mom would’ve had a fit if she’d known the vocabulary I was picking up in the garage.”

      He surveyed the table, nostalgia fading as he immersed himself in the game. Using the conveniently positioned stripes, he knocked in two easy shots before having to stop and think about what he wanted to do next.

      “If I were a show-off,” he said, “this is where I’d impress you with some fancy trick shot.”

      She smirked over the rim of her beer. “In my experience, guys who really know how to handle their sticks don’t need to compensate with trick moves.”

      “Need? No. But nothing wrong with spicing things up every now and then, right?” Giving her a suggestive smile, he executed a perfect behind-the-back shot.

      She bit back her own smile. “I refuse to contribute to your ego by applauding that.”

      “You can admit I make you weak in the knees. I won’t lose respect for you.”

      She snorted. He sank a fourth ball before finally missing. Dani used the opportunity to reclaim her dignity with a great stop shot. The waitress brought another round of drinks while Dani pocketed two more, steadily closing the gap. But then she was left without a shot. Even as she banked the cue ball as best she could, she held no real hope. Sometimes, physics was against you.

      Gray returned to the table. She sipped her beer, watching in admiration as he ran the table. His cockiness at pool was well warranted. After knocking in the eight ball for the win, he sauntered back to the railing with a satisfied smile.

      “Now I wish we’d bet something,” he said. “Or that I’d suggested strip pool.”

      The idea was appealing, if either of them had a pool table at