13. Beau #2
Her lips turn up into a smile that I don’t know if I’ve ever seen on Shelby before. Well, not adult Shelby. But younger Shelby? When every once in a while I could convince her to let loose? That’s when I saw it. And it’s even more beautiful now.
“What’s that?”
“What do you like to do for fun?”
One of these days I’m going to stop assuming things about Shelby LeBlanc.
Because never in my drunken wildest dreams did I think she played pool for fun.
And not only does she play pool—Shelby is a fucking hustler.
And it’s sexy as hell.
“Pay up!” she yells out, twirling around on the pool cue like it’s a pole at a different kind of Vegas establishment. “I appreciate your business, Moe, but we both knew how this was going to end. Who wants next?”
I laugh as I watch every guy in Frank’s bar take a step back, holding their hands up in surrender. Even the ones who didn’t dare go against Shelby.
“You haven’t played me yet, Belle,” I say.
She laughs as if I don’t stand a chance. Which, I probably don’t. But I’m not going to let her know that.
“This is going to be fun,” she says, walking behind me. And I know I’m drunk so I’m not feeling much today, but I’m pretty sure her hand just traced across my back. And I liked it. “Now, rack ‘em, big boy.”
I don’t know what shocks me more. Shelby calling me “big boy” or the slap on the ass that accompanies it.
“Did you just call me ‘big boy?’”
She has to think about it for a second. It’s amazing that she’s playing pool this well for being absolutely shitfaced. “I did.”
“Can I ask why?”
She just shrugs as she throws back another shot. And no, I have no clue how many each of us have had tonight. I do know Shelby has moved along to spiced whiskey.
“You have a nickname for me. Only felt right to have one for you.”
“And big boy is the best you could come up with?”
She dramatically throws her hands on her hips. It’s cute as hell. “Do you have a better suggestion?”
I do, but I shouldn’t say it out loud…
That’s what my internal monologue is saying. The one who wishes I wasn’t drunk right now so I wouldn’t make bad decisions.
Joke’s on him. I’ve been making bad decisions all night.
“I do.” I put away the rack, keeping my eyes on Shelby with every slow, deliberate step I take toward her.
I reach behind her to grab a cue, making sure to brush against her, getting so close, only she’ll be able to hear the words coming out of my mouth.
“How about…if I win, you have to call me Master.”
Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Really? Master? Because I follow your commands so well? Because you want to order me around your sex dungeon?”
“Belle! I would never!”
I would. I absolutely would.
“Wait! Why do you think I have a sex dungeon?”
“Feels right,” she says with a shrug before polishing off her drink. “I don’t know what you do behind closed doors.”
I step up closer to her, the liquid courage and delusion completely fueling me at this point. “If you want to find out, all you have to do is ask. Or…if I win, you can see for yourself.”
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 from her, 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.
“I’m sorry.”
The words feel hollow, but it’s all I can think of to say.
“No apologies needed. He’s done with. Over. In the past. Fuck him and the shitty ground he walks on.”
While I want to believe she’s fine, I know Shelby is masking her pain behind profanity and liquor. He cheated. She hates cheaters. Especially since her mom left her and her dad for another man.