By the time I remember to watch his form, it’s too late. The cue hits the ball with a clap, and all I’veeffectively done is map the impressive sinews and dips of Grayson Gold’s arm. My focus rushes back to the pool table, where balls clatter against one another and bounce off the edges.
“Now, ladies first. House rules.”
You can do this.
I circle the table like I have some mysterious strategy, but I already know my target. It’s the solid red ball close to the white one, somewhat aligned with a hole in the corner.
Hit the white ball, so it hits the red ball and goes into the hole. Easy.
I picture Grayson’s hand as I lean over the table like he did. The position feels awkward, like something is bent where it shouldn’t be, another limb angled the wrong way, and I’m struck with the reality that this isn’t easy at all. I’m doing this horribly wrong, and everyone can see it.
But I’m already here. I can’t disappear into the wood floor beneath my sneakers. I need to follow through.
I set the end of the cue between my fingers, but it slips. I try again. Again, it slips to the side uselessly.
“Don’t know how to play?” Grayson asks. It isn’t mean, but it’s teasing, and it sends a hot blush crawling up my cheeks.
“Just been awhile,” I say lamely.
“Sure.”
“Not all of us practice handling our balls as often as you, Grayson.”
There’s a burst of laughter. It’s Darian, whose brows are raised so high they might launch into the ceiling. Bob and Amanda cough beside him.
I expect to find Grayson scowling, but he’s simply watching me like I’m an object of fascination.
Then his lips twitch. “Not about handling balls, Boston.More about small holes and working them with good technique.”
“Amen, brother.” Darian raises his beer, filling the silence,thank god,because I’m stunned.
His employees are withinearshot.
He’s just trying to fluster you.
Recovering, I offer an unbothered smile. “Well, that’s not my forte.”
“Here,” Darian cuts in, handing his beer off to Bob. “Let me give you a quick refresher.” He extends a hand for the cue, and I hand it over.
He quickly shows me how to set up for my shot, then returns the cue and coaches me into position. “Not quite. Move this back.” He nudges my back foot with his toe. “Yeah, like that. And then your hands—here.” He applies gentle pressure to my bracing hand and helps me form my kickstand correctly. It’d be a sleazy come-on if not for the fact that his fingers stay politely at my hand. “Yeah, there.”
When I try again, the cue rests comfortably on my fingers.
“Appreciate it,” I say as he backs away. Before my attention returns to the white ball, it snags on Grayson.
The levity on his face has vanished.
Probably because Darian just set me up with a chance to actually win.
I didn’t win.But I didn’t embarrass myself, either.
At some point, a beer made its way back into Kenny’s hands, and he ended up racing to the bathroom to throw up when we were only a few turns into our game. Graysonbailed to check on him, and left to drive him home soon after.
In some way, I owe Kenny athank you, because in just three turns, Grayson demonstrated just how capable he was at whooping my ass into next Sunday. Had he finished, it would have been much more difficult to show my face at work today.
I’m not so naïve as to think last night’s social invitation has changed the dynamic on the farm. Grayson might have realized he needs to deal with my presence, but he still doesn’t like that I’m here, or trust me to treat his brand with respect and care. So I’m surprised when Amanda intersects me before I enter the office, wearing a Gold’s sweatshirt in the chilly morning air.
“You’re coming with me today,” she calls out as she approaches.
