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warehouse parties often and wasn’t into dancing, he had plenty of practice time. He’d wipe the floor with me, but I’d suspected that going into it. Oh well. Can’t win them all. And I could at least enjoy myself while I dove headfirst into losing.
    “Nice job. I guess I’m—” I tried counting the balls left on the table.
    “I get to go again, so we’ll see what you are in a second.” He squinted his eyes, and his lips twitched.
    He was laughing at me.
    Well, then. I’d have to play well this time and show him a thing or two. I prayed a miracle would rain down from Heaven and help me out.
    He leaned over and sunk another ball into a side pocket with ease. “You’re stripes.”
    “Yes. I got that.” There were so many striped balls still on the table it was glaringly obvious what I was. They’d remain there, inevitably. Poor little guys.
    Mick stood back, allowing me plenty of room to make a fool of myself. He rested both hands around the neck of the cue stick and watched me. He was hot.
    Dammit.
    I leaned over the table, setting up my attempt to make a perfect connection with the white ball, knowing fully well what I looked like bent over in that pencil skirt. So what if I was playing it up for this guy? Innocent fun.
    I focused the way Cam taught me, lining up the shot in my mind.
    “Nine ball, corner pocket,” I said to Mick, forcing myself to concentrate on that damned nine ball. Don’t break concentration ; Cam’s instructions played in my head.
    I couldn’t help myself. I glanced back at Mick, only to find his green eyes locked on mine. I sucked in a breath. His gaze travelled to my mouth, and I turned back to the table, closing my eyes to gather my wits.
    Dammit. I needed to focus. This was just a friendly game of pool. Nothing more.
    I’m not dating material.
    I’m not on the market.
    I forced myself to concentrate on the shot again. I could do this. I looked at my fingers, making sure they were exactly positioned the way Dad and Cam taught me. I pulled the stick back, then pushed forward, mentally crossing my fingers for a connection.
    Nothing.
    I scratched, like always, and missed the white ball entirely.
    I laughed, then stood back and looked at Mick. He still gazed intently at me. The way he followed my every move was better than beating him. I watched a muscle work in his jaw. My heart raced, and my hands began sweating.
    I recognized that look—the way guys used to watch me. Before they thought I was a freak. The way Rod used to look at me.
    Ugh. Rod. I needed to stop letting my mind wander to him and Leslie. I had to move on. God knew they sure had.
    “So,” Mick began, breaking the heavy moment between us, as he bent to line up his next shot, giving me a moment to compose myself. “You’re a junior like my sister?”
    “No, senior. You?”
    With raised eyebrows, as if my question was ludicrous, he paused to glance up at me.
    “No, no, I mean, I know you aren’t a junior or senior in High School. I meant how old are you?”
    “Twenty-one.”
    Huh. Must be the scruffy face that made me think he was a bit older than that. I watched him take another shot, wiping the floor with me—as I figured he would. Somehow, I didn’t even care. He was so easy to be around.
    And not too hard on the eyes.
    “You guys live in San Juan?” he asked, breaking my thoughts and bringing my focus back to the conversation.
    “No, we live in Dove Canyon. It’s near Rancho Santa Margarita. You’re here in Huntington?”
    “Nope. I moved down south with Ro. I’m in Mission Viejo.”
    I smiled. He smiled back, and I couldn’t help the train of positive thoughts flying through my brain. He lived by me. He wasn’t thirty minutes away, or even farther. He wasn’t crazily older than me.
    Maybe things were looking up after all. Maybe I’d get to see him again.
    Maybe I had a new friend and a new— what? Boyfriend? Get real, Holland. Don’t be a moron. You stopped being girlfriend material a long