He met dark eyes. “You know, I think I’d enjoy you teaching me. But it seems only fair that the rookie pays the tab.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can—we can split it.”
Noah hummed. “No, no. I really feel like the teacher ought to get something out of this.”
Wade picked up his beer and clinked it against Noah’s. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
Muted karaoke followed them into the cooler room. Low-hanging lights lit the green baize of the tables in warm pools, leaving the rest of the space dim. Wade plucked a cue from the wall behind the one free table, and grabbed a block of chalk.
The smile on his face was supremely confident—and a little indulgent—as he prepared the cue, demonstrated how to hold it, and handed it over. Noah assumed the position.
“Like this?”
“Yeah, nice.”
Wade herded the balls into their triangle rack and plucked one out, along with the white. He took the cue back and began the lesson with the basic goal, and a demonstration of how to achieve it by hitting the white ball against the coloured ones to fire them into the pockets. His voice was deep and gentle, and his explanations were probably very helpful and informative, but Noah’s attention soon drifted to that stunning form draped into position over the edge of the table. What would he look like without his clothes? What would he feel like pressed against Noah’s chest? What—
“Noah?”
“Hmm?”
Wade smirked. “Paying attention?”
“Sink the coloured balls. Got it.”
A chuckle. A flush at his throat?
Wade passed him the cue, their fingers brushing, electric. They paused, eyes snagging.
Noah swallowed and cut the tension with a nod to the table. “Will you break?”
A deep dimple. “You bet.”
True to his word, Wade was good. He downed three solid balls one after the other. Noah grimaced and chalked his cue.
Wade butted an arm against his side. “Don’t worry, just have fun.”
Stifling a smile, Noah sighed.
Wade backed up, giving him space, and Noah surveyed the balls dotted around the felt surface. Right. Let’s do this then.
He leaned over the table and looked up at Wade watching him carefully across the felt. “Like this?”
He hit the white and with a sharp crack, sank the green stripe.
Wade blinked, only just holding back his surprise. He nodded slowly.
Noah shifted around the table, angled his cue. “This look right?” Violet stripe. Blue came next, then orange, yellow. The maroon was tricky, but not so tricky he couldn’t manage it. Red went down a treat. Black . . . Well, better not let Wade’s mouth drop any further to the floor. It might unhinge.
He engineered a barely plausible cock-up and sighed. “Oops.”
All glower and heat, Wade backed him to the wall, one hand flattened alongside his head. The tip of Wade’s nose briefly grazed the tip of his. “What was that?” His deep voice rumbled through Noah, kickstarting his engine.
Noah lifted a brow. “A lesson on assumptions.”
“Cheeky man.” Humour dashed through the darkness of his eyes, and their fingers brushed again as Wade stole his cue. He shook his head. “Never been played like that before . . .”
“I mean, if you need it, we can always do best of three?”
“Wipe that grin off your face, Noah Dashwood. Drinks are all on me. Now give me some pointers, hotshot.”
Gently tipsy, Noah took his time undoing a knot in his shoelace. The double bed looked much smaller than it had when he’d been trying to ignore it earlier.
Wade stowed his toolbox in a corner and tipped himself face forward onto the sheets. Pillows muffled his yawn. He turned his head toward Noah and grinned sleepily.
“Three beers take it out of you, Wade?”
“Three beers after an hour and a half obstacle course up a hill and being obliterated over the pool table. Insanity is what that was.”
Over the pool table . . . Noah shook his head and removed his second shoe. Then hesitated, fingers on the hem of his t-shirt. No PJs, not that he owned any. This was all he had . . .
Well. He’d do what he always did.
He peeled off his t-shirt.
“It won’t be the only place I obliterate you. As for the hill . . . How else do you think I maintain this?”
Wade shoved himself onto an elbow, gaze firing in all directions over Noah’s bare torso, and Noah shivered under the weight of those darkening eyes, that parting mouth. He stopped unzipping his jeans and steadied his fragile control.
Okay. Nothing ventured . . . He moved toward Wade. “Let’s get these off, hmm?”
Wade sat up like a sprung trap, their foreheads almost connecting as Noah knelt to tug off his boots.
They thumped to the floor. Frissons of electricity—Wade’s eyes burning into him—had Noah’s pulse pounding.
“Did you design this?”
Noah’s voice croaked. “Yes.”
The room shrank close around him and Wade and his tattoo.
