I COULD FEEL August's eyes on me as I tended the bar at Sunny's.

It was half glare, half molten-hot stare.

He wasn't happy that I intervened when he walked–no, limped–into the bar and announced to his uncle that he was there to help. But it wasn't like Sunny wouldn't have noticed within minutes that August was in no condition to be running around behind the bar when he couldn't go more than a minute without leaning against something with a strained expression.

Instead of his usual role during the weekly fish fry, today August was positioned on the other side of the bar, sitting at the end of it while he grumpily rolled silverware into napkins and watched as I took his spot, slinging beverages. And whenever August attempted to help me, Sunny steered him toward another seated task.

Honestly, this was what he got for insisting on coming. Although, I did feel for him. I knew all he wanted was to give back to his family and his community. More and more, I was coming to understand that about August. He had this innate feeling of responsibility for people. I saw it in him as a player, but now I got to see it more intimately. 

It made total sense that the thing that pulled August away from football was the people he cared about the most. Or rather, a feeling of betrayal for those people. It didn't mean I liked or knew what to do with that information, but I understood it.

Thinking about what I'd discovered this morning made my heart clench. I'd known–in a detached sort of way–about what had happened to August's parents. But hearing him tell his story put it into a new perspective, and all I wanted to do now was build a protective bubble around him. I wanted to shield him from the press, from the rumors, hell, even from me.

My own parents had championed me growing up, too, and I couldn't imagine losing my biggest cheerleaders. The people I had to thank for pushing me toward my dreams. I was young to be in the position that I was in, and I owed a lot of my success to them.

I sighed, sneaking another look at August, who was scowling at a pile of forks.

"If he's going to be such a grump, he should just go home," Cohen chuckled as he reached around me to grab a drink from the bar.

I shook my head in response to August's cousin, grinning softly to myself. "He wants to be helpful."

"If he was in too much pain to come last night, then I can't imagine why he's here now."

"Last night?" I questioned, looking back over my shoulder at Cohen.

"Pool night with the guys. I always play with August and Finny on Tuesdays." Cohen raised a brow. "Except for the past few weeks, August keeps bailing."

Without thinking, my gaze found the man in question, sitting out of earshot on the opposite side of the bar. His eyes were already on me, slightly narrowed as they shot between me and Cohen like he knew we were talking about him. Or maybe he just didn't like that we were talking at all.

The heat of his look melted my insides, reminding me of all the hot, unfiltered moments we'd shared in the last few days. My pulse sped up at the memories of his touch, and I bit down on my lip as I thought of all the dirty words he'd whispered in my ear this morning.

August's gaze flashed a second later, like he knew exactly what was on my mind.

Then he dropped his attention to his phone, and I cleared my throat.

"August didn't say anything to me about pool nights," I said to Cohen, who was leaning against the bar, staring expectantly in a way that made me realize he'd just watched our little exchange. I felt my cheeks flush, embarrassed at being caught.

"Of course, he didn't tell you," Cohen said, clearly amused. "He's trying to keep you all to himself."

If I wasn't blushing before, I sure as hell was now.

"He just doesn't like when I tag along," I reasoned.

"Wonder why that is," Cohen muttered before tossing me a wink and sliding down the bar to take a waiting patron's order.

Cheeks burning, I returned to wiping the bartop when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You can't look at me like that in public.

It shouldn't be surprising at this point in our relationship that August had my number, but we'd never exchanged them. Not that I could recall.

ME: How'd you get my number?

UNKNOWN NUMBER: My agent gave it to me when they said you were on your way down here to interview me.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Better believe I saved that shit right away.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Because I like you, Castle.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Which brings us back to why you can't look at me like that in public.

ME: Look at you like what?

I glanced up from my phone, biting down on my smile as my gaze connected with August's simmering one. He shook his head before typing something out on his phone. Mine buzzed a second later.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Like fucking that.

I smirked at him before pocketing my phone and turning toward a guest, who I'd seen sidle up to the bar out of the corner of my eye.

"What can I do for you?"

A middle-aged man with whiskey-colored eyes stood on the other side of the counter. He muttered an order in response, but I struggled to hear it over the roar of other customers. It was ridiculously packed tonight. Even more than the last time we were here. 

I leaned forward and asked him to repeat his order, hoping to catch it over the chaos behind him.

"Can I get a–" was all I managed to make out this time around, and I shook my head, leaning damn near across the bartop to hear the man's order. Luckily, he seemed easygoing, grinning lazily at our failed communication attempts. In fact, he seemed to think it was funny. Enough that I smiled back at him. At least until his eyes dropped when he said his order the final time.

Withing seconds of noticing his unwanted attention I felt arms wrap around my ribcage, pulling me back into a standing position, where my back collided with a hard wall of muscle.

"Speak the fuck up and keep your eyes where they goddamn belong if you don't want to get tossed out on your ass, Campbell."

The man, whose name was apparently Campbell, put his hands up in mock innocence at August's gruff command.

"Who's your new friend, Fletcher?"

"She's off-fucking-limits is what she is." August's breath grazed the curve of my ear as his hands slid to grip my waist, tucking me into his chest.

"So not exactly a friend, then, huh?" Campbell chuckled, his lips curving in a friendly grin.

He might be a bit of a sleazeball who'd been trying to look down my shirt, but he seemed mostly harmless.

He had balls, too, considering how he extended his hand across the bar to me a second later.

"Mic Campbell. Nice to meet you."

I stared at his hand, debating what to do with it. But before I could decide, August smacked it away.

"Get the hell out of here, man."

"Can I get a beer first?" he asked, unbothered by August.

"I'll get you a beer, but you better not fucking talk to Quinn again. Got it?"

Campbell nodded, and August reluctantly poured him a drink, shoving it into his hands hard enough that half of it spilled. Meanwhile, he didn't leave his spot beside me. Barely took his hands off of me. And when he did have to take his hands off me, it wasn't for long.

Once Campbell had his drink and disappeared, I turned toward August, giving him a pointed look.

"What?" he grunted.

I raised a brow because my look should have been unmistakable.

"He was looking down your shirt, Castle."

I sighed. 

"I told you," he said, dropping his voice to a degree only I could hear. "I may not have fucked that pretty pussy of yours yet, but I warned you what would happen if we went down this path. Fuck anyone who looks at you the wrong way."

He had warned me. But I definitely hadn't wrapped my head around how serious he was about it until now.

"Also, if you could stop flirting with my cousin, that would be great," August drawled, but there wasn't any bite to his words. His body had relaxed, too, curling around me.

"We weren't flirting," I said in defense. "We were talking about you."

The sly grin that emerged on August's face told me he already knew that.

"And why you keep ditching pool night," I added. 

The way his smile suddenly fell told me he didn't know that.

"Next week, we're going," I insisted.

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face. "Castle, I hate to break this to you, but..."

"What?"

"You're terrible at pool."

I crossed my arms over my face, narrowing my eyes at him. "Maybe you need to give me some lessons."

"I did give you lessons," he shot back. "The first night you were here. I just don't think you were paying close enough attention."

Right. That did happen. My memories from that night were a little blurry, but I do remember how August tried to show me the basics. Including bending me over the side of the table to help me line up the shot.

"You were distracting me," I said breathily.

His lips curved in a wickedly handsome grin. "I was distracting you?"

"Yes, by being you."

He cocked his head to this side, but I refused to explain that his devilishly good looks had been distracting me for a very long time. So I added, "Plus, I was drunk."

He chuckled. "Well, that is true."

He glanced around the bar, eyes wandering the crowd, before looking back at me.

"I'll tell ya what, Castle." He leaned in closer, letting his husky words wash over me, sending a shiver down my spine. "Once everyone clears out of here tonight, I'll give you your own private lessons."

I tapped my chin, pretending to consider."Is it going to be a better lesson than the last time?"

August gave me a downright sinful look.

"Much better."

☀️

a/n:

dirty pool lessons? count me in 🤭

thanks for reading!
xoxo amelie