Page 71 of The Call-Up
“Absolutely not,” I say as my heart and dick betray me. Both are beginning to get excited and a bit nervous as well. An intoxicating mix that is likely to make my pool shot even worse.
I place the last ball into the rack and slide it into place on the table. “Besides,” I say, “we’re not ‘screwing around at our captain’s house’ again.”
“I didn’t suggest it,” he says, and gestures for me to come to the other side of the table where he’s standing, waiting to break. “That would be a terrible idea.” His voice is dripping in sarcasm and faux innocence.
“Again,” I say, now positive this is a trap. “If you want to fuckaround, just say it and we can go back to your place. There’s no need for you to humiliate me at pool first.”
“Quit being a brat and get over here.” He pats the edge of the table with his hand. “I’m going to teach you how to break.”
My breath hitches as I step towards him. Excited and nervous once again.
When I get there, he moves to stand behind me. He reaches around my body and grabs my hand, then places it on my cue stick. From there, he uses his hand to press me forward, and he crowds my space, his body pressing lightly against my back as he bends me forward over the table.
I gulp.
“Now,” he says, his lips hovering close to my ear. He grabs the butt end of my stick and lifts it level to the table. “Bring your other hand towards the base, near where the color of the stick starts to change.”
He slowly covers my hand with his when I comply.
“Then,” he says, his hot breath warming my cheek, which I can tell is flaming bright red. “Look down the length of your cue and line up your shot. Keep your grip on the forward end of the stick loose between your fingers. Loose enough the stick can just slide right through.”
I gulp again. This is starting to feel a lot less like a lesson on the game of pool.
“Pull the stick back.” He grabs my back hand to pull the stick back with his words. “And now…” With his grip on my hand, my grip on the stick, he thrusts the stick forward to hit the cue ball. “You slam it home.”
He keeps me still, his body flush against mine as we watch the cue ball break apart the rest of the balls. They scatter in all directions.
“See,” he says as he pulls away from me. “That was the perfect break.”
My mouth is dry. My body is hot all over. And my dick isgetting hard in my shorts. This is the best pool lesson ever. “It’s only because you helped.”
With his gaze locked on mine, a sultry grin tugging at his lips, he says, “And a ball went in. Which means it’s still your turn. Do you want assistance with your next shot?”
“No.” Yes. “I think I can manage.”
He drops his gaze, then looks back up at me, smirking. “We’ll see about that.”
“Dick,” I say as I give him the jerk-off motion with my hand.
“Oh, you wish,” he says. “You definitely wish.”
I absolutely do wish. There’s no use in denying that. But… I drop my gaze and look down at his crotch, not even bothering to hide that I’m leering. He also has a noticeable bulge rounding the front of his designer gray sweatpants.
When I flick my gaze back up to meet his, he shrugs. “Hit the ball, Baby.”
I walk around the table to line up the shot I want to take. It should be easy. One of my balls is perched right on the edge of a corner pocket. Holding my stick, I slowly bend forward, doing my best to give him a view of my backside. Then, I follow his directions from my last shot. I keep my grip loose on the stick, then let it rip, sending the cue stick forward to hit the ball. I completely whiff it once again.
“Smooth,” Ryan says. He doesn’t even wait for me to stand up before he wraps his stick around his body and takes a shot from behind his back with his ass perched on the side of the table. His ball drops right into the intended pocket.
I groan in frustration. “How are you so good at this?”
“Me?”
“No, asshole. One of the other people playing pool in this room right now.”
He leans over the table and takes his next shot. He barely even looks at the balls. Instead, he keeps his eyes on me as he makes the shot blind. “We had a table in our game room growing up.”
Rich-kid shit. I should have guessed.
