Chapter One — Alex
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling pretty smug after the poker game. I got him, I thought to myself as I rode home that day, smiling.
But as the days go by and I don’t hear from him, I get increasingly nervous. What does he have up his sleeve?
Finally, after three days, he texts me:
Pool, I think to myself. Now that’s something I have absolutely zero experience playing.
I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I’m not feeling good about my chances on this one.
I show up on time on Friday wearing skin-tight jeans and a low-cut pink blouse. Callum eyes my body approvingly but doesn’t comment.
I find myself feeling miffed, and I have to check myself. Why do you need his approval anyway, Alex? You’re here to win. This is a game, remember? You can’t start developing feelings here.
There’s little to no small talk. Callum nods in my direction after I arrive, and gets straight to business.
“Do you know the rules, or do you need me to explain them to you?” he asks.
“I know them,” I say quietly.
“Good girl,” he says.
I can’t help but notice the small thrill that runs up my spine.
“Ladies first.”
I pick up my stick and take a deep breath. I line it up and shoot. I’m not able to sink any of the balls.
He smirks. “Better luck next time.”
I glare at him.
He saunters over to the table and lines up his shot like an expert. He shoots and sinks three balls.
Fuck, I think to myself.
I’m already mentally preparing myself for whatever punishment he has in mind. I pick up my cue and walk towards the table, but Callum stops me, placing a large hand on my hip.
“Hold on there, Alex,” he says. “I get to keep going until I miss or pocket one of your balls. I thought you said you knew how to play?” he asks tauntingly.
Fear runs through me. He figured it out, I think to myself. I lied to Callum about my name, telling him it was Lola, not Alex. This is the first time he’s referred to me as Alex.
Callum smiles knowingly. He wants me to bring it up. He wants me to confront him, to ask him how he knows. Well, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.
“Of course I know how to play,” I say breezily. “I was just stretching.”
“Sure you were, sweetheart.”
“I’d prefer you refer to me as Alex,” I say, maintaining eye contact.
He raises his eyebrows. “I’ll call you whatever I want sweetheart.”
I feel myself blush. Still, I’m not going to give in to him. I refuse to play his mind games. He wants me to call him out and bring up my name change. He probably has questions, but he doesn’t want to ask them. Well, I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to make this easy for him.
“Whatever,” I say, flipping a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s probably best that you win a game anyway. I mean, I wouldn’t want to make you feel too bad.”
“Oh, so you’re throwing this on purpose then? Is that it?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“Oh, sweetheart. You’ll regret that later tonight. Trust me.”
“Why?” I blurt out. I can’t help myself. I know I’m playing right into his hand here, but it’s too hard not to.
“Because of what I have planned for your punishment — which is already gonna be much, much worse because you lied to me, Lola.”
I suddenly notice that his hand is on my hip. He steps closer to me so that he’s standing right behind me. He’s so much taller than me that his chin is able to rest on the top of my head.
He shoots again, sinking two more balls. Then he shoots again, and he sinks one. There are only two balls left of his, and all eight of mine.
I’m in trouble.
“Wait, can you just keep going?” I ask.
He nods. “Yep.”
Oh fuck, I think. This game might be over quicker than I thought.
“Nervous?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” I bluster.
He shrugs, and his shirt rides up slightly, exposing his toned abs. I find it almost offensive that a man this rude gets to be so hot.
He runs a hand through his jet-black hair and then lines up the cue ball, sinking another one. Now there’s only one left. He glances at me again, and I pretend to pick a piece of lint off my clothes.
“Oh, you’re not even paying attention now? That’s cute. Wish me luck.”
I roll my eyes. He lines up the cue ball once more, and I glance over at the last second, just in time to see the last striped ball drop into a pocket.
He looks at me, grinning so wide I feel like his face might break in half. It terrifies me.
“You picked this game because you knew you’d win,” I say.
“Obviously.” He shrugs. “Then again, I’d win almost any game.”
“You’re a hothead, you know that, right?”
“Is someone a hothead if they’re right?” he asks.
“You think you’re right about everything?” I counter.
“Not everything,” he says, approaching me slowly. “Just right about most things.”
He leans down, his lips close to my ear. “Now how about we get out of here? I think it’s about time that you learn that firsthand.”