"THOSE BARS IN New York too uppity for anyone to show you how it's done on a pool table, huh?"

My head spun, trying to comprehend what August was saying while simultaneously digesting the way his fingers skimmed over my skin. If he noticed my goosebumps, he didn't say anything.

Which was good since I still hadn't recovered from the other thing that had come out of his mouth. I wasn't sure if he was talking about breaking the rack of balls or having sex on a pool table, but it didn't really matter, seeing as I didn't have experience with either.

"You haven't earned your question yet, Fletcher," I said, shooting his words back at him.

I felt a low rumble vibrate from his chest, shaking my ribcage. He was so close and all-encompassing as he reached around me that I could feel everything. 

"Then let's get this game started," August murmured before showing me how to pull the cue back. He released my wrists once I was in place, letting me strike the white ball on my own. I hit it dead on and with enough force that it flew into the stack of solid and striped balls, dispersing them across the table.

But nothing fell into a pocket, and I stepped back in disappointment.

This was going to take a long time, and I was eager to get to work.

"I propose a change of rules." I leaned against the table, facing August. He assessed me with one raised brow, waiting for me to continue. "Every ball in the pocket earns a question," I said. "I'm not waiting until the end of the game to make conversation."

August's expression remained flat, seemingly unimpressed with my suggestion. But then again, August always seemed unimpressed. When the Warriors won the Super Bowl two seasons ago, August barely cracked a grin.

"Or we could just, I don't know..." He sighed heavily. "Drink a beer, listen to the music, and play some pool."

"You don't even have a drink."

"Well, that's easily solved." Without breaking eye contact, August hollered behind him. "Hey, Sunny! What about another Islander?"

"On it, Auggie," the man behind the bar shouted back. Sunny himself, presumably.

August's expression remained steady as if daring me to argue with his logic now. So I said, "There's also not any music playing."

August chuckled slightly before tipping his head at something behind me. I spun to see a jukebox in the corner, tucked away like someone hoped no one would notice it if they put it there.

"So what do you want to listen to, Castle?" August asked, exasperation evident as he walked around the table to the jukebox.

"The music was your suggestion," I pointed out. "I thought it would be better to have a chance to talk. You know, maybe about why you abruptly retired from the National Football League when you were at the top of your–"

August cut me off with a blast of a country tune I didn't recognize. Then he sauntered to the bar to grab the beer Sunny had produced. He swiped it off the counter before meeting my stare.

I should have known this entire assignment would be impossible. Usually, I liked interviews because they were repetitive, a conversation that was scripted. I knew my lines and what I needed to say to get others to respond how I wanted.

But it never worked like that with August.

He didn't play by the book, meaning everything between us felt like improv.

It was different.

Refreshing, in a way.

"There," he challenged, adjusting the music so it wasn't so loud. "Happy, now?"

But also infuriating.

I pretended to consider my answer for approximately half a second. "Not really, actually. Either we play a question per ball, or you can play pool with yourself, Fletcher."

If he wanted to make this into a little game, then fine. I'd play, but we were doing it my way.

August crossed the nearly-dead bar, eyes pinned on me. "Are you sure that's really what you want?"

He said it with a devastatingly low voice that sparked a bit of warning. But I was never good at paying attention to those.

I stuck one hand on my hip. "Why not?"

"Fine," he said, throwing one hand up in a sign of defeat. "For every pocketed ball, a question."

"Really?" I couldn't help my smile of victory.

My mom would say I went into sports reporting because I loved to write and tell stories to the world. My dad would say it was because of my competitive nature. I'd consider both of them to be right.

"If that's what you want, Castle," August said, but I didn't miss how his eyes glimmered as he took his place beside the pool table.

"You know it's really weird that you keep repeating that," I said warily.

August just shrugged–his favorite deflection tactic–and flicked his cue into position with a move that both startled and impressed me. But not nearly as much as when he lined up the stick with the white ball, striking it with the exact precision needed to rocket a striped ball into a corner pocket.

"So," he drawled, not wasting any time as he spun around to face me. He sat on the table's edge, thighs straining against worn jeans as he twirled the cue between his legs, balancing with his pointer finger on the top. "How much money did they have to fork over to get you to come all the way out here?"

Goddamn him.

Not only was he already beating me at my version of the game, but he was also acting and looking devastatingly hot while doing it.

Great. Just great.

I took a long drink of the Islander lager before leveling him with a look.

"You might be surprised to hear this, but that's not how it works in a normal job. Reporters don't have agents who negotiate for them. And if your boss tells you to go to Evergreen Isle, then you go to Evergreen Isle."

August nodded, unbothered by my sarcasm. "So how did–"

"Ah," I cut him off. "If that's another question, it's gonna have to wait, Fletcher."

Lips pressed together, August used the cue stick to push himself back to his feet. He leaned over the table with slow precision, and I didn't know if he was doing it to mock me or give me a show, but I could hardly complain when his back muscles flexed like that while getting the cue into place.

A second later, August sank another striped ball in a pocket. He whipped back around to face me, trying–and failing–to keep the smug expression off his face.

"So, how did Parker take that?"

"Parker?" I repeated. "How did Parker take me coming down here?"

August nodded, eyes burning into mine.

My coworker, Finn Parker, couldn't give less of a shit that I was here–as long as it was me instead of him. In fact, everyone back at the office was glad they weren't in my shoes.

"He doesn't care," I said, only that made August's brows draw inward. "You aren't his biggest fan, so...."

So why the hell would August think Finn would want to come down here and spend time with a guy who hates him?

"No," August grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm definitely not."

I cocked my head to the side. "And why is that?"

The corner of his lips twitched. "Ah, is that a question you're trying to sneak by me?"

"Well, it would be helpful if you missed a ball, so I could have a chance," I muttered.

"This is how you wanted to play, Castle," August said matter-of-factly before shoving a hand in his pocket and returning to the table to survey it for his next move.

A move that unsurprisingly sank another ball.

"Do you have any pets?" he asked, this time from across the table. Both hands braced the edge as he pinned me with a look that seemed far too severe considering the question.

"Yes."

"What kinds are–"

"Another ball, Fletcher."

He sank it within less than a minute, and I sighed heavily.

"I have a hedgehog named Eloise."

"Is Parker watching Eloise?"

"My parents are watching her," I answered before biting down on my tongue when I realized I'd let information slip for free. "What's with all the Parker questions?"

"That's a question you haven't earned," he tsked.

"I just answered one of yours for free."

"That's your slip-up, not mine."

I glared at him, and he stared back. Eventually, he lifted a shoulder, giving in.

"Frankly, I was concerned for Eloise. Plus, I think you're wrong."

"What?"

"That inept man follows you around like a lovesick puppy," August grunted, sweeping his eyes down to look at our physical playing field and ignoring our mental one. "What's he gonna do with himself now that you're not in New York?"

"Love-sick?" I laughed, trying to conceal the way my stomach flipped. "It's not like that with Parker. I'm barely even friends with him."

August's head jerked back up to look at me, his eyes flashing as they settled on me. They blazed in a way that affected my internal body temperature, spearing me with heat. His lips slowly pursed in thought.

"Barely friends, huh?" he finally said. "You guys talk a lot for being barely friends."

"We're coworkers," I said flatly, ignoring how it made me feel when August gave me so much of his intense attention. "Also, I talk to a lot of people at work. Talking to people is kinda my job."

"Yeah..." August grumbled, his eyes falling off me, letting me breathe again. "I don't know why you signed up for that gig."

I shrugged. "You signed up to pummel people into the ground, and I'm not judging you."

One side of his mouth slipped upward in a crooked smile. "It's because you know it sounds fun."

"It wouldn't be my first choice."

"Hm," August hummed, eyes wandering back to my face before returning to the pool game at hand. He paced the outer ring of the table before finally settling on an angle to attack the ball.

Another striped one down, in the pocket.

He took his time sipping his beer before settling on a question.

"Why the Warriors?"

"Because I like New York."

He wrinkled his nose, making his feelings on the subject perfectly clear.

And because I felt the need to defend my statement, I added, "It's what I know, Fletcher. It's familiar, it's comforting, it's become my home."

"And it's only comforting because it's familiar," he argued. "You want to talk about comfort? Take a look around, Castle." 

I did as he demanded, taking stock of the run-down bar with a few beer-hugging patrons sitting at wobbly wooden tables. Yes, there was a pleasant, beachy feel to the white shuttered windows and floor coated in dust and sand, but it didn't scream comfort. At least not for me.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to prove here, Auggie," I said, emphasizing the nickname the bartender gave him.

"Hey, now. Watch your tongue when you're talkin' about Sunny's." His jaw set as he jerked his head toward the bar. "Do you see that man behind the counter?"

"Let me guess, that's Sunny," I drawled.

"Yep," he said with a pride that was sort of endearing. "Uncle Sunny."

"Your family owns this?" I asked, and when he nodded, I continued. "See? This is home for you, like New York is to me. You're only comfortable here because it's familiar. It's not any different."

August took a long sip of his beer. Brown eyes watched me over the curve of the glass as he swallowed, licking his lips in a way that had me wondering what they felt like. If I had to guess, kissing August would be rough and demanding... and hot. Oh, so hot. Like the way he was looking at me.

He took a few steps forward, crowding my body against the pool table. Once again, we were close enough that my pulse began to race, taking off without a care for my heart health.

His voice slid in a silky caress across my skin. "I guess I'll just have to show you everything that Evergreen has to offer."

I mimicked him, draining the rest of my glass before lowering my voice to reply.

"I guess you will."

|||

By the time August was leading me out of the bar, I had to hold onto my suitcase for dear life in hopes of staying upright. By some grace of God, I made it to his car–but even in my drunken state, I recognized how much of a struggle it was to get there.

And August?

Oh, he was mad.

Pissed as all hell.

I couldn't help but find it amusing. I'd been giggling like a schoolgirl with no hope of stopping, and that only infuriated August more. Which only made me laugh more.

He'd stopped drinking a long time ago. Hours, maybe? I wasn't even sure how many games of pool he beat me in or how many things I'd said that I likely shouldn't have. Because I, foolishly, had not set aside my beer until the very end...not until it was too late.

"You should have told me you didn't eat dinner, Quinn," he scolded through clenched teeth as he watched to make sure I buckled myself into his car.

I ignored the tone of his voice and focused instead on how he did, actually, know my first name. I'd been starting to wonder.

"Eat," he demanded, pointing at the three boxes of fried food sitting in my lap that he'd asked Uncle Sunny to make for me even though the kitchen had closed over an hour ago.

"You have a car," I commented, opening the top box to munch on a pile of fries.

"Of course I have a car," August grunted as he jammed the key into the ignition.

I shrugged. "This just seems like the kind of place where everyone rides their bicycles around to eliminate carbon emissions or something."

August snorted. "Not that kind of island. Try over at Emerald Isle."

"I'll let you know when I check into my hotel tomorrow."

"You're not going to stay there." His words were as tight as his body while he maneuvered the car onto the street. "You're going to stay with me, finish your little story, and then get out of my hair. You'll be returning to your precious New York before you know it. Eloise will be thrilled."

I froze, french fry halfway to my mouth as panic worked through my veins. August was in for a rude awakening if he thought I'd be out of his hair that fast. If I showed my face back in New York before either getting some serious dirt on this football player or convincing him to return for the season, well...I could kiss my job goodbye.

"Your hospitality is astounding, Fletcher," I said with as much sweetness as I could muster. I wasn't sure it was effective between the slurring of my words.

His eyes flicked over to me and then landed on the french fry. When I popped it into my mouth, he grunted in satisfaction.

"Not exactly something I'm known for," he said, gaze swiveling back to the dark road. "You shouldn't be surprised."

"I'm not," I snorted before dissolving into a giggle fit again.

He sighed. "Like I said, you'll only have to deal with me for a little bit."

August's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, focused on driving us off toward a dark, remote corner of the island. I cursed myself again for fucking up my hotel reservations. And then once more when August turned to look at me, a smirk sliding onto his ruggedly handsome face.

If I was sober, maybe I'd have the energy to stop this entire situation from happening. But as it was, I'd just have to trust August Fletcher.

"Maybe you'll find out I'm not so bad after all, Castle," he murmured.

Fuck. I trusted August to keep me safe tonight, but I absolutely did not trust him to keep my job safe.

Because if only August knew...finding out that he wasn't so bad was precisely what I was afraid of happening.

☀️

a/n:

thank you so much to everyone who picked up this new book and gave it a try! I appreciate you all sm 🫶🏻 thoughts on chapter two?

xoxo amelie