I help him retrieve the balls, and he shoots me a playful smile as he racks them up. “You want to break?”
I shake my head. “No, you go ahead.”
As he leans down and takes the standard stance, I study his shoulders and the curves of his back. I suddenly itch to rip off his shirt, and see what he’s hiding under there. He’s definitely sculpted.
He breaks the rack with force, sending two balls down, one of each thankfully. He smiles at me, and I realize my mouth is still open. I shut it quickly.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have a good shot to shoot at. He attempts a difficult combination shot and fails. He shrugs and smiles. “Your turn. Please take it easy on me.”
I laugh. “Of course I will. I wouldn’t want to beat the boss, would I?”
He’s left me an easy shot on a stripe. It goes down, and he grins widely. He’s happy for me. I miss my next shot. It’s been forever since I played, and I’ve never been that great. Donovan, on the other hand, was amazing at billiards. I suppose he just had the brain for it.
“You’re not holding your cue properly,” Weston tells me. “Here…” He settles himself just behind me, and adjusts my arm just so. “Your elbow needs to be straighter, a nice square. Don’t choke up so much on the cue.” My brain is whirling, struggling to take it all in. All I can think about is how he’s so close against me, my ass practically pressed against his crotch, and he smells so damn amazing.
“Try that shot again,” he urges as he repositions the object ball and the cue ball. “Give it a go.”
I do, my heart beating a mile a minute. And I get it in. I’m on top of the world. And so is he. “See how easy that was. Now do it again.”
The next shot isn’t so easy, and I miss it.
He shrugs and bends down to shoot. He misses too. “It seems we’re both hopeless.”
I smile. “It seems so,” I agree. “We should put a bet on it… make it fun.”
He perks up, all smiles. “What kind of bet?”
I worry my lip, thinking it over. A personal favor? “How about if I win, you make me one of your famous Margaritas. Rosetta tells me they’re fantastic.”
He smiles. “Well, I do love to make a Margarita. Sounds perfect.” His grin is impish when he asks, “What do I get if I win?”
I don’t know what comes over me. Perhaps it’s the mood of the room, or possibly the fact that I just want to rip his clothes off, but I inch closer and close the distance between us, and the next words out of my mouth are, “Depends… what do you want, Mr. Hanson?”
His eyes darken, and his lips part ever so slightly. I’ve left him speechless, and I have no desire to fill the delicious silence. I’m enjoying every second of it.
He licks his bottom lip, and I practically melt to the floor. “Actually, I’d love to see you with your hair down.”
I listen attentively, my core heating up with every passing second.
“I’d also like you in a skirt.”
God, yes.
“Easy… “ I practically purr. “I have a lot of skirts.”
“No stockings,” he says. “And an off-the-shoulder top.”
Damn.
“How about heels?” I ask. “Any preference?”
His gaze dances over me. “Round toes… high.”
I smile playfully at him. “Can do.”
He grins and shakes his head, not quite able to look at me. “Okay, let’s do this.”
He’s up again, and he throws me a mischievous smile as he shoots a long shot. It goes down easily. Next is a rail shot. His stroke is nice and soft, and he pockets it without effort. I watch attentively, getting suspicious. Has he been playing me?
