Frances placed a hand over her heart. “I can promise that I will not steal your balls, Seth.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I will happily allow you to handle them whenever you wish.”
There was an odd glint in his eyes, but she couldn’t begin to guess why. Often gentlemen made comments while gambling that she didn’t understand either and decided that they have a different way of speaking that only they understood.
He picked up the two white balls, on which one was a black dot. “Which do you prefer?”
“Does it matter?” she asked. “Why is this important?”
“One will be your cue ball and the other will be mine. The dot is how we tell the difference.”
She studied them and chose the one without markings and Seth placed them on the table next to the red ball before he retrieved one of the sticks mounted on the wall. One end was a rounded tip, though flat at the end. The other end was wider, flat and squared. She assumed that was the end used to hit the ball.
“The idea of the game is to hit your cue ball so that it knocks the red ball into one of the pockets. You can score extra points if you hit both balls,” Seth explained as he placed her cue ball and the red ball at one end of the table then went to the other end and set his cue ball down. He then lifted the stick and bent over holding one end with his right arm and braced his left hand down on the table before he balanced the stick between the thumb and index finger, with his thumb arched. He then drew back and pushed the stick forward. It connected with the ball with such a force that it rolled down the table with enough speed that when it connected first with the red ball it knocked her cue ball, but neither went in a pocket.
He also used the opposite end of the stick, the narrower tip, to strike the ball.
He then stood and held the stick out to her. “Your turn.”
“What do I do?”
“What I did.” He then took the red ball and returned it to where it was originally placed then replaced her ball with his before bringing her ball to the end of the table and placing it where his had been. “This is how the game begins.”
“I do what you did?” Frances asked for clarification.
“Yes. Exactly what I did.”
She took a deep breath then grasped the stick as he had, leaned forward and put her hand on the table to balance the stick, drew back then thrust it forward and hit the ball. It barely rolled forward. “What did I do wrong?”
“Not enough power in your thrust.”
She frowned.
Frances tried again, but this time she barely brushed the side of the ball.
“Try balancing the cue stick like this.” He placed his left hand on the table and this time balanced the stick on the lower part of his middle finger with his thumb braced on the table and then crooked the index around the stick. “Place your hand on the table then the tip of the stick in the hole. Pull back slightly, then thrust forward with enough force that it will hit with enough intensity to move them from their spot.”
He spoke in such a low heated tone that Frances again had the feeling as if he was talking about more than hitting balls with a stick. She couldn’t imagine why it made her flustered, yet it did.
“Try.”
Seth stepped back and Frances again attempted to strike her cue ball as instructed but barely tapped it this time.
“Let me help you.” Seth came around to stand behind her.
“Place your hand on the table again.”
“But the ball has moved,” she reminded him.
“That can wait,” he said as he came around, then bent and curved his body behind hers. One hand he placed on the table by hers, and the other over hers on the stick. “Like this,” he said.
“Line up the tip at the hole in your fingers,” he instructed.
Frances did as instructed. “Pull back and thrust,” he said while demonstrating. “Back and thrust. Back and thrust. Back and thrust.”
Goodness it was growing warm. Likely because of the lamps lit to light the table and the heat radiating from his body.
“Back and thrust. Can you feel the power?”
