Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Okay.
Fine.
Pool isn’t exactly my thing.
But that isn’t exactly my fault!
Pool halls tend to be obnoxious and crowded and loud, and while I don’t mind loud at times – see hockey – for the sake of my good ear I do try to limit what I expose it to just like we did when I was a kid.
And wearing earplugs to the games is pretty normal for those with sensitive ears.
Unlike sporting one to a bar.
Or…wherever it is people play this damn game.
“You can show me…” I cautiously cave, “but I swear to The Great One, if I even think you’re trying to score, there will be a high-sticking incident that I won’t be paying the standard league fine for.”
“Understood,” he chuckles during the abandoning of his own cue near a barstool. “I’ll even announce my movements play by play as to not alarm you as to what is coming.”
“Acceptable.”
Tanner sweetly beams and open palm motions to the table. “Please bend over.”
“Please get bent.”
Post letting more laughs reverberate around the room, he gingerly proclaims, “I am going to stand behind you and adjust your hips.” Snark slips to the end of my tongue yet is savagely swallowed the second his warm palms firmly grasp the territory. “We are going to pull you slightly back.” And he does. “We want to create a bit of space between you and the table for mobility.”
I think I need air for that.
Air that I don’t have according to the slight burning beginning in my lungs.
“You fortunately have room to properly brace your left hand on the table.”
Said hand lands on the furniture only to have him lightly skate his fingers across it as his lips brush against my right ear unintentionally proving he’s not turned off by the attached hearing aid.
Not that I need him to be turned on.
Pretty sure I’m wound up enough for the both of us.
“Spread ‘em just a little wider for me, Arden,” airily commands the man I just know I’m going to regret letting get this close.
Completing the action barely precedes me glancing over my shoulder to locate his slightly hooded glare. “Next?”
It’s impossible to ignore the way his breath hitches.
And his mouth creeps a smidge closer.
And how my own mimics the movement.
The very tips of his fingers anchor down between mine. “Weight.”
“For?”
“You uh…” his eyes helplessly fall to my parted lips where they hungrily linger, “you need weight to keep it firmly in place while you stroke.”
Stroke me nearly leaps off my tongue.
And given the small desperate bite to his lip I can’t help but believe he’s thinking the same.
Which is bad.
So.
So.
Bad.
We shouldn’t be this fucking close.
I hate him.
I mean…I should hate him.
I need to hate him.
Not want him.
Damn sure not wanna kiss him.
Or keep kissing him.
Or keep kissing him while he puts his weight on me for stroking.
His eyes closing convinces mine to do the same.
Unfortunately for us both, the sound of someone bursting into the room commands them to immediately pop back open and cut over to the intruder. “Snoowwwwmnannnnnn!” The male it takes no time to recognize as Ernest Lis – a Camelot Cheetah’s center – uses both his open palms to slap the asses of the topless blonds literally in his possession. “These snipes wanna melt the snow!”
“And this one’s gonna go,” I mumble in tandem with removing myself from his weird, ridiculous pull that was most likely caused by the cologne he clearly bathes in.
It probably destroys all the oxygen an innocent person – such as myself – needs to think like a rational human being.
The shit’s most likely called Prey or something equally idiotic, but telling.
I bet a bit of fresh air and an ice-cold brewskie will clear the sense right up.
Maybe I’ll stop and get a German brand to drink while searching for jobs in that country.
Snowman hurriedly reaches for my elbow in an attempt to stop me, “Arden-”
“Hoss,” leaves me on a reclaiming snatch of my arm. “And this is why I don’t date hockey players.” His mouth twitches, clearly ready to make another plea, prompting me to announce, “I got what I came for, Snowman.” Retreating to my shoes and clutch continues. “Time to let the bunnies do the same, aye?”
His shoulders instantly slump downward alongside another pleading gesture. “But-”
“See you on Monday.”
There’s a third and a fourth and even fifth effort executed to keep me in the room, yet they all fail.
Just like his initial pursuit should have.
Chapter 6
Tanner
Becks: Didn’t make the cut.
Becks: No one wants me.
Becks: STILL.
“Froskkkkyyyyy,” calls out the woman that I wish didn’t want me.
Becks: Gonna go get fucked up.
“Ohhhhh, Froskkkkyyyy,” she summons from the direction I’m headed.
Becks: You in?
“Frosky!”
This time there’s no hesitation to look up and bite, “Yes, Audrey?”
She slows her stroll significantly down as if hoping it’ll capture and keep my attention.
It doesn’t.
My stare falls back to my phone where I begin typing only to have her hand wind around the screen to prevent me from continuing.