**JAX POV**
I watch as Mila follows me to the pool table. At least this is preferable to chasing after her through the cold again.
I pick up a cue, feeling its weight in my palm. The familiar grip steadies something restless in my chest. I take aim, break, and sink three stripes easily. The balls scatter across the green felt with satisfying cracks.
Mila picks up a cue. She tests its weight like she's never held one before, rotating it awkwardly in her hands. She takes a few clumsy practice shots, nearly knocking over a guy passing by.
"Sorry!" she yelps.
I huff out a laugh that has no warmth in it. "You're terrible."
"Gee, thanks. Very encouraging."
Something in her tone—that defiant edge beneath the sarcasm—makes me take pity on her pathetic showing. "Here. Do it like this."
I le
