Page 60 of Snake

His attention on her again, Cox grinned. It emerged on his face like a time-lapse of a planted seed becoming a flower. “Oh, I know how to play. C’mon.”

There was a new note in his tone, one Autumn had not heard before. It sounded like ... playfulness? She couldn’t imagine this man ever being playful, but she’d been surprised repeatedly on this ridiculously long day, so why not now?

“Make it interesting,” she said, letting herself smile at him.

He cocked his head. “You want to bet on it? You think you’re all that?”

She’d grown up with a pool table in their basement rec room; her dads had met playing pool. One of their favorite stories, in the years when they’d been in love, had been about their version of the cliché, where Pops had ‘taught’ Pom to play as a pretense for flirting—but Pom’s uncle had been an actual pool shark, so he hadn’t needed a lesson. He’d simply exploited the chance to get up close and personal with the hot, ginger bear.

Autumn had no intention of exploiting that kind of chance, but she loved the notion of surprising this man with a skill he was no doubt unable to imagine she had.

“I think I want to make it interesting,” she replied.

His grin had softened a bit, become a smile, but it hadn’t disappeared. “How much you wanna wager?”

“Not cash.” There was already money moving between them, via the Heartland Homestead. She considered for a second. “How about this: the winner gets one small favor from the loser. It can’t be anything dangerous, cruel, or extravagant, but otherwise, it’s winner’s choice.”

“One small favor, huh?” As he considered it, his smile softened more, but remained. Autumn was sure it was the longest she’d ever seen a pleasant expression on the man’s face.

“It’s a bet,” he said, and held out his hand.

She put her hand in his and shook on it.

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~oOo~

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She hadn’t noticed until she was following Cox to the pool table, but the atmosphere in the room had changed. When she and Chase had come in, the mood was mellow, with people hanging around in clusters, decompressing at the end of a day. There had been a scent of cooking meat mixed in with a powerful and familiar frat-house reek, and music had been playing softly somewhere. Now, though, a party burgeoned. The music had gotten louder, and with it the conversations. Women moved about with purpose, a purpose likely connected to the increasing food smells coming from the back.

Two men who weren’t wearing leather kuttes were playing as Cox and Autumn walked up to the pool table, but they stopped as soon as Cox grabbed two cues and handed one to her. The other men even collected their sunk balls and racked them again before they cleared the way.

Cox checked the rack, rolling it back and forth over the red felt a few times. He left the triangle in place and looked up at her.

“Ladies’ choice—what’re we playing?”

Though she despised being called a ‘lady,’ she was willing to let it work for her. Shedding her suit jacket and draping it over the back of the nearest chair, she told him, “Let’s keep it simple. Eight Ball.”

He acknowledged her choice with a nod and lifted the triangle. After he hung it on the cue stand, he turned back and said, “Ladies first,” gesturing at the table.

Autumn smiled. “I thought it was ladies’ choice.”

“You don’t want to break?”

In Eight Ball it was possible for the person who broke to run the table and win without ever giving their opponent a play. That could be a tremendous advantage. However, that occurrence was extremely rare. In a typical game between well-matched players, the person who went second got a chance to see the play style of their opponent and strategize, and that could be a significant advantage as well.

Autumn didn’t know if she and Cox were evenly matched. She’d spent her college years humbling frat boys for free drinks, but those days were a decade and more behind her. Nowadays, she played a few times a year. Surely Cox had played more recently than she.

He was probably better than she was. But she always liked to put her self-confidence on display—especially when she needed a reminder of it herself.

“Age before beauty,” she said with a smirk.

Another grin from Cox. This one was a little stunted, and it slipped from his face so quickly he might have peeled it off like a band-aid, but it had been there even so.

He leaned over, set his cue, and broke the rack cleanly. The six went into a side pocket, and the eight rolled right up to the far right corner and came to a stop at the rim.

“Close one!” somebody behind her said. “Cox almost beat himself before he could get beat by a girl.”

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