Page 72 of The Call-Up
I roll my eyes while I watch him take his next shot. “Was it next to your bowling alley?”
“No. That was above the garage.”
“I was joking,” I say, aghast.
He smiles at me, and with a little laugh in his voice, he says, “So was I.”
“Thank God.” I let out a sigh of relief.
“Itwasactually next to the pool table.”
“Oh, fuck off,” I laugh. Though I think he might actually be telling the truth. I mean, one of the few things I know about his family is that he grew up rich. But since he hardly ever talks about his life in Dallas, I didn’t realize it was that kind of rich.
He shrugs, then takes his next shot. This one blissfully misses.
“Finally,” I say, and walk around the table, looking for the perfect shot for me to take.
He taps the table next to his hip.
I look to see what he sees. He’s right. If I come over there, a soft tap of the cue ball into my ball will make it fall into the side pocket. But also, if I go over there, I’m pretty much guaranteeing he’s going to lean over me again to help me take my shot.
So, yeah. I practically sprint to the other side of the table.
“Look who’s eager,” he says.
“I am not!”
He crowds my space and puts me into position. “I was talking about taking your shot.” His breath is tickling the skin behind my ear. “If you’re too eager, you’ll blow it.”
Understatement of the year.
“Nice and easy,” he says, pulling my hand, which is holding the cue stick slightly back. “All you want is just the tip.”
“Oh, come on!” I laugh and drop my head down onto the table. Which, of course, makes my stick knock the cue ball to the other end of the table.
He lets go of me and walks away laughing.
“Asshole!” I say to him again.
He lines up his next shot. “It’s not nice to call your teacher names, Brandon. Don’t make me punish you.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Believe me. This is punishment enough. I’m dying over here!”
“You’re losing, not dying. Don’t be dramatic.”
Through gritted teeth, I say, “I wasn’t talking about the game.”
He flicks his eyes to my crotch, then much to my enjoyment, he misses his shot.
Standing up straight, he directs me to come to him. “Alright. One more lesson,” he says. “Then you’re on your own.”
I bring a hand to my chest. “How magnanimous of you.”
His lopsided grin comes back. “Nice word, college boy. Did it take you four years to learn that?”
“No,” I say as I saunter over, holding my chin high. “In case you forgot, I didn’t graduate. I got this smart all on my own.”
“Bullshit.” He laughs, but there’s warmth in it. He guides me to stand in front of him again, then same as he’s done before, he leans into my space and uses his hands and his body to place me in the position he wants me in.
