Page 30 of Hunt for You

Unaware of my breathlessness, the guy pulled a card from his wallet, held it pinned between his first two fingers and extended it to me.

I took it and ignored the way he watched me while I read it.

Sid Vicious

The Conductor

Invitation for One

Swallowing a chortle at the name—what was this guy on?—I offered it back to him. “I don’t need an invitation. I’m already on the list.”

“You will if you want to get into my den.”

I blinked. “She gave you a private den?”

He smiled again and gave one of those humble-brag shrugs. “I told you, special skill set. Only limited numbers can participate on any given night.”

I snorted. “Excellent marketing. You should run courses onHow to Give Rich People FOMO.”

He smirked, but didn’t respond.

I was still holding the card out for him, but he returned his wallet to his back pocket and picked up his pool cue again.

“I work Saturday to Wednesday. You should stop by.”

I blinked again and prayed my shock didn’t show on my face. “Valerie’s letting you skip the two most popular nights of the week?”

“Like I said, only limited numbers each night. I work better with the smaller crowds.”

Or you’ve only got a limited draw.

But then again, that fringe, niche stuff was what I usually liked the best.

He leaned down on the table to aim his cue, and with his body stretched out like and his t-shirt hugging his back muscles, he looked like a big cat… If a cat had an obsession with eighties punk rock and fashion that wasalmostback in style.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said, tucking the card into my back pocket, and not missing how his eyes cut up to my breasts when my shirt pulled tight.

Tit for tat was only fair.

“Enjoy your game,” I said breezily as I turned to walk away.

He snorted, but didn’t respond.

Then I stopped like I’d forgotten something and faced him again, but kept walking slowly backwards. “What’s your real name?”

“Ronald,” he said without missing a beat. He sent that cue snapping forward and the balls cracked on the table again, two of them finding their goals.

“Ah, that explains it,” I said, turning away again, grinning.

“Explains what?” he called after me.

“Why you thought that Dom name was cool. Your baseline reference isterrible.”

He snorted. “What’s your name, then?”

“I’m sure you already know. We’ll get along better if you don’t pretend otherwise.”

“Goodnight, Bridget.”