18. Chapter Eighteen
We move to the back where all the pool tables are, and there are plenty open. Most likely because it’s Monday. Cole pays at the small counter in the corner, and the staff hands us a rack of balls and tells us to take any table we want. Cole picks one toward the back corner. We put our beers on the tall table by us, and he gets to setting up the balls while I find a stick. “I Won’t Back Down” by Tom Petty plays through the speakers, and I hum to myself as I look over the options, not a damn clue how to pick one. They’re all different lengths.
“You’re looking at them like they insulted your grandma,” Cole says as he steps up beside me. His face is serious as he browses.
I frown. “Which one am I supposed to use?”
“Whichever one is comfortable,” he says, reaching for one and tossing it between his hands, testing the weight. He puts it back, and grabs another, deciding it’s fine. He looks at me, humor shining in his eyes. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“I could have a magic stick and it still isn’t gonna help me,” I call to him as he walks past me.
Cole laughs, and I realize what I said. My cheeks turn pink, and I grab the first damn stick in reach and head to the table.
“I’ll go easy on you. We’ll play with basic rules.”
He moves to the head of the table, leaning over, and I glance at his ass. Damn, it looks so good in those jeans.
The balls crack, and I look up to see them rolling all over the table. Two or three of them fall into the holes. He gives me a cocky smirk. One that has me melting.
“Two stripes went in and only one solid. You can have stripes.” He winks. My stomach does a flip.
“I’m still going to lose.”
“With an attitude like that, you sure are.”
He moves around the table to take another shot. He’s facing me this time, and I pay attention to the way his hands grip the stick, and how the muscles in his arms tense. I suck in a breath and grab my beer, guzzling half. Getting drunk isn’t the best thing to do, as my mouth gets a mind of its own, but I can’t do this sober either.
Cole sinks another ball, tries for another but misses, then it’s my turn. I move around the table, looking for a shot and see one that should be easy. I’ve played before, which is how I know I’m bad at it. Especially since it’s been years. I lean over and try to get comfortable, but everything feels awkward. I do my best to hit the white ball. It isn’t nearly hard enough, but at least it hits the red striped one and makes it move a few inches closer to the pocket.
“Not bad,” Cole says, grabbing his beer. “Not a complete fail.”
I roll my eyes and move to get my beer, finishing it.
“You want another?” I ask.
He pulls out his wallet, handing me his card. I stare at it and blink up at him.
“Take it, Bryson. And don’t argue with me.” His tone is stern, a little dark. I think he’s getting annoyed with my constant arguing about taking things. I snatch it from his hand with a huff and go to the bar to get us two more beers. When I come back, it’s my turn.
We finish the first game, and I’ve only gotten two balls in. Cole racks them up again, breaks, and once again I get stripes. He gets two more balls in before it’s my turn, and I take a sip before moving to the table. Maybe it’s because I ate so much, but this beer isn’t working nearly as quickly as I’d like it to.
I look around for a shot that should be simple, smiling when I find one. The blue striped ball is near the pocket, but the white is at the other end of the table. There’s a clear line between them, but I can’t shoot straight.
Hell, I can’t do anything straight.
I laugh to myself at the cheesy joke.
Fuck it. May as well try.
I get into position, trying to get the best angle, when I feel someone behind me. I stiffen.
“You need to relax,” Cole says gently. He puts his hands on my hips, pushing me to the side a little. I start to straighten, but his large palm is on my back, pressing me down. My eyes fall closed, and all I can imagine is him doing this in bed. Pushing me down so he can fuck me from behind. “Position is everything.”
Damn right it is.
He grips my forearm, giving it a little wiggle. The stick slaps against the table. “You’re holding onto this thing for dear life,” he says with a chuckle. “Loosen up, Bryson.”
I take a breath and try to do as he says. If he were in my position, he’d see how damn hard it is to relax around him in this situation.
“Okay,” I manage to choke out. “Is this better?” I look at him over my shoulder. His eyes are half hooded, jaw tense. He nods slowly, holding my gaze and taking a step back. I run my tongue along my bottom lip.
“Aim for the center of the ball and hit it hard.”
“Hard?” I question.
“Hard.”
I take another slow breath and bring my gaze back to the ball. I can’t concentrate with him behind me. All I can think about is his dick and him rubbing it along my ass. Getting hard for me. The way it felt in my mouth and how he tasted when he came. The way he worked his fingers into me to loosen me up before fucking me.
I shake out of it, blinking a few times, pull back, and thrust the stick forward. The tip of the cue hits the top of the ball, making it not go anywhere I wanted it to. Hell, it barely moves forward a few inches.
“Shit,” I groan, standing up straight and bowing my head.
“You need to practice your thrust,” he says.
My thrust is good, Cole. Trust me.
“It’s like baseball. Pitching, you know?” he adds.
I smirk at him. “I prefer catching.”
He shakes his head, and mutters, “wise guy.” He points at the ball. “You have to look where you want it to go. Look at the middle of the ball, if that’s where you wanna hit.”
Okay, he didn’t get mad at my joke. Good sign.
Cole takes his turn, sinking another ball. He stays in front of me when I take my turn this time, and I feel more at ease without him behind me. Enough that I can focus on what I’m doing, and I actually get the ball in.
“There you go, Bry. Great job,” he says proudly. I grin at him, my chest warming over how such simple words of praise can go so far. “Go for that one over there.” He points to the orange one that’s close to the side, but the cue ball is in the center of the table. “Hit it on the side, to slide it toward that corner.”
“The white ball?”
He shakes his head, moves to the edge of the table, and points down at the orange ball. “Hit it over here to make it go that way.”
I shake my head and get into position. “I’ll try.”
I lean over the table, this sudden need to impress Cole fueling me on. I like that he’s proud of me; I like that he’s interested in what I do, and that he wants me to do good. He isn’t waiting around for me to fail so he can call me out on it. Hell, I like that he cares enough to take me out to dinner to celebrate a job that a high school kid could do.
Cole moves to the side of me, his face hard as he watches. I aim where he told me, and the damn ball actually goes in!
“Holy shit!” I say, looking up at Cole.
He’s grinning at me, so damn bright.
“Good job, Bryson.”
He pats me on the shoulder and pulls me into his side. It’s warm, safe, and I want to get every ball on this table into a pocket if it’ll mean him doing this every time.