One Bride Too Many: One Bride Too Many / One Groom To Go

In the light from the cab she looked more like her old self, only better, much better. Jeans and a form-hugging white tank top did a lot more for her than the bridesmaid getup. She’d pulled all the sausage curls into a ponytail that bounced as she scampered into the pickup.

One of the nice things about taking a date in the truck was checking out her back view without being obvious as she climbed to the seat. Tess had a round, firm bottom, but of course she was no date prospect and never would be. Being with her was more like taking a ride with his sister—if he had one—or maybe a first cousin, which he also didn’t have as far as he knew. No telling what his biological daddy had in the way of relatives, since Cole had never heard boo from the man. Apparently he’d taken Marsh Bailey’s threats seriously way back when. Cole’s deceased stepfather was the man who’d been a true father to him, and Zack felt the same way.

“I know a place not too far from here where we should be able to get a table without a long wait,” she said.

He shrugged and let her give him directions.

“It’s not a tie-and-jacket kind of place,” she warned.

“All the better. Where did you learn to play pool?”

“My dad loves it. Has a table in his basement.”

“Now I’m getting worried,” he teased.

“Yeah, sure. How many times have you lost at anything?”

“Well, I’m still single. I certainly haven’t won the girl of my dreams yet.” And he wouldn’t be looking for her if he hadn’t lost the toss to Zack with his own coin.

“About what you want me to do—not that I plan to lose,” Tess said, “you actually expect me to fix you up with a blind date?”

“Maybe several.”

“You’re serious? I mean, you’re not going to break any of my friends’ hearts just for fun, are you?”

“I’m serious.” His answer came out sounding grim.

“Why now?

“You have a mother. You know how they get when grandkids fever hits,” he said, giving her the first plausible reason that came to mind. The truth was too bizarre to lay on someone he hadn’t seen for ten years.

“I guess, but my sister has two kids. I’m more or less off the hook for now. So you want to meet a nice girl to make your mother happy?” She sounded puzzled but not disapproving.

“I promised to give it a try, but working in construction I don’t meet many girls I’d want to take home to Mom.”

He didn’t like this conversation, and the pool place wasn’t as close as he’d like it to be.

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint your mom.” She patted the case resting on her thigh. “But I’m looking forward to a sneak preview of Bailey’s new line. My shop is getting a reputation for handling the latest baby products.”

He urged her to tell him more about her store without paying much attention to what she said. His interest in baby monitors and infant seats was nonexistent, especially since anything baby related reminded him of his grandfather’s high-handed manipulations.

They got to the pool hall. Buck’s wasn’t the kind of place he would’ve expected Tess to like. It was a workingman’s tavern with thick black glass windows and a neon beer sign over the door. He left his jacket and tie in the truck and followed Tess into a murky interior that reeked of smoke and boilermakers.

“Hi, Tess! How’s my sweetie?” a bearded little man who’d never see seventy again called as she walked in.

“Doing great, Barney.”

“Gotcha self a live one?” another grizzled old man asked from the brass-railed bar.

“Ready for plucking.”

Bar regulars were territorial, and the stools belonged to old-timers, mostly men and a few women with faces that didn’t match their vivid hair colors. What Cole saw at the tables helped explain why Tess felt comfortable here. They’d largely been taken over by twenty-somethings, young professionals trying to dress down and still look cool in designer jeans. The two groups seemed to tolerate each other well enough, with the possible exception of a few tough-looking young guys probably looking to prove something by hitting on classy girls.

Tess waved at a few younger people but headed directly toward the rear of the building. The pool tables were behind swinging Dutch doors in a back room with an old-fashioned metal ceiling. She’d chosen well. She scrawled her name on a chalkboard, but they were the only ones on the waiting list for a table.

“What can I get you to drink?” he asked

“A light beer, please. Playing pool is thirsty work.”

He’d expected her to order a soda or possibly white wine, but then, he didn’t know much about the Tess of today. He fetched a couple of brews and stood with her watching the action. Finally a couple of giggling girls abandoned their table and left with some guys in motorcycle boots and belts so heavily studded they probably pinched their bellies when they leaned over.

“You’re the challenger,” she said.

He racked the balls and tested the weight of the stick he’d chosen. The shaft had been sanded and the tip replaced recently. This place took their pool seriously.

Tess broke the rack and sank a striped ball. He liked the way she leaned over the table and studied her options. She had a loose, casual style, but once she committed to a shot, she went for it like a pro.

She impressed the hell out of him. This bet wasn’t the sure thing he’d expected.

“Nice shot,” he said as she sank another ball.

In fact, it was too nice. Beating her was going to take some off-table strategy. He stepped behind her and leaned when she leaned, reaching over her to take her wrist as she lined up her next shot.

“Maybe if you straighten your wrist just a little…” He began coaching.

“Cole Bailey!” She used her hips like a pair of cannon balls and knocked him away from the table. “I do not need lessons!” she said, confronting him like a raging rhino. “If you touch me again, the match is off.”

“Understood,” he said, feeling like a jerk. “Some girls appreciate a few pointers.” And a little touchy-feely to go with the sport, he thought, vowing not to forget Tess was different from most women.

He walked to the other side of the table so he wouldn’t have to watch the little tail twitch she used unconsciously when she was ready to take her shot. She might play killer pool, but she was still at square one in the boy-girl game. Men challenged each other for the competition, but it was a whole different contest to play with a woman.

I’m a chauvinistic jerk, he thought when she missed her next shot. He could win this bet without rubbing against her backside or distracting her with thinly disguised hugs. After all, this was Tess. He still owed her for getting him through English lit.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he stepped up to take his first shot. “I was only trying to be helpful.”

“Yeah, sure.” She frowned in disbelief.

He called his shot, knowing he deserved to flub it for trying to use sex to distract a friend. But Tess would keep her word if she lost the match, and he didn’t have any better ideas for meeting nice women. He couldn’t get help from Zack. His brother wouldn’t recognize a nice girl if she came wrapped in tissue and ribbons.

He cleared the table and won the first game handily. Fortunately, guilt didn’t blunt his skill.

“That makes me one up,” he said cordially. “Want to concede now?”

“No way! The bet is two out of three. I’m always a slow starter.”

“Nice stick you have,” he said, because he found silence between them awkward, not that balls crashing and people talking and laughing at the other eleven tables didn’t fill the room with noise.

“Seventeen ounces. My dad gave it to me when our team won the league championship last winter.”