Page 58 of Unexpected Shot
I know she’s under a spell when that doesn’t earn me a slap. Instead, her breath hitches, and I watch as she struggles to say her next words. “And if I win?”
“Then you can call me whatever you want. Including big boy.”
“You sure about that?”
Our foreheads are nearly touching. Our lips are inches away from each other. It would be so easy. Just a slight movement.
But I don’t. I can’t. I can’t ruin this night. Derail any sort of progress we’ve made. Even though it’s actually killing me inside.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I say as I lean down, brushing my lips against her cheek. “I racked. You crack. Show me what you got, Shelby Lynn.”
She makes it a point to slowly stand up from her perch on the barstool, and ensure she makes contact as she brushes past me on her way to the pool table.
Now, I could play fair. Let her do what she’s been doing to these guys all night.
But I never said I played fair.
I’m not a cheater, but I will bend the rules. Especially when liquor, cheap beer, and Shelby are concerned.
I step up behind her as she leans over the table, her perfect ass jutted out as she slowly lines up her shot. “Sure you want to do that?” I ask, making sure my dick is right against her as I slowly bend over behind her. “I don’t know if that’s the right angle.”
I watch as her breathing picks up, as she shakes her head to try and recenter herself. “What do you know about right angles?”
“Oh, Belle,” I say, leaning closer, my front against her back as I whisper in her ear. “I’m all about angles. The ones that hit just right. The ones you instinctually know are absolutely perfect. Hard to find. Hard to achieve. But in the end, so…fucking…perfect…”
Shelby’s pool cue starts going in double time, and I gently press a little closer to her, just as she hits the cue ball.
It sputters off to the left, completely missing the perfectly racked balls at the other end of the table.
“Oh this is going to be fun,” I say, slowly walking back fromher, leaving her dazed, confused, and hopefully as turned on as I am. “Now let’s play some pool.”
I won the first game, and Shelby now has to call me “Master.”
She won the second game because she remembered that she has boobs and wasn’t afraid to give me perfect cleavage shots.
It’s now the third game, and we’ve called a truce in terms of distractions. No funny business.
And no cheating. For old time’s sake.
“Can I ask you a question?”
She raises an eyebrow as she moves around the table to figure out what her best shot is going to be. “Are we back to our earlier game?”
“Something like that.” I weigh one more time if I should ask this, but if not now when we’re really drunk, when? “Michael. What’s the story?”
I let Shelby take a second to decide how she’s going to respond, and before she says anything, she smacks the two-ball so hard into the corner pocket I think the ball might be dented.
“He’s a douchebag, that’s what.”
I should leave it at that. But I don’t. “Any particular reason?”
She lets out a sigh and makes her way back over to the small cocktail table where we’ve been keeping our drinks. I watch as she takes another shot of cinnamon whiskey, like she needs it to get through whatever she’s going to say.
“We dated. For a year. We both traveled a lot, but were both based in Vegas. I thought we were on the same page for what we were and what we wanted. I wanted a monogamous relationship. He wanted a side chick. Who knew that side chick was me?”
I let out a long breath as I watch Shelby collect herself before taking her turn again—one more shot and trying to physically shake it off.
The woman is so strong, but I wish she didn’t have to be. She’s been like this her whole life. Growing up with a single dad who struggled to make ends meet. Feeling like she needed to be the toughest person on the course. Making herself a name on the women’s tour. I hate that likely all she wanted was someone to love her, and instead she got a fucking prick who used her.
