EXCERPT:
Jett
nodded, then glanced around the crowded bar. When he turned his gaze back on
her, a person would be hard pressed to describe his eyes as anything sweet or
candy like. “I was hoping you’d be up for a little game of nine-ball.”
Nikki
took a sip from her beer and raised her brow in question. Nine-ball was the
hustler’s game. It was short and quick, without all the rules of straight pool.
He
nodded his head toward the tables in the back. “I heard you played.”
“Then
you heard wrong.” She took another sip, eying him the whole time. “I’ve given
it up for Lent.”
The
corner of his mouth hinted at a smile. “Found God, have you?”
“Among
other things.”
Jett
glanced to the tables, then back to her. “One game. No money.”
Nikki
shook her head. “I don’t play for fun. No thrill in it.”
He
swallowed, and she could see his jaw work. “Then we’ll play for a favor. A
debt. You up for a little more red in your ledger?”
She
didn’t want to ask, not really, but gambling was too deep in her blood not to
hear the stakes. “What’s the favor?”
He
smiled, not the golden boy smile she’d come to know, but instead one that
lacked any charm at all. “Well, Texas, that’s the thrill part. You don’t know
until the end. Anything goes. No boundaries.”
Her
heart did a funky jump-start in her chest at the possibilities, but her game
face was ice-cold. “No limits?”
“None.
Unless that’s too much heat for you? We could place some ground rules if you
want to play it safe.”
Nikki
knew what Jett was doing. It was so obvious, and yet, there was that achingly
familiar thrill that zipped up her spine and buzzed in her blood. Some families
were predisposed toward red hair or near-sightedness. The Logans were addicts.
Throw a dart at the family tree and you’d hit a vice—drinking, smoking,
shopping. You name it, and the Logans could turn anything into a compulsion.
But really, under all the addictions, there was only one. One vice that was as
indicative of a Logan as dark hair, brown skin, and blue eyes.
It
was very basic, really. The Logans were gamblers.
There
were stories as far back as her grandfather, if stories in the Logan family
could be believed, who won his first car—a 1950 Cadillac—on the toss of a coin.
Then there was her father, Dakota, who’d bet on every sports game invented, and
even ones that hadn’t, like golf without clubs. Her father had once bet a
hundred dollars on his ability to throw a golf ball through the eighteen holes.
Legend had it, he’d won that hundred, but lost the money in the same night in
an “I can piss into a can from the second story” contest.
So
Jett knew what he was doing. And Nikki was smart enough to know this was more
than a simple favor and way more than a simple game of pool. She also knew
something else. Jett was no match for her in this game.
She
hid her smile with a sip of her drink. The thrill of a “sure thing” was headier
than any shot of tequila, more exciting than a leather-jacketed man on a
motorcycle.
“Oh,
I can take the heat,” she said.
“But
can you handle this much heat?”
“Oh,
I can handle it. Because we both know I can beat you with one hand tied behind
my back and blindfolded.”
His
eyebrows arched. “Then you’d best start figuring out what your favor will be.”
Nikki
put down her bottle, no longer needing the buzz. “Already have.” Her car
fixed…for starters. “You really think you can beat me at pool?”
God,
he was so cocky. It was almost tragic.
His
eyes narrowed and there was absolutely no humor in his voice when he spoke.
“Oh, I’m betting on it.”
