Page 194 of Challenge Me

“Any others?”

“I don’t want to do this, Amir.”

“Yet you’re still talking to me.”

I stood straighter and adjusted the rolled sleeves of my flannel. “I’m a good business owner.”

“That’s true. It’s too bad your Google reviews don’t warn against your habit of putting a man on his knees on that pool table, though.”

My eyes widened, then my gaze followed his to the table. “Is this when you start getting bitter? Go ahead and post a review if it’ll make you feel better. It’s not like others haven’t.”

“You should stand up for yourself more.”

When I looked at him, he was watching me.

“I stand up for myself,” I said.

“Not really. You deflect and push back on things, but when it matters, you let people take shots at you. Why is that?”

“I stood up for myself when I left you.”

He glanced away for a second. “Yeah, I realize that. Maybe what I’m actually mad about is that you had to.”

“Can we not dwell on the past? You can drink, play pool, or whatever you want to do. But if you’re going to be here, you have to play by my rules.”

“Let’s play, then.” He knocked back the rest of the whiskey and hissed. “Goddamn, that’s horrible.”

I turned to grab the better bottle, but he pulled the glass back.

“Hit me again. I’ll have to get used to it.”

I wasn’t sure what his angle was, but I gave him the bottom shelf whiskey again. Without a word, he jerked his chin toward the pool table. There were only a couple of people in here, so I didn’t have a good excuse to refuse.

I spun a pool cue in my hand. There was an amused look on his face, which was enough reason for me to decide he’d get annihilated in this match. He was definitely feeling bitter, but that didn’t mean I’d go easy on him.

“You break,” I offered.

He leaned over the edge of the table, and I couldn’t help but look at the curve of his back. With his button-up tucked into his pants, he was too put-together. I wanted to rough up his perfect appearance and rip out that hair tie so I could touch the soft strands.

He was doing well, but after sinking four balls, he fumbled it. The corner of my mouth lifted, and he narrowed his eyes as I lined up for my shot.

“You know,” I mused, “someone might see us together and get ideas.”

“Why should I care?”

I pursed my lips as I hit my second ball into the pocket. Straightening, I rested the butt of the stick on the floor and crossed my ankles. “You’re supposed to care.”

“There are people who get paid for that.”

“And you’re not going to get paid if you don’t listen to them.”

He lifted a brow, too amused. “Think so?”

“I can imagine all the interviews you’re doing, trying to rewrite the story. Are you really willing to tank all of that? To what? Play pool with me and drink bad whiskey?”

“Actually, I haven’t said a single word about the whole thing.”

I scoffed. “How have you managed that?”