Page 85 of His Last Shot
Without saying a word, I rise from the chair and grab the cube of chalk, rubbing it across the tip. “Two ball, side pocket.” Leaning over the table, I line up my shot. With the perfect amount of English, the two ball falls.
Plop.
With no hesitation, I walk to the opposite side of the table and take my next position. “Three ball, corner.”
Clank.
The cue rolls back and comes to a dead stop behind the four. “Four ball, corner pocket.”
Clink.
“Six ball, side pocket.”
SMACK!
UGH!I hit this one too hard. The six ball lands violently in the side pocket, the cue banks off of the side rail, resting way out of position for the seven ball, derailing my entire plan of attack.
Adrenaline and nerves got the best of me. Murmurs from the crowd fill my ears.
Come on!
Like the bloodhound he is, Drew sniffs out my tension at seeing my predicament.
And he pounces.
“I thought you were better than that, Givens.” Ignoring him, I round the table, studying it, deciding on my next move. I lean over, meticulously tracing imaginary lines and angles in my head, the way a golfer carefully studies his putt, visualizing the perfect arc.
He continues his taunts, but this time, his objective is clear. He wants to get in my head.
And under my skin.
“Rachel is a great kisser, isn’t she?” My grip on my cue tightens as the temperature in my head rises. “Does she still like it when you nibble on her ear?” My breathing grows ragged as I clench my teeth and circle the table, running my fingertips along the wooden rail. Doing my best to allow this table’s energy to ground me.
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “You know, she told me once, and I still remember the way she said it, all low and raspy, that nobody’s kiss ever felt as perfect as mine.” This stops me cold.
Why am I letting this guy get to me?
While I’m leaning over the table, I focus on Rachel.
A playful grin spreads across her face as she rolls her eyes, clearly amused and unfazed by his ridiculous words. Then she opens her mouth, inserts her finger, and makes a fake gagging face. Slick chortles next to her.
I hold my stance over the table but lower my head in amusement. It’s the exact playful banter I need to get my head on straight and finish this guy. His words are meaningless.
He’s meaningless.
With a playful wink thrown in her direction, I straighten as the chalk squeaks against the worn leather tip of my cue. I’m ready to end this. “Well, Drew, I’llbe sure to ask her tonight if that’s still the case.” I bend over the table, my cue in hand, ready to strike. “When we are back at my place. Celebrating.” Before I hit the white cue, I glance back at Rachel. “Alone.” She gives me an air kiss.
“Seven ball, side pocket.”
The cue ball curves around the eight, hitting the seven and sending it down to the side pocket.
Clack.
“Eight ball, side pocket.”
Plop.
Drew squirms in his seat as he grabs his drink, taking a sip. Because this is it. The moment of truth.
