Page 97 of The Lair

Okay. No big deal. We’re talking about pool here. There are no other rules to bend.

“Solids are yours,” he says as he leans over to keep playing.

In one swift movement, Travis hits the white ball, which then sinks two striped ones into different holes.

“It’s still your turn now, right? Because you scored,” I ask.

He sends me a smirk over his bulky shoulder. “You’re a fast learner.”

Travis sinks another ball before it’s my turn. Even though my cue is shorter than his, I still have trouble positioning it between my fingers. I guess it’s good that I’ve already embarrassed myself in front of him enough times to last me at least twenty years because I’m pretty sure I’m making a complete fool of myself right now.

“Okay. All right.” I straighten my back and blow a strand of hair away from my face. “I got this.”

I can’t see his face, but I sure hear the smirk in his voice. “I know you do.”

“Don’t make fun of me, big guy.”

“Would never dream of it.”

I send him a dirty look that does nothing but make that smirk a little wider.

I lean over the wooden frame, but just when I’m about to go, my hand slips and the stupid cue ends up hitting the table with more force than necessary. “Damn it.”

“Easy,” Travis says. “Let me show you.”

He sets his cue on a nearby table. I hear the sound of his military boots getting closer, one beckoning step at a time. And I don’t hear it, but I feel his warmth as he positions that massive body I’ve ogled more times than I will ever admit behind mine.

He pushes my lower body forward with a gentle hand as I hold on to the cue. His body moves with mine, his left arm resting on top of mine as his fingers wrap around my own, holding the cue with me.

Then he whispers, “Follow my lead.”

I can barely breathe as his other hand grabs the end of the cue, grazing my waist. And then he thrusts us forward, just barely, but enough to press our bodies together.

We hit the white ball, which then sinks a yellow one.

Neither of us seem to care.

“You got it now?” he asks in my ear, his voice low.

I can’t form a single coherent thought right now, let alone recall what he’s just taught me. Pool is at the very back of my mind.

Slowly, our bodies come back up. He takes one step back, making me instantly miss his close proximity.

“You sank one, so you go again,” he instructs, his voice rough.

A shaky breath falls from my parted lips as I lean forward, targeting an orange ball this time. Somehow, I manage to hit the white ball, but it lands nowhere.

“You’re getting there,” he encourages me, his eyes on the table as he positions himself in front of the white ball. Easily, he sinks two striped ones. He goes again and again, as if he hadn’t just stolen away my breath and my reason.

At some point, he must notice I’m not paying attention anymore because he asks, “You okay?”

No, Travis, I’m not.

I’m not sure about anything right now.

There are many things I dislike about myself—how effortlessly lies roll off my tongue, how much of a coward I am when instead I should show the world that it won’t crush me, how my brain shuts down when my body is shackled with anxiety, and I lose all control over my mouth. And that’s exactly what happens next.

“Why are you still wearing the bracelet?”

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