What was he thinking? He couldn’t sleep with his best bud. That would just be too weird.
“So, you want to play or what?”
Play? A trickle of sweat dripped down his temple.
She gestured toward the pool table.
Oh, pool. Right. She wanted to play pool. “Uh, sure.”
She turned and moved down the row of racks, inspecting the different sticks along the wall.
“You did this to yourself just for a practical joke?” he blurted out.
Her step faltered and she fell sideways into the cue sticks, sending them tumbling down.
Before he realized he’d moved, he caught her in his arms. She grabbed his shirt for balance as her ankles righted themselves. A horrified expression flickered over her face, and then was gone. He could feel her heat. Lust crawled over him. Intense. Unwanted.
She struggled out of his hold and stood on her own, smoothing her dress down over her hips. Her fingers slid over her flat stomach and down into the indentation between her pelvic bones, as if she was going to touch herself there.
He tried to swallow, but a hard lump blocked his throat.
A lieutenant appeared from behind Mitch and began picking up cue sticks and replacing them in their slots. “Is the lady with you, Captain?”
Mitch turned to the wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant. The guy was practically drooling, undressing Hughes with hungry eyes. Had Mitch flown through a wormhole in his Falcon this afternoon and landed in an alternate universe? He looked back at Hughes. “Uh…no.”
The lieutenant grinned and edged close to Hughes. “Well, pretty lady, can I buy you a drink?”
Hughes scowled at him. “No.”
“Aw, come on. Are you sure?” He put his arm around her waist and tugged her close against him.
The Hughes Mitch knew would’ve maneuvered out of the lieutenant’s hold, grabbed his thumb and bent it back to the point of breaking for calling her “pretty lady.” But this new Hughes grabbed the guy’s shoulders with wide-eyed surprise.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” The kid crooned as his hand slid down Hughes’ spine to the top of her butt. “I’m Drew.”
Mitch’s stomach cramped. He had a primal urge to crack the jackass’s jaw. Hughes wouldn’t actually go home with this kid. There were rules against fraternizing and he was pretty sure this guy was one of her students.
Hell, even if she was looking for some action, she could do better than smooth-talking Drew. But suddenly, that’s all he could picture, Hughes in bed with Drew, his hands all over her.
Mitch stepped between them and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s Captain Hughes to you, Drew. And if she needs a drink, I’ll take care of it. Now get the hell out of here.”
The lieutenant dropped Hughes like she was a live grenade. “Captain Hughes?” He stood at attention and saluted her. “Beg your pardon, ma’am.” He spun on his heel and marched off.
Hughes turned to Mitch and arched a beautifully shaped brow. An enigmatic smile curved her lips. “Feeling possessive, McCabe?”
Her expression knocked the breath from Mitch’s lungs. He’d never seen Hughes look at him like that. He grimaced. “Hey, I was just watching out for your career. Taking that lieutenant home would shred it.”
Her smile dropped and she gave him a furious glare. “I told you when I met you, Lancelot, I don’t need you or anybody else to look out for me.”
“Apparently, you do,” he snarled back.
She reached behind her for a cue stick and brandished it like a sword. “You’re the one who’s going to need protection by the time I’m through with you. Rack ’em, McCabe.”
Mitch blinked. This was the old Hughes. “You’re on.”
She chalked her cue stick. “I’ll even let you break.”
“Let me?” With shaky hands and his pulse pounding in his temple as if he’d just climbed out of his cockpit, Mitch broke and called solids, but missed the first shot. Damn it.
She messed with his mind dressing up like this. He needed to get his mojo back, pronto, or she’d end up beating him.
Hughes was all business as she approached the table. She took her time examining possible shots from every angle, leaning over the edge until her heels lifted off the floor.
God, those heels. His gaze traveled from them to her delicate ankles and up her beautiful, smooth legs until they ended at the hem of her skirt. His imagination filled in where sight left off. He pictured his hands caressing their way up her thighs beneath the dress. What kind of panties would she wear? Would they be—
Holy crap, was he actually wondering about Hughes’s underwear? What was the matter with him? He’d seen plenty of ladies in short red dresses. He’d taken dozens to his bed in all kinds and colors of under things.
But this was Hughes. In the twelve years he’d known her, he’d never seen her like this. He needed another beer. Hell, he needed ten beers.
Finally, she took her shot and sunk the ball. She moved around to the other side of the table and bent over to line up her stick for the next shot.
Mitch swallowed. He could glimpse the rounded swell of her breasts. His palms were sweating and, against his will, his body tightened. He’d never noticed how sexy her small breasts were. In fact, he hadn’t thought about her actually having breasts since they’d first met. And worse, he could see the lacy edge of a red bra clinging to the soft flesh. She probably wore matching panties….
No matter how many quantum physics equations he went over in his head, he couldn’t get ol’ Mac to make a tactical retreat. At another time, with any other woman, he would have already suggested they go back to her place. But this was obviously what Hughes had planned. To torment him. What had ever made him suggest that idiotic bet to Jackson?
No, he should leave now and take care of his problem the only way left to him. And wouldn’t Hughes just love it if she knew. After that smart-ass remark at the wedding…
Mitch swiped the back of his hand over his upper lip as he watched Hughes move around the table, bending over, the dress tightening around her cute backside. And she sank damn near every stripe. She finally missed the ten and Mitch got his chance to redeem himself. As she walked past him, she shrugged. “Let’s see what you can do with your balls, McCabe.”
Normally, Mitch would’ve laughed and maybe shoved her shoulder. The line was pure Hughes. But the woman who said it…wasn’t. He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. He ran a hand through his hair and rechalked his cue stick. He took another deep breath while he studied the table. Then bent over and lined up his stick. He could do this.
Just as he drew back his stick and hit the cue ball, she came into his line of sight, bending over from the waist to fiddle with her shoe, and he scratched. Not just the
