“You’re up.” Baz strides around the table as I grab a cue stick off the wall and chalk the tip. My head is in the clouds as I line up the cue ball with the six for a shot in the corner pocket. I hit the white ball too hard, and they both drop in. “Mother,” I curse under my breath. I wasn’t talking shit. I really can play. It’s one of the many skills Benny honed me in. Pool, darts, cards. I’m a master at each. He was adamant I be well rounded. Well educated. A girlie girl who could hang with the boys. That’s who I am.
“Practice shot.” Baz retrieves the cue ball and the six.
“Hell, no. Put it back. No special treatment. I scratched.”
Baz lifts his hands in surrender. “What the lady wants, she gets.”
I shoot laser beams at him as he sets up his shot. I watch as he sinks three balls before missing the fourth. Okay, it’s on now. No more dicking around. This game is about to be over.
I bend over and line up a shot. Baz moves behind me, no doubt checking out my ass, but I won’t let his ogling fuck up my concentration. Look all you want, buddy. I hope you like, because I know you want me.
I shoot, splitting the three and the five, sinking them both in a corner pocket.
“Nice shot,” Baz hums behind me as I stand up straight. His beard tickles the shell of my ear, and I laugh. I laugh like a little fucking girl.Who am I?
“Ticklish?” He grabs my hips playfully and does it again, a little harder this time, causing me to squirm as the octaves of my laughter elevate. For a split-second I feel completely free. Completely normal. Just a girl, with a boy, playing pool. No stress, no demands. No expectations.
Is a simple laugh capable of unlocking such things? Providing such freedoms?
We’re both laughing by the time Baz is done with me. Our bodies relaxed and pressed comfortably up against each other’s. While catching my breath, I get high off his strong, woodsy, cypress scent.
It shouldn’t be this easy. He shouldn’t be this comfortable.
“Don’t go soft on me now. You still need to kick my ass.”
I look up him flirtatiously as he holds me in his arms. “I didn’t forget.”
With some reluctance, he lets me go, and I concentrate all my focus on the task at hand. I need to remember where my loyalties lie.
Four strokes later, I clear the table, hopping the eight ball over the ten to sink it in the side pocket.
Baz looks impressed. “You were trying to hustle me with that first shot.” He tries to circle his arms around my waist, but I subtly dodge his attempt. One more embrace and I’m putty in his hands. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him get to me or allow my desires to cloud my judgement—as much as I want them to.
Taking the hint, he steps back. I see the sting of rejection in his eyes, and it eats away at me. I want to console him. Assure him that it’s me, not him. That’s like the worst breakup line ever, but in this case it’s the truth.
“How ‘bout another drink?” My suggestion seems to optimistically re-engage him.
“Bathroom run first. I’ll grab the drinks on the way back.” He places his stick on the green felt surface. “Save the table?”
“I’ll be right here when you get back.”
Baz scrutinizes me as I lean against the edge, his big green sparklers holding equal amounts of hope and doubt.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re a slippery one?”
I press my bold red lips together, trying not to look guilty under the big, bright spotlight he’s putting me under.
“I’m not slippery. I’m just me.”
He runs his fingers through his long, wavy hair. “I don’t know why I find that response such a turn-on, but I do.”
“Maybe you’re interpreting slippery in a few different ways.”
“Not maybe, definitely.” He chuckles, paralyzing me with his killer smile. I think I may be fucked.
Fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked, fuckity, fuck, fucked.
I watch as he walks away, checking out his ass the whole damn time, all firm and tight in his snug, stone-washed jeans.
