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“Who cares? We both know I’ll be distracted by the shape of your ass as you bend over to shoot. You don’t have to get a single ball in, and it’ll still be the best game of my life. There. Pressure’s off.”
Well, okay then. That actually was helpful. She felt zero pressure to be good. Other than the pressure to bend over seductively. The feminist in her prickled every time he spoke dirty, but there was another side to her that enjoyed a dominant man who liked saying what he thought. She would much rather him be openly attracted to her than her wondering if he even liked her. So yes, she appreciated the brash way he spoke to her.
She hit the white ball into the other balls, and one accidentally went in the corner pocket. It was a solid blue one.
“Good! You go again,” he told her. “You’re solids.”
She knew that the white ball needed to hit the other balls in, so she lined up an easy shot right by a pocket, but missed by three inches. Nice.
“Want me to help?” he asked.
“Is this the part like in the movies where you move behind me and fix my form while rubbing all over me?”
“Uh, I was going to correct you from here, but that sounds way better. What kinda porn you watchin’, woman?”
“I don’t watch porn. I watch romantic comedies.”
His face went completely blank. “I don’t completely know what those are, but I think it’s surprising you watch them. Are those like love movies?”
Lucia shrugged. “Love in movies isn’t terrible, but it’s all make-believe. Love in real life is horrible and makes me want to gag.”
“Mmm,” he said noncommittally from where he sat on a stool in the corner. “Try for the six. You see it?”
“Yeah,” she said, lining up to hit the white ball against the green one.
“Your arm is swinging wide. Tuck it in closer to your ribs or you won’t be able to do a straight shot. Now imagine an invisible string that travels from the pocket through the middle of the six ball. And now you have to make that cue ball hit the exact spot that imaginary line goes through. Compensate for the curve of the ball. This is an angles game.”
“And what’s your game?” she asked cheekily as she lined up and imagined a string going from the pocket through the six ball.
“Also angles,” he said, and his voice had a wicked spark to it.
“You’re dumb, but not as dumb as I thought,” she said.
He huffed a single laugh. “And you said you don’t do compliments.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“Yeah it is. Don’t hit the cue ball hard. Just tap it hard enough to hit the six.”
She did her best, but missed it again. “I think I’m bad at this game.”
“Oh, you’re terrible, but no one starts out good.”
He took the pool stick from her hand and chalked the end of it, lined up like a pro and hit one of the stripey balls in the corner pocket, and then missed the next one. The cue ball rolled by the six again. He handed her the pool stick, and then explained the angles again.
“Did you just miss on purpose so the cue ball would go land by the six?” she asked.
“No.”
“Lie.”
“Hit the ball.”
“Okay, coach.”
He laughed and nodded as he walked toward the table where their drinks sat. “Call me coach in the bedroom.”
“Is that all you think about?” she asked. “Sex?”
