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She pops her head in. “Nothing, just thinking.”
“Get in here.”
She slowly enters with both hands behind her back. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Wanna play?”
She takes a few more steps closer and smiles. “Sure, I should tell you, I’m really good.”
“Oh, yeah, ok.” I laugh a little.
Is it odd that being around her slips me back into the boy who walked away so many years ago? Like it’s easy to justbewith her.
I rack the balls, and she grabs a cue stick from the wall.
“Isn’t there some captor handbook that says you shouldn’t interact with your prisoners?” She moves over, and I step back so she can break.
“I don’t like to follow the rules.”
She leans over the table, glancing back at me. “Yeah, you weren’t really much for rules growing up.”
She breaks and a stripe lands in the corner side pocket. Her jeans hug her ass, tight, as she leans across the table again, lining up her shot.
I divert my eyes back to the green felt. “Yeah rules are meant to be broken.”
She hits the cue ball and all the balls just roll along the table. “I agree completely.”
I shake my head, knowing full well she’s referring to earlier when she tried to escape from me. “Do as I say, not as I do.” I knock a few solids in one shot.
“Show off,” she says, sashaying around the table to give me more room for my next shot.
“Corner pocket,” I call, tapping my stick in that direction. “You never used to hang out with me in my prime.” I make the shot and move around the table, studying my next move.
“Oh, when was your prime?”
I laugh. “High school. Friends and I would hang out and play pool all the time.”
“Yeah, I didn’t leave the castle much.” She takes a seat while I knock in a few more shots.
On my next attempt, I miss, and she heads back over to the table.
“No,” I say to her. “Go for this one.” I point at the twelve ball.
“Oh.” She leans across the table, the angle all off, and I step closer.
“Like this.” I lean slightly over, trying my hardest not to smell her sweet fragrance as I teach her how to line her shot up correctly. “It’s all about the angles.”
I stand up in a rush when she turns her head slightly to catch a glance of my face.
She makes the shot. “High school was rough for me,” she says, her eyes catching mine.
“How so?”
I move to the table, grab my drink and take a long swallow. I raise my glass to her, silently asking if she wants one. She nods, and as she takes her shot, I pour her a scotch neat.
“Well, not many friends. You remember, I couldn’t even pick my own prom date.” She leans her ass against the pool table, and I stalk closer to hand her the drink in my hand.
Our eyes lock. “Who’d you have in mind?”
