Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 118332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
She took her drink from him and took another tiny sip, trying not to cough from the strong whiskey fumes.
She watched the man move around the table, consider his shot options and finally use his stick to point at one of the balls and then tap one of the pockets. A few seconds later that damn ball dropped into the exact pocket he’d pointed at.
Two shots in and she knew he wouldn’t need to cheat to win. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to continue his lessons.
He continued to move around the table sinking two more solid color balls and when he finally missed, he grinned, downed the rest of his drink and set his stick aside. “Your turn.”
“Did you miss on purpose?”
“Why would I? That would be to your benefit.”
“Not sure that’s true,” she murmured as he came over, put his hands on her hips and moved her to the long side of the table.
“Gonna go for the nine ball. Got it?”
“Uh huh.”
“Set up like I showed you.”
After she stepped closer to the table, he put one of his legs in between hers and used his knee to widen her stance. Then, once again, he pressed himself to her, helped her hold the stick properly and repeated the same motion as earlier.
“Smooth and steady,” he murmured in her ear.
His voice made her want to squeeze her thighs together but his leg was in the way. And if she did that while it was still there, she just might end up humping it.
If she started humping it in this bar, she was throwing in the towel, ordering an Uber, going back to her room, packing up her SUV and heading toward the highway and was never showing her face in this town again.
“Keep the stick level. You don’t, you’re gonna foul by knockin’ a ball off the table. You do that and Stella will have my head.”
“Who’s Stella?”
“She runs the bar.”
“Oh.”
Once again, he helped her take her shot but she missed. The nine ball ended up bouncing off the corner of the pocket and heading in the opposite direction.
“Damn.”
“You’ll get it. Gotta start out at the bottom to get to the top. Those who try to start out at the top only got one way to go.”
Her lips twitched at his wisdom. “Down?”
Removing his thick thigh from between hers, he stepped back. Luckily that removed the temptation of wanting to hump it in public.
“Yep. How you get to the top and what you leave in your path also counts.”
Were they still talking about pool?
“Wise man,” she murmured.
When he didn’t respond, she turned and leaned back against the pool table, studying him as he slipped a hand into his vest, pulled out a small tin, popped open the lid and took out what looked like a homemade cigarette. He patted his jeans pockets like he was looking for a lighter, then he cursed when he couldn’t find what he was searching for.
She quickly glanced around wondering if he was just going to light a joint right there in the bar.
He went over to another high table nearby, snagged a lighter from the occupant, lit whatever it was and sauntered back to her.
She wrinkled her nose.
He turned his head away from her and blew out the smoke. “Ain’t pot.”
“No, I can smell what it is. And I was hoping you wouldn’t simply light up a… joint… here in the bar, but smoking is just a big turn-off for me.”
He took another long drag, then immediately pinched out the end and put the remainder back in the same tin where he’d pulled it out of.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Now she felt bad. She shouldn’t have said a word.
“You don’t like it, ain’t gonna do it.”
“Just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean you have to stop.”
“Ain’t gonna stop, just won’t do it around you.”
That was really sweet and thoughtful. “It’s only for tonight.”
He tilted his head and stared at her. Eventually he muttered, “Yeah, right. It’s only for tonight.”
“But thank you. I appreciate it.” She gave him a smile and made sure not to hide it from him.
“Now it was worth it,” he said, and turned to grab his empty glass. “Gonna get another.” He glanced at hers which was still two-thirds full.
“You can have mine,” she offered.
“Ain’t gonna drink it?”
“As strong as it is, it’ll take me the rest of the night.” And it was already getting late.
He slipped a cell phone from his back pocket and began to type on it. After waiting a second for a response, he then tucked it back away.
“Tater’s gonna make you another one. Mostly Coke with a splash of Jack.”
Again, thoughtful and sweet. “Thank you.”
“Ain’t nothin’.”
“Tater. That’s a weird name.”
“Short for Tater Tot.”
She bit back a laugh. “That’s not any better.”
“He don’t got a choice.”