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“I don’t waste my time with merely anyone,” she told him.
He put his hands on his hips, extending the width of his shoulders and chest several inches. “Don’t think I can make it worth your while?”
“Don’t think I care to see.”
He laughed in her face then snapped his fingers at Frat Boy, who tossed a stick over.
Okay, what was the kid still doing here, witnessing her demise into promiscuity? She glanced at him and seriously debated slapping that smirky grin off his face. Whatever. She had more important things to think about right now.
A sturdy bra would’ve come in handy tonight because this built-in piece of crap was totally not working in the nipple department. She crossed her arms anyway and stepped in close to the stranger. “Who says I’m willing to play?”
“Who said you have a choice? Rack ’em.” He turned his back on her and walked to the other side of the table.
There must have been some invisible evil being in the room directing her motions as her fingers worked quickly, forming a colorful triangle. She should not be playing him. She should be taking her ass back to the bar and getting to work. Instead, she slid the balls to the black dot on the felt and gently lifted the plastic frame. “Best two out of three?” The damn evil being must have made her say that to extend her time with him as long as possible.
“Of course. You break.”
Well, dang it. She would’ve packed those balls tighter if she’d known he was going to change the rules and have her break first. Frat Boy bumped her elbow and handed her stick back before making his way toward the bar. Thank goodness it was a slow night and this corner table had her in relative seclusion and alone at last with Mr. Incredible Bod Man, though for the first time in she didn’t know when, Channing had no desire to play pool. That was probably why her break wasn’t up to par. Nothing fell so he got full reign on the table, shooting in a few stripes. Then it was her turn.
She missed. She never missed. This guy wreaked havoc on her concentration. When he wasn’t standing over her invading her space and letting delicious cologne fill her nostrils, he stood at the opposite end of the table eyeing her with those yummy chocolate morsels folks called eyes.
He finished off the other four stripes and nailed the eight ball straight into a corner pocket. Circling the table towards her, he said, “You lost, babe. Maybe the shaft isn’t straight enough for you.” He leaned on his stick like he was Moses leading the way to the Promised Land. This man looked very promising indeed. Her eyes involuntarily went to his shaft, and it sure as heck wasn’t the shaft of the pool cue, the upper end that would slide through her fingers like velvet. Sheeze. She suddenly got hot and dizzy. A rolling thundercloud burst into rain between her thighs, causing her to shift her weight from side to side. Her thoughts took a naughty detour, making her wonder what would happen if she said something like, “You are aware that has a double meaning?” She’d stroke the wooden shaft of her stick. Slowly.
He’d visibly gulp and she’d try hard not to smile as she pointed her stick in the direction of his cock, squinting one eye to check its straightness of the stick. She’d cut her gaze back to his and say. “It’s not the straightness I have a problem with. It’s the hardness. I suppose all shafts are not the same. Some just need a little polishing.”
© 2010 Casey Crow • firstname.lastname@example.org • Photography by Toni Riales Photography