#n.mackinnon

He set the bottle down on the cherry oak of the table and stepped back again, awaiting your reaction.

You leaned on your pool stick, glancing at the bottle before your eyes fell back to Nate.

“How many girls you buy a beer for here tonight?” you asked, tilting your chin upward skeptically.

Nate gulped. He was far from a playboy, but he liked to think he had at least a decently charming way with women. You, however, were having none of it, and seemed completely unaffected by what little game he had.

“Just you,” he assured with a single shake of his head.

You broke into a full, disarming, dazzling smile which could have knocked Nate clean over. You reached for the beer and tipped the bottleneck in his direction.

“Thank you,” you said before taking a long pull. Nate tried to tear his eyes away from your full lips around the mouth of the bottle, but found himself unable to. “But just so you know, I’m not trying to meet anyone — I’m just here for the party, ya know?”

It was Nate’s turn to smirk.

“Oh, you’re one of those girls,” he drawled.

Your brows lifted.

“Excuse me?” you asked accusingly, accompanied by an unamused chuckle.

Nate laughed. “No, no, not like you’re thinking,” he placated. “No, but I know you… I know you better than you think I do.”

It was your turn again, and your eyes never left Nate’s as you walked backward to the far side of the pool table — they only briefly flicked to the felt as you lined up a shot, sunk a ball, and immediately found his gaze again.

“Tell me what you think about me, then,” you challenged, standing up straight to put one purple plum-manicured hand on your hip.

Nate’s eyes sparkled, amazed that you had entertained him even to this point. He crossed his arms and began.

“Well… I would venture to bet that you just moved here, at least fairly recently, which is why you say you’re not looking for anything. And I bet you broke a lotta guys’ hearts the day you rolled outta your hometown.”

It was your turn to tuck your chin to your chest as you felt the heat rising on your neck, a useless attempt to hide your bashful smile from this mystery man who had a face you couldn’t quite place. When you were able to face him again, you gestured for him to continue.

He took half a dozen slow steps toward you, until his towering figure shadowed you, but not in a way that felt intimidating or threatening. Instead it was welcome, and warm.

“If I asked you to dance right now, you’d say no, even if you actually wanted to. You like to make people wonder. You also definitely wouldn’t give me your number, even if I asked you for it real nice.”

You shook your head good-naturedly, rolling your eyes, and bit at the inside of your cheek as Nate’s stare intensified.

“But you’re definitely somebody I’d like to get to know, so I’m just trying to figure out how to go about that, I guess,” he admitted.

You blinked a few times at his unabashed honesty, not something you were at all accustomed to — someone just showing their hand like that. Nate glanced at the girl across the table who announced that it was your turn again. You gently pushed past him to take your shot, lowering your torso over the table as you called the 8 ball, then watching on as it rolled toward and found its home in the corner pocket, eliciting groans from the others around you who had watched you dominate the table for an hour now. You simply shrugged playfully before relinquishing your pool stick and approaching Nate once more. He was clapping slowly by the time you reached him. You shoved at his shoulder.

“Well done,” he praised, not that you needed his reassurance that you’d done a good job. “So, now, will you dance with me?” he ventured.

You clucked your tongue. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Nate chuckled. Okay, he’d set himself up for that one.

Before him, your eyes danced though your feet refused.