Chapter 4 #2
“I normally despise press and paparazzi, but I like the small-town gossip angle. It’s kind of fabulous.” I smirked as I raised my glass. “Thanks for having me.”
The conversation flowed, and we drank more wine and finished off the delicious homecooked meal with apple pie and whipped cream.
Archer said he was taking Melody home to put her to sleep, and Isabelle and Carlisle walked them out and said they were heading home as well. Ellie and Keaton said goodnight as they went to their bedroom to watch a movie, and Clark refilled mine and Henley’s wineglasses.
“Let’s play some pool tonight,” Easton said, and we all followed him to the large game room down the hallway. They had a pool table, a fully stocked bar, and two oversized couches that sat on each opposing wall.
We spent the next hour playing game after game, and I was in my element.
I loved pool. Loved knowing how to put the balls where I wanted them to go.
I’ve been playing for years, and it was a skill that had come in handy more than once.
And tonight, it was a skill I was very grateful for.
Rafe was by far the best player in the group, and I’d say we were evenly matched.
We both knocked everyone off one at a time, as we’d played multiple games, and it finally came down to just he and I.
I welcomed the challenge.
He was a cocky bastard, the way he circled the table, studying the location of the balls and deciding his next move. He was very smooth.
Go figure.
The man oozed big dick energy, and he clearly knew how to handle his stick and balls.
Pun intended.
He almost won on his first break, as he’d been down to just one ball, and it had been a tough shot. A shot that I admittedly would have had a hard time making, as well.
But the guy wouldn’t stop talking shit every time it was my turn.
Trying to get inside my head with his annoying comments.
Lucky shot.
Easy shot.
The ball practically put itself in that hole.
That one required very little skill.
I was down to one ball on the table now. The room had grown quiet, as our heated banter had either entertained them or terrified them. I wasn’t sure.
But everyone was sitting on the couches, watching this heated battle play out.
This shot would be tricky to make. Not impossible, but I wasn’t overly confident. And I didn’t want him to get another turn, because the thought of him gloating was all the motivation I needed to walk away with the win.
I bent down, eyeing the path from the ball to the right corner pocket. I rolled my stick through my pointer and middle finger, warming it up.
The large pompous ass standing at the end of the table was distracting me, and I didn’t appreciate it.
“Can you please move out of the way? I’m trying to focus,” I hissed.
“I’m behind the shot. I’m hardly in your way,” he said, knowing he was getting under my skin. “Maybe it’s too much pressure, and someone should stick to making jewelry.”
Oh, no, he didn’t.
Game on, Rafael.
I pulled back, determined to sink the shot.
But the stick slipped against my fingers, and I made contact too low with the ball. I put force behind it because I knew it was going to have to move quickly to make it across the table.
My eyes widened as the ball caught air and moved like a bullet, stopping only when it made direct contact with Rafe’s groin.
My ball hit his balls.
He howled and then disappeared as his body hit the floor.
Damn it. This wasn’t good.
Everyone was on their feet, moving toward him, and I hurried around the table and winced at the sight of the poor bastard covering his family jewels with his large hands.
“For fuck’s sake, you heathen. What is your deal?” he shouted.
I bent down and studied him. “That was an accident. Did you not bring the malachite stone?”
He slowly moved forward to sit up and glare at me. “I did not bring that ridiculous rock with me because I assumed you would find a way to use it against me.”
I tossed my hands in the air. “There you go. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
“She may have a point. I took the stone off your counter, and I haven’t been injured once,” Clark said, winking at me.
“Everyone has lost their fucking mind.” Rafe pushed to his feet and closed his eyes before taking a few deep breaths, which I guessed was an attempt to brush off the pain.
He marched to the other side of the table, setting the ball that had damaged his goods down in the center, and he didn’t even hesitate. He pulled back his stick, sank the ball in the center left pocket, and dropped the stick onto the table.
“I win, Wildcat. Better luck next time.”
I quirked a brow, my gaze locking with his dark eyes. “Well, I’m still leaving with a set of balls, which is more than you can say.”
“That makes no sense. You don’t have balls,” he said, moving closer and invading my space.
“I don’t know about that,” Bridger said. “From what I can tell, this girl’s got a big set of cajónes.”
Laughter surrounded us, but Rafe’s gaze never left mine.
Game on, asshole.