My heart beats double time when I recognize the rugged drawl of Hugo. Jorgie’s grinning face turns to repulsion.
“I don’t want to play against you. Pool is about flirting and seduction, not embarrassing your brother in front of his little buddies,” she declares.
Hugo’s deep chuckle rumbles through my chest. “I’ll be sure to let Blake know that the next time I see him.”
Jorgie’s eyes bug. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Bring it on,” Hugo mocks, waving for Jorgie to bring it. “You’re just afraid I’m going to remind you whose name is written on that leader board,” he adds, pointing to the Marshall Pool Champion Leader Board hanging proudly on a side wall. “Either bring it or wipe your name off the board and let another player take your spot.”
“Oh, I'm going to bring it, then I’m going to bring it some more,” Jorgie says, whipping her head side to side in a matching pattern to her hips. “So be prepared, brother,” she says, overemphasizing the word brother. “Because you’re about to go down.”
Their playful jibe gains the attention of the twenty-plus people still sober enough to focus on something other than the drink in their hand. Rhys smiles at me before graciously making his way to the other side of the table with Jorgie.
“I’m not very good at this game,” I warn Hugo when he hands me a pool cue that has a new dusting of blue chalk on the tip. Any time I’ve played on the faded felt table at the Marshall residence, my skills were best described as woeful.
My jaw drops when he says, “I know. You suck.”
He grins at my annoyed expression. “But that’s okay, I’ll teach you a few tricks,” he says with a wink. His words come out with a thick slur, making me wonder how many drinks he downed the past few hours.
“Ava breaks,” says Jorgie, fully knowing I can’t hit the colored balls when they’re an inch in front of the white ball, let alone all the way across the table.
When I sneer at her, she playfully puckers her lips. Sensing my apprehension, Hugo smashes down the last of the beverage in his glass, puts it on a table, and moves to stand in front of me. My brows furrow when he grasps my left hand in his and adds a sprinkling of white powder to the edge. A smile curves on my mouth when the freshness of baby powder filters into the air.
“It will stop the friction and make everything nice and smooth so the stick can glide through your hand with ease,” he says, demonstrating what he means by gliding the pool cue between my hand. His voice is extra hoarse with a dash of seduction, and it sets my pulse racing.
Blocking out the curious stare of the spectators surrounding me, I arch over the table and prepare to take my shot.
“Lean your torso over the table more, and raise your ass higher in the air,” Hugo instructs, placing his open palm on the middle of my back and pushing down.
A rustle of air gushes out of my lips when his spare hand smacks my backside and he says, “Higher, Ava.”
If I were still wearing my glasses, his playful tease would have had them steaming up. But it isn’t just his frisky tease that has me perspiring like I’m sitting on a furnace; it’s the burning glare from Hugo’s posse of female friends snarling at me that makes me feel like a pig being roasted on the spit. Victoria’s thin-slitted eyes shoot daggers at me as she prances to the chalkboard to rub out my name and replace it with her own. My throat becomes scratchy from the particles of chalk dust filtering into the air from her overdramatic dusting.
Ignoring the odd tension plaguing the large den, I adjust my position as per Hugo’s advice. Several male eyes drop to the front of my dress when it tips dangerously low. I lean over the table and thrust my backside into the air as instructed. A shy smile tugs on my lips when I realize one of the handful of cleavage spectators is Rhys.
Snubbing the dropped eyes from across the table, I squint one eye and line up my shot, pretending I know what I’m doing. My eyes rocket back open when the warmth of Hugo’s hand grazes the skin high on my inner thigh as he leans over my shoulder.
“Don’t aim for the middle of the ball; target slightly to one side, and it will give it a curve effect,” he suggests, his warm breath fluttering my ear.
Unable to breathe, much less speak, I nod my head. The thrum of my pulse palpitates in my neck from Hugo’s closeness. I glide the pool stick through the portion of skin between my thumb and index finger before giving it one final crack. Just before the tip of the cue hits the white ball, I close my eyes and exhale a large breath of air.
Time slows to a snail’s pace, and the room plunges into such deathly quietness that the sound of the white ball rolling across the felt is the only noise resonating through my ears. My eyes pop open when a loud crack booms around the room. Colored balls roll in every direction from my powerful hit. Immaturely, I jump into the air as an excited squeal ripples from my mouth. Anyone would swear I’d just won the lotto.
My party for one halts when Victoria spits out, “Why are you excited? You just lost the game, you idiot.”
My disbelieving eyes dart to Hugo. He doesn’t need to confirm Victoria’s testimony. The truth is written all over his face.
“How?” I ask.
“You sunk the black ball,” he replies, staring at me with amused eyes.
His bloodshot gaze peers past my shoulder. “Rack them up again, Rhys,” he requests before lowering his eyes back to mine. “Give it another shot; just don’t use so much power this time,” he says with a cheeky wink.
I smile at the playfulness in his tone before nodding my head.
“No, she had her shot; she lost. Now, we move onto the next person on the list,” wails Victoria.
I roll my eyes before turning them to Vicky.
