Wonderful words written by the lovely and talented Kristen.
Monday night at the bar was always slow. A ball game played on the big screen, muted so the few patrons present could play DJ with the old school jukebox in the corner. It was Noahâs day off, so the new kid got a chance to stand behind the bar and pretend he knew what he was doing. The occasional crash followed by cursing indicated that he really didnât. It was here that Noah and Rachel had been meeting up for a game of pool and a beer every Monday evening for almost six months now, ever since Noah had turned up in New York with his guitar, a pocketful of cash and a whole lot of dreams. Rachel was the one who scored him this gig â bartending five days a week, playing his original music on Thursday nights. He was getting a bit of a following from the indie crowd; hell heâd even had a few agents sniffing around lately.  The petite brunette lined up a shot, sinking it easily. Noah quirked his eyebrow.
 âBeen practicing?â he stated, rather than asked. Yeah, the girl could sing, the girl could dance⊠but the girlâs pool game was usually pretty crap until she warmed up a little.
 âI might have come in after my morning class let outâŠâ Rachel responded - huffing under her breath as the bright blue ball ricocheted off the cushioned rail in the opposite direction than sheâd intended. Standing, she turned to him. âI stopped at your place on the way, but you werenât home. So I thought youâd be here. You werenât answering your phone?â The playful tone of her voice deflected the frown Rachel threw his way.
 âI had stuff to do todayâŠâ Noah trailed off, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated, lining up his ball with the center pocket. He threw a satisfied smirk in Rachelâs direction as he sunk his mark.
 âOh, yes⊠I heard you had plans. Important plans. So important you missed several calls and didnât answer texts.â With a flourish, Rachel brought the back of one hand to her forehead, slipping into a southern accent as she continued. âWhat if Iâda bin in a terrible accident, if Iâda gone to the hospital dyinâ, and you â you were so busy with your âimportantâ plans that you didnât even know?!â Noahâs laugh drowned out Rachelâs long-suffering sigh of anguish.
 âFirst off, your southern accent is more hillbilly than southern belle. Second, Iâm sorry I didnât answer my phone. The batteryâs dead, and I only noticed just before I got here. Third, who have you been talking to about me?â He walked past to grab his beer off the leaner, hip-checking Rachel on the way.
 âA good spy does not reveal her sources, Noah. But this little birdie had some very interesting information regarding your whereabouts today.â Rachel sat herself on the edge of the pool table. âAnd I canât help but wonder why I wasnât privy to this information earlier, from the subject himself?â
 Noah leaned back on his bar stool. âMaybe the subject wanted to keep something as a mystery for a certain Jewish Nancy Drew wannabe?â
 âSilly Puckerman, donât you remember? I am a little bit psychic. And I know when you are hiding things from me. Like this tattoo you got todayâŠâ Rachel deliberately sashayed the few steps it took to be standing in front of Noah.
 âYou caught me, Ms. Berry. You really are too good at this sleuthing business. But I have also been talking to little birdies of lateâ He placed one hand on Rachelâs hip. She could feel the heat of it through her shirt as though he was branding her. âAnd,â Noah continued, âIâve heard that maybe youâve got a little something that I might like to seeâŠâ He started to lift the hem of her shirt but Rachel twisted away from him.
 âThat little⊠when did she tell you?!â Rachel stomped petulantly.
 Noh laughed at the sulky look on her face. âAbout a certain drunken moment at Red Rocket? The day after you guys got your tattoos done. You know Satan â she loves being the first to tell someone something. Especially something she thinks someone will be interested inâŠâ He smirked at Rachel. âWhat dâyou? Tit for tat? Iâll show you mine if you show me yours?â He reached for her shirt again.
 âNot here!â Rachel hissed, slapping his hand away, and grabbing it in hers. She pulled him after her as she wove through the tables, heading to the corridor that led off to the bathrooms. The dim lighting and relative obscurity seemed to satisfy her, and she abruptly came to a halt.
 Biting her lip, Rachel lifted her shirt a little with one hand, pulling the waistband of her jeans lower down her hip, revealing a small blue bird in flight. Noah reached out, running a finger over the ink.
 âDamn Rach, thatâs freaking hot.â His voice was husky, and when she met his eyes, they were darker than their usual hazel green. All of a sudden, Rachel was aware of how close he was, how she could feel the heat from his body. Of how there he was.
 âHmmm,â she almost purred. âUh, now itâs your turn, Mr. PuckermanâŠâ She was trying to keep it light, but she was keenly aware of how his proximity made her heart race that bit faster.
 Silently Noah lifted the sleeve of his t-shirt, revealing a tribal style design etched on his well-defined bicep. As Rachel stroked her hand over the still raw image Noah let out a low groan. He caught her by surprise, slanting his lips over hers, holding her by the hips.
 âIâve been waiting six months for you to do that.â Rachel sighed as they drew apart.
 Noah barked out a laugh. âBabe, Iâve been waiting damn near six years to do that again.â
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