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“We could try our hand at pool,” he suggests.
“I’m not very good at pool.”
“I can help you.”
I picture myself bent over the table with Everett trying to help me align a shot. I cringe. Trevor must be thinking the exact same thing, because his body goes stiff against mine and his eyes narrow.
He wanted to get me with anticipation. Maybe it’s time I get him with a little jealousy.
“Perfect.” Grabbing Trevor’s fingers, I remove his arms from my shoulder. “You break,” I say to Everett.
My body brushes past Trevor’s intimately when I reach around him for a stick on the wall.
Everett racks the balls, situating them on the table, and then rubs his stick with the blue chalk. “Ready?”
The game ensues. Everett sinks a solid and a stripe on the break, chooses to go with solids and lands a second ball before missing.
I’ve never been good at pool. Sure, I know the basics, but I’ve always sucked at lining up shots, which I’m going to use to my advantage. I walk around to the opposite side of the table, bend down low, and position the stick between my fingers.
“You trying to get this one?” Everett asks, pointing to the ball I’m aiming for.
“Yup. Why?”
“You’re a little too far to the left.” He’s kneeling down, his eyes level with the ball, and when he looks up at me his eyes drop. I know he has a clear view down the front of my shirt.
“How’s this?” I say, moving the stick a little to the side.
“Perfect. It’s, uh, perfect,” he stutters.
I glance at Trevor. He’s standing tall, his arms folded across his chest, staring daggers at Everett. I almost feel bad. But then I remember the way he walked out of Coop’s office and left me all hot and bothered.
I sink the ball, and Everett tosses his arms in the air. “You did it.”
I shimmy past Trevor, doing a little happy dance that ensures my ass rubs against his crotch.
“Tease,” he murmurs.
Shooting him a wink, I bend over the table for another shot.
“Nope. Too far to the left,” Everett says.
I shift the stick.
“Nope. Too far to the right. You know what? Let me come help you.”
“I’ve got it.” Trevor doesn’t even give Everett the chance to get close to me.
I’ve got the shot lined up, the stick between my fingers the way my daddy taught me. Trevor steps behind me, pressing his body against mine. He slides his arm alongside mine, his hand holding mine steady while he uses the other to line up the shot.
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” he whispers in my ear.
“It’s an aphrodisiac, remember?”
“You’re damn right it is, but I want to pound you, not his face, which is what’s going to happen if he looks down the front of your shirt one more time.”
In one smooth motion, Trevor guides the stick toward the cue ball. It bumps into the number ten ball, sending it into the corner pocket.
Setting my stick down, I laugh and turn around in Trevor’s arms. Gripping the front of his shirt, I pull him toward me. “You’re the one who started this game.”
