Lana slid back onto her stool. “The first of the month is coming fast.”

“Yeah, the Christmas decorations keep reminding me.” If she knew he was behind on his rent, she’d know how much. And she’d know it wasn’t going to get any better in the next two weeks.

“Play me for it.”

Rick’s eyes stayed on the wall as he tried not to let his flaring pride show. “For the back rent?”

He would rather be punched in the face than accept that kind of charity.

“No, for an extension. You’re good for the rent, Rick. It never occurred to me otherwise. But if I start giving extensions, everyone will want them. Then it’ll become a nightmare for the management team. You’ll have to play me for it.”

His mouth twitched slightly as he finally looked at her. “You sure? I’m going to win.”

“Don’t underestimate me. Men have a bad habit of underestimating women in business affairs. It never goes well for them when they do.” Her eyes flickered over to the pool tables as if considering the challenge she’d offered him.

Agreeing would have been so easy. Instead, Rick reached out and touched Lana’s hand to draw her attention back to him. The action had been instinctive, but in hindsight, feeling her smooth skin beneath his rougher fingertips was dangerous. An unexpected attraction was one thing. Having her this close, the subtle scent of her perfume scrambling his wits and clawing at his defenses, was another.

“I’m a decent player.” Rick felt obligated to warn her. “It’s kind of a hazard of the profession.”

Lana gave him an arch look, one that made him lean in closer. “Well, then I won’t feel too bad when I beat you.”

“You’re welcome to try,” he replied, taking his favorite cue from its spot leaning behind the bar. “I’m game if you are.”

Her soft, rich laugh matched the bourbon perfectly.

Lana brought her rosé and her bourbon to the table closest to the fireplace. “I’m a little chilly.” She shrugged her jacket off once they were in the vicinity of the space heater he’d set next to that side of the wall. “You’d think I’d be used to the weather after so many Chicago winters.”

Rick grabbed a second space heater from near the door and plugged it in, aiming it her way. Then he glanced at the cold fireplace. “Want me to get a fire going?”

“Maybe next time.” Her eyes sparkled as she chalked her cue stick. “This won’t take very long. Best out of three?”

Unable to resist the challenge in her eyes, Rick found himself dangerously close to smiling. “Your break.”

The sweater Lana wore was long enough that it stayed snug around her hips when she bent over to break, but the loose cowl neck slipped down her shoulder. Rick was learning a lot today about Lana and himself. Apparently, he was a shoulder guy. Who knew?

“You’re staring at me.” Lana looked up, and when she flashed him a heart-stopping grin, Rick was tempted to throw the game for the sheer hell of it.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said quietly, since all sense had already abandoned him.

Lana missed her break. The cue slipped right off her knuckles, sending the white cue ball spinning sideways, nowhere close to the triangle of billiard balls she was trying to hit.

Rick took the ball and ignored her protestation, placing it back in her hand. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“I never said I was uncomfortable,” Lana replied, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as she offered him a flirtatious look. “I also never said thank you. That day down by the lake when you ran off those jerks.”

“You said thank you. You sent me a letter.”

That letter was the oddest thing in his home. Lana’s handwriting had been smooth and polished, as if she’d learned how to write a letter professionally. Whereas her words had been chopped, difficult to follow, as if she herself hadn’t really understood what she was trying to say.

The thick, silky paper had been folded into a lined envelope actually embossed with his name. But the stamp on the front had been slapped on partially askew. The combination of polish and haphazardness confused him. Rick probably had paid too much attention to the thing.

She could have sent him an email.

“You’re the only person in town who doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” Lana told him.

“You’re the only person in town who makes me feel like I’m thirteen again.” That hadn’t come out the way he wanted. Rick cast around, once again hoping someone would save him from himself. No one did. “It’s the whole head cheerleader thing. You don’t go sit at her table unless you want the whole school to watch you get milk thrown in your face.”

“Mathletes.”

“What?”

“I was in the mathletes. It’s like debate club, only we tried to solve math problems faster than our opponents.”

Suddenly, he laughed. Not at her but because he never in a million years would have pictured this woman scrambling to out-math anyone. And damn, it felt good to laugh.

“You’re making fun of me.” Lana’s cheeks had turned rosy, but her eyes were sparkling with self-deprecating humor. “It’s okay. My cousin Killian teased me about it mercilessly. Race car Killian, not polo Killian. Polo Killian was in mathletes too.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “You have two cousins named Killian?”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it? You’d think one would be enough. I promise race car Killian is the far superior Killian, no matter what I tell him to his face. When dealing with Killians, one must keep their egos in check.”

Her description of her family caused his mouth to twitch upward. “Isn’t Killian the one Graham beat up?”

“Race car Killian. And Graham didn’t beat him up,” she said, defending her cousin’s honor. “There were simply words exchanged in a more physical form than normal.”

“Graham was pretty upset,” Rick reminded her. “Zoey nearly got killed in that rainstorm Killian took her four-wheeling in.”

“I’m fairly sure that was equal opportunity near death. Zoey wasn’t exactly making her best choices. Getting dumped by her dream guy can do that to a girl.” Lana took her time lining up her next shot. “Killian didn’t deserve it. Speaking of which, I’m about to run the table, which you don’t deserve either. Sorry, dearest.”

Sure enough, Lana ran the table on him, earning herself the first win of three.

Since she’d won, it was Rick’s turn to break. No one had come in, and he doubted that would change much in the next hour. Still, the night wasn’t a bust at all. This was the most alone time he’d had with a woman in ages, and he had to admit he was enjoying himself. Maybe a little too much.

Lana watched him break, her hip distracting him as she leaned against the table. “If I did an internet search, what would I find about you?”

“Probably far less than you’d find about most people.” Don’t bring up the divorce. It was weird to bring up the divorce. Don’t say the d-word. “I’m divorced.”

Yep. Because why not ruin the last pleasant fifteen minutes with something awkward and uncomfortable?

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

Hard. Humiliating. Hurtful. Hell. Something that started with an h.

“It was a while ago,” Rick grunted, taking his first shot.

He didn’t even know why he’d brought it up, except the divorce felt like the defining moment of his adult life. A massive, soul-crushing defining moment that the thousands of strangers passing through Moose Springs never knew or cared about.

“I think I saw you with her once when I first came to town. I’m sorry I never got to meet her.”

It was a simple observation, probably thoughtlessly—if politely—spoken. But it meant something to Rick that she had noticed.

“It’s fine. We run in different crowds.” Rick glanced at her, finding those glorious eyes watching him.

“You’d think that wouldn’t be the case when I’ve been running away to Moose Springs every chance I got for years now.” Lana brushed her hair out of her eyes as she waited for him to take his next shot. “Anything else? No runs as a bull rider down in the lower forty-eight? A sordid past as a grifter? Secret card shark?”

“I was semipro at pool.” Rick almost felt guilty as he sunk his next ball. “I won some money touring around, but it never panned out into anything bigger.”

“So I’m playing a professional.”

“Semiprofessional.” When he promptly missed his third shot, Rick added ruefully, “That was a while ago.”

Frankly, he’d be lucky if he made any shots, as distracted as he was by Lana’s presence.

“You don’t have to undersell your skills, Rick.” She leaned over the table, solidly sinking her first ball. “I don’t make a habit of being intimidated by the well-earned prowess of my companions. Don’t take it too hard when I really do beat you.”

“If you do, you’ll earn it fair and square.”

They shared a grin over the table. He had watched her play long enough to intuitively know he was better than her. But Rick liked how there was a small part of him that wondered how much better. Pool had always been his thing, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t good enough to take advantage of a misstep on his part.

And man, did she have him off his game.

“By the way, I’m not your landlady,” Lana informed him as she circled the table, choosing her next shot. “I work for a conglomerate that owns this building. You don’t answer to me. We both answer to them.”

Maybe. Or maybe she was trying to reassure him of their equal footing when he knew damn well the footing wasn’t equal at all. At least she was smiling at him for real. How had he never known the difference until tonight?