Angela Campbell - Something Wicked

Oh, my, he was flirting, and that was a game best played by two. Accepting the cue from him, Alexandra arched a brow and slowly ran a finger along its length. “I can handle a stick pretty good.” She pursed her lips, blew at the chalk on the end, and slowly batted her lashes when she looked at him again. “Besides, what woman doesn’t love to bust some balls every now and then?”

He gave an appreciative chuckle. “Alright.” He began setting up a new game and she sighed, watching his taut backside move deliciously against his faded jeans as he bent over. Whew. Levis should pay him a royalty. Who looked that good in jeans, besides Calvin Klein models? No one, except this guy. Maybe he was a Calvin Klein model. He definitely had the face and body for it.

And maybe she should offer to buy him a drink or something—you know, to apologize for making him a target of the resident ghost.

“Can I get you a beer?”

“Nah. I’m good.” His back muscles stretched against his black t-shirt when he rested his elbows on the table, highlighting some serious muscle definition beneath.

“Something else? Whiskey?” She tilted her head at him. Me?

“No thanks.” His eyes twinkled with amusement as he straightened and moved closer. “Girls take advantage of me when I drink. I can see I’ll need to keep my wits around you.”

“Is that so?” She cast a meaningful glance over her shoulder at the beer he’d ordered for her. “Crap. You’ve obviously found me out. Whatever will I do now?” She sent him a pointed look that she hoped said I know your game . Trying to take advantage of me, eh?

He selected a stick from the cue rack and sauntered over to her, not looking the least bit remorseful.

“I was hoping if you drank enough, I’d start looking good enough for you to come talk to me. Since you didn’t even take a sip before rushing right over, I’m flattered.”

She snorted, but yeah, she was as embarrassed as heck about the way that must have looked. “Maybe I thought you were someone else.”

“Who?”

She said the first name that came to mind. “Robert Pattinson.” And then winced.

His eyebrows squeezed together. He looked almost offended. “Really?”

No, not at all, but what was she supposed to say—oh, there was a ghost coming to play with your balls? She shrugged.

“I won’t hold that against you.” He winked. “And I should probably warn you.” He leaned in close, the tantalizing scent of raw masculine energy exciting her nostrils and causing her inner siren to sit up and sing. “The guy I’ve been playing against tonight is pretty tough. He might not go easy on you.”

“You mean, the guy you were playing pool with earlier?” She glanced around, spotted only Derby Hat Guy leaning against the table, drumming his fingers impatiently, sending her a bored look. “Who is he, Casper the friendly pool player?”

He grinned. “He’s the guy who sent you the beer—the one who thought to himself, ‘I think the most beautiful woman in the world is in this room, and I’d like to talk to her.’”

Oh, mercy, that was both the best and the worst pickup line she’d ever heard. He had a sense of humor as well as being sexy. She liked that.

She tilted her head and feigned concern. “Have you seen a doctor?”

His eyes widened. “For what?”

“Multiple personality disorder. I think you have it.” She smiled to let him know she was only teasing. And she gripped the cue tighter to keep from doing something ridiculous like ripping his shirt off. “Here’s a hint, Casanova. Guys who talk about themselves in third person tend to come off as a little bit crazy.”

He leaned so close his hot breath teased her face as he tried to stifle a laugh. “Good point. And I’m a jackass. I haven’t even asked your name.”

“Alexandra.” She held out her hand. “And who will I be crushing in this game tonight?”

The warmth of his fingers against hers was stimulating. “Name’s—”

The sound of wood knocking against wood startled them both, and Alexandra sprang away. Derby Hat Guy had moved to the cue rack and was purposefully knocking the sticks against one another. He stopped when Mr. Delicious turned around to inspect the noise.

“I thought we were gonna have some fun with the rascal!” complained her newest dead friend. “Come on, already. Let’s play!”

Ghosts. They could be so annoying.

***

“You know, they claim this place is haunted.”

Dylan Collins leaned against his pool cue and watched as his enticing opponent lined up her shot perfectly—and abruptly banged the white ball against the left side when the words left his mouth.

She swore softly and sighed. “You don’t say.”

He shrugged and moved to take his first shot, regretful he no longer had a good view of her cleavage as she bent over the table. She’d already sunk a number of the balls. The woman knew her way around a billiard table. “I don’t believe in that stuff, personally. If that’s your thing, Charleston has a ton of ghost tours.”

“Hmm.” Her concentration seemed off as she frowned slightly, gazing toward the wall. Maybe she was like him and thought the whole Haunted Charleston spiel was just a gimmick to attract tourists.

Change the topic, dumbass. He didn’t want to scare her away or make her think he was a paranormal freak when he wasn’t.

He couldn’t believe his luck in luring a beauty like her over here. He circled the pool table and lined up his cue with the ball.

His favorite way to unwind from a bad day at work was to come to the Southend Brewery for a beer, a game of pool, and a game on one of the TVs above the third-floor bar, but he’d never seen a woman like this one here. Usually the women he attracted at bars were young, more than a little tipsy, and as sexually aggressive as sailors turned loose in a whorehouse.

His partner on the force liked to think of them as cop groupies, although Dylan never advertised the fact he was with the North Charleston PD before he decided to take one home. Besides, Reedus was wrong. Usually in this part of the city they were either co-eds or tourists looking for a little naughty fun before returning home to their mundane lives or boyfriends or husbands or whatever. Didn’t matter a bit to them that he wore a badge. They were more interested in what he didn’t wear.

But this one, there was something different about her.

Older than his usual pick up, definitely. He’d guess early 30s.

Lifting his gaze from the end of his cue and toward the blonde across from him, he drank in the sight of her curvy figure. The ball soared forward and clanged against two others that drifted into the corner pocket. He wouldn’t stretch his credibility by saying she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, but she was close. She had something else too that had caught his attention from across the room before he’d ever glimpsed her pretty face. The way she carried herself. Confident. Classy, even in jeans. Two traits he found sexy as hell, and then to come to learn she was smart and funny, too? Hot damn.

Normally he went for petite brunettes, but he wouldn’t mind a change of taste sampling this leggy blonde for a night or two. Especially tonight, when he needed to erase thoughts of the case that had been eating him up all day.

Was she willing to help him with that?

Let’s find out.

First, he had to sink the rest of these balls to impress her. He took his time finding the right angle—oh yeah, he could nail three in one shot from here—and made a show of leaning over, sliding the stick through his fingers, oh so slowly, and then snapping forward with just enough finesse to hit his target in the right spot. The white ball clanged against the orange No. 5, sending it into a corner pocket, then spiraled toward both the green No. 6 and purple No.4.