Lana barely missed her shot, leaving the cue ball in a near impossible place for him to play. She’d snookered him.

“Sorry,” she said impishly.

“Sorry for what?” Rick replied, unable to help himself from showing off a little. Most players couldn’t pull off a kick shot from that angle, but he’d grown up on the game. There were very few shots he couldn’t make. At her low whistle of appreciation, Rick decided that it wouldn’t be too terrible to show off a little more.

He ran the table in under a minute, then sank the eight ball with a satisfying thump.

“Your break,” Rick said.

“I’m surprised you only went semipro.” Lana set the billiards for the last game.

“Wasn’t the right scene for me.” Rick tried to cover how much he enjoyed impressing her by taking a sip of his bourbon. “Living in hotel rooms leaves a lot to be desired.”

He realized what he said, but before he could backtrack, Lana gave him a wry look. “I learned that particular lesson when I was a child. My closest companions were always the housekeeping staff and the concierge attendants. They were always the best at hide-and-seek.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“I had friends, but most of them fit in my back pocket and had to be replaced when their bindings gave way.”

Rick chuckled. “They were probably more loyal than most.”

The last game was tougher because her break was excellent. Lana sank her first three balls, then she barely missed her fourth. Rick needed that extension, so even though he would have loved to draw the game out—if just for a few extra moments of her time—he didn’t have the luxury. He ran the table with the quick, clean shots that had earned him enough money to open the pool hall in the first place.

“Your win, Rick.” She offered him the cue ball. Lana’s voice was softer, richer, and so sexy the sound of it was already seared into his brain. “The extension is all yours.”

Staying where he was, Rick held her eyes. “What do you get out of it?”

“The knowledge that one more thing is right with the world tonight. A good man catches a break.”

His hand brushed against hers as he accepted the cue ball. Every week, people handed him back sets of billiards without it being a problem. But when her fingertips lingered against his, neither of them pulled away. She was tall enough that he wasn’t looming over her but near enough that the scent of her filled his nostrils. He’d never met a woman who could steal his breath away by shifting forward a critical inch. And suddenly, her head was tilted back to hold his eyes, and Rick was fairly sure he wanted to kiss her.

If she closed one more inch between them, he might even be convinced she wanted him to kiss her too.

He shouldn’t. There was more than unpaid back rent standing between them. Lana was used to a whole hell of a lot more than Rick could ever give anyone. He’d learned the hard way his life wasn’t enough to make a woman happy. So Rick stepped back…even though he would have much rather stepped much closer. Lana blinked as if coming out of a daze, then she stepped back too, reaching for her coat. She shrugged it on, belting the soft leather at her waist.

“Sometimes people deserve a break,” Lana said. “And maybe I wanted the fun of almost beating a handsome semiprofessional at his game of choice.” The playful tone in her voice gave her away.

“You did Google me, didn’t you?”

“I’ll admit to doing my research,” she said. “You’re welcome to return the favor.”

As she walked toward the door, her jacket hugging her hips, Rick had to admit that he might take her up on that.

“Oh, and, Rick?” Lana paused at the door, smiling at him over her shoulder. “If I don’t see you before then, have a merry Christmas.”

It was looking better already.

* * *

After Lana left, only one customer came in to play a round. One. Between that and the meager daytime business, today wouldn’t even cover keeping the lights on. Rick stayed until he knew there wasn’t a point anymore, then he locked up and headed home.

Home was a modest ranch on a few acres of land, butted up against the far side of the Lockett property. Even though the bulk of the landscape didn’t belong to Rick, there was a feeling of solitude and privacy to the property he loved. Since he worked a lot of hours, often until late in the evenings, he’d installed solar-powered flood lamps outside the house.

With the days shortening to fewer hours of sunlight, those solar-powered lamps wouldn’t get the power they needed much longer. He’d have to double-check the backup batteries. Mentally adding that to his to-do list, Rick parked under the empty metal carport next to the house, even though Diego’s car was already in the drive. Diego had the run of the place—and had since he’d come to live with them as a teenager—but he’d never truly settled in. And he never took the place under the carport, no matter how many times Rick reminded him that he was welcome to it.

Life hadn’t been easy on the kid. He’d survived a car accident that had killed his whole immediate family. Jen had promised Diego that he had a place with them, but then Jen had left too. Since then, Diego had been stuck with Rick, who didn’t know a thing about raising a teenager.

The least he deserved was a windshield free of snow every once in a while.

The path to the house was scraped clear, leaving one less thing Rick would have to do himself. Not for the first time, he was grateful for the extra pair of helping hands…even if those hands were connected to the surliest twenty-year-old he’d ever met.

When Rick opened the door, a cat was waiting for him beyond the foyer rug, eyeing Rick with disapproval.

“Evening, Roger,” Rick said.

Roger’s tawny eyes were flat. As far as he could remember, Roger had never liked anyone, not even when they’d brought him home as a kitten from the shelter in Anchorage. In the years that followed, Roger had grown as heavy and as long as a small bobcat. And his distrust of Rick had grown proportionately.

“I got home as soon as I could,” he told his ex’s pet.

Roger mewed, a dismissive sound if he’d ever heard one. The orange tabby’s tail twitched, a sure sign he was displeased.

“Okay, fine. But Diego’s here. I’m not sure why it always has to be me.”

Rick leaned over and picked up the massive house cat, adjusting his hold so Roger was in his favorite spot, cradled along the length of Rick’s forearm, belly up and head flopped back.

For some reason, Roger preferred to look at life upside down, dangling from Rick’s arms. Flipping a switch to turn on the Christmas lights they’d strung up along the hallway, Rick frowned at a three-foot section that had been pulled down. Some of the lights were out.

“Roger, are you eating my decorations again?”

The tabby mewed his innocence…not that Rick believed him.

“Hey, crazy cat guy,” Diego called from the living room. “Did you pick up milk?”

Dammit. Rick knew he’d forgotten something.

Draped across the same side of the same living room couch he’d been sitting on for years, Diego still managed not to look sure of his place there. Like Roger, Diego had tawny eyes and a bad attitude. But since they were the only family Rick had, he figured he was lucky. Sure beat coming home to an empty room.

“You didn’t get the milk.” Diego rolled his eyes.

Knowing he was busted, Rick countered, “When did I become the crazy cat guy?”

“When you decided to stop dating and showering and started talking to the cat instead.” Diego didn’t smile very much, but he was really good at smirking. And that was definitely a smirk on the kid’s face.

“I still shower.” Rick raised an arm to give himself a sniff. Did he smell? If he did, had Lana noticed? They’d been standing awfully close…

“I fed Darla.” Diego managed to sound like that was somehow Rick’s problem. “She’s mad at you.”

“She’s not mad at me. She loves me.”

“Go ask her about it. She seems mad.”

Well, that was never good. So off to the “study” Rick went to apologize to a hedgehog. The study was actually a third bedroom that Rick had arranged with bookshelves and an old desk. And also Darla.

Tucked in the Roger-proof cage he’d built her, the tiny hedgehog was sleeping deeply. Complete with a little house, furniture, and even a hedgehog-sized potted plant, Darla had the good life. When Rick adjusted Roger on his arm, visually checking Darla’s water bottle—because opening the cage with Roger present was a bad idea—the movement woke her up, earning him a sniff and then her quills fluffing up as she turned her head.

Yep. That was a disgruntled hedgehog.

“Sorry, Darla. I had to work late.”

She refused to look at him.

“It’s how we eat, honey,” he reminded her. Darla was not willing to be convinced.

When he returned from the study, Diego followed Rick into the kitchen. While Rick rubbed an upside-down tabby belly, Diego pulled two large bowls out of the dishwasher, still steaming and beaded with moisture from a freshly run load.

“All you had to do was buy the milk.” Holding up a nearly empty gallon of milk, Diego shook it pointedly.

Amused at the younger man’s grumbling, Rick grabbed two boxes of cereal from the cabinet with his right hand, knowing better than to set Roger down to use his left. Roger required a solid ten minutes of upside-down reflection before consenting to be uprighted. Any less than ten minutes would result in a meow, flattened ears, and a scratch. Any more than fifteen minutes would bring a bite and some fairly dramatic hissing.

Roger’s needs were complex and many.

This week, dinner was Raisin Bran and Cheerios. Next week, it would be Apple Jacks and Frosted Flakes. Really, it depended on who did the shopping. There was a kitchen table, but they hadn’t eaten there since Jen had left. It had become Roger’s domain, where he draped himself, tail twitching, judging whatever Rick was up to that day.