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“Oh cool, a pool table,” she exclaimed, coming to yet another room.
He snickered. “Billiards.”
“Whatever.”
“Do you play?” Leaving her at the door, Derek walked toward a wall-mounted cue rack.
She sauntered up behind him. “I never miss a Thursday night at The Cheerful Tortoise.”
“The what?” he asked, turning around.
“Cheerful Tortoise. It’s a bar on campus.”
“I see.” Smirking, he gathered a lock of her hair between his fingers. “And what’s so special about Thursday?”
“Dollar beer night.”
He was kind of cute when he laughed, brown eyes crinkling at the corners.
“What? It’s two-dollar wing night too.” Cocking her head, Breanna grinned. “And I’m always down for a game of eightball.”
His eyes locked onto hers, and taking a step closer, Derek lowered his lips to her ear. “Are you any good?”
She took a step back, putting some space between them. “Maybe.”
“There you are.”
Francie stood in the open doorway, a man alongside her. Breanna presumed he was the paramedic who they summoned to check her head.
“I was just about to challenge Miss Dalton to a game,” Derek explained, a smug look on his face. He tipped his chin. “Randall.”
“Breanna.” She extended her hand to the somewhat bemused stranger.
“I think we’ll be more comfortable in the sitting room, yes?” Derek said, steering them toward the hall.
On the other side of the kitchen, which was also bigger than her entire apartment, pantry, and morning room—translation, breakfast room—and past the stairway that went down to the wine cellar, Breanna followed him into an inviting, cozy space.
Jesus Christ, this place is massive.
A fire burned in the hearth, photographs displayed on its mantel. Faux fur rugs on gleaming wood floors. She sat down on a cloud-soft sofa, styled with mounds of pillows and sumptuous throws, Derek close beside her.
“May I?”
Hunched in front of her, Randall pushed the hair from her brow, gently palpating the tender bump she fruitlessly tried to conceal. He shined a penlight in one eye, and then the other. “Did you blackout after the accident?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe for a moment.”
“You hit your head pretty hard, I’d say. Split the skin. That’s gonna leave you with a nice trophy.”
Huh? She shot him a puzzled look.
He smiled. “A little scar.”
Lovely.
“Any headaches?”
Slowly, Breanna shook her head. “At first, but none lately.”
