Page 9 of The Upside of Falling
“Great.” Ryan hands me her pool stick. “I’m going to go get some drinks before we get started. “You boys good?”
“I could use a refill.” Stryder pushes off the rail. “Need another?”
Casually glancing at the cup pinched between his fingers resting on the deck rail, Colby shakes his head. “I’m good.”
Stryder gives Colby a pat on the shoulder as he walks away with Ryan. “Chalk up my stick for me, man.”
Colby quietly shakes his head, eyes cast down. He takes another sip from his cup, and I immediately feel a little awkward. It almost seems like he doesn’t want to be here, like coming to this party was the last thing he wanted to do. It’s evident from his terse responses, and uninterested attitude.
Too bad for him, I’m great at awkward.
Pushing off the rail, he walks toward the pool table, brushing by me while saying in that deep voice, “You coming?”
Lips pursed, gaze fixed toward the woods, I mumble, “I guess I am.”
Spinning on my heel, I follow behind Colby, taking in his backside, the way his ass and thighs fill out his jeans, high and tight, his brown belt snug against his low-hanging pants. The Henley wrapped around his broad shoulders tents in the back from his well-defined shoulder blades, and the hem of the shirt tapers at his waist, kissing the waistband of his jeans. Sexy, athletic, and so fit.
“Do you play pool often?” I ask, watching him chalk up one of the pool sticks, the flex of his forearms rippling through the pushed-up sleeves of his shirt.
“No.”
Ooookay.
This is going to be harder than I thought. Pressing my hip against the pool table, I eye him up and down. I know the answer already, but figure I can ask to strike up some kind of conversation.
“Are you studying at the Air Force Academy with Stryder?”
Keeping his eyes cast down, therefore avoiding any eye contact with me, he acts like if he spares me one glance, I might dangerously blind him.
“Yeah,” he answers. Reaching to where he put his cup of beer, he takes a sip and then leans against the wall of the house, looking toward the sky, shutting me off completely.
Well, this has been fun. Can I get another specimen to talk to? Preferably the same hotness level but without a brick wall erected around him.
“Are you always this talkative, Colby? I can’t imagine all the work you must get done at the academy if you’re gabbing like this all the time with Stryder.” Sarcasm drips from my lips as I take a seat on the edge of the pool table, leaning back on my hands, swinging my legs, trying to get a reaction from him.
In slow motion, he tilts his head down, taking me in, his eyes lingering on the swing of my legging-covered legs. “Gabbing?” he asks, a light pinch in his brow, a small tug on the corner of his lips, so small that if I hadn’t been paying attention I might have missed it.
But I was paying attention. I caught it, that tiny lift, the humor in his question. It’s the cue I was waiting for. He’s not entirely closed off to me; he’s just going to be a tough one to crack open.
Before I can answer him, Stryder strolls up with Ryan next to him, huge smiles on their faces. Well at least those two are getting along well. Thank God I have a healthy self-esteem. This level of brush-off could crush a girl.But I’m determined to find out who this enigmatic man is. Why is he so . . . reticent?
“Are we all set?” Stryder looks at the table. “Dude, you didn’t even rack up? What the hell have you been doing?”
Leg propped up on the wall now, Colby tosses the spare pool stick at Stryder and says, “Chalked up.”
“Did you make the chalk beforehand? Damn, man.” Turning toward me, Stryder asks, “Has he been harassing you?”
With a knowing smile, I give Colby a once-over and say, “More like ignoring me.”
Eyes snapping up, Stryder turns toward Colby and pokes him with his pool stick, right in the rib. Colby swats him away but not before Stryder says, “Show some personality, man.” Turning to Ryan and me, he says, “You’ll have to excuse Colby. He’s very serious most of the time, and it takes him a bit to warm up, but he will. Won’t you?”
Sighing, Colby pushes off the wall and finishes his beer, setting the empty cup on the rail. Leaning over the table, he says, “I’ll break.”
Not putting up a fight, we stand back from the table, giving Colby all the space he needs. I take that moment to truly study him.
Despite this being a friendly game of pool, Colby’s focus is intense, his dark eyes fixated on the white cue ball a few inches from the head of his pool stick. Such heavy concentration makes me think this must be how he is with everything. Precise and calculated, each move well thought out, never acting on something unless every variable has been considered.Notimpulsive.
Bent over the table, his shirt lifts with the movement of his arm, showing a patch of skin just above his ass. My eyes linger before I’m rudely startled by the crash of the cue ball into the triangle formation of pool balls on the table. They scatter every which way, and I’m impressed with the power behind his strike.
