Page 89 of Savannah Royals
I bend over obediently and unbuckle one of my T-strap heels. A moment later, the remaining shoe is discarded as well, and I up my strategy. On stocking feet, I walk behind him as he lines up his fourth attempt. I wrap my arms around his middle, my hands teasing the waist of his pants.
“Kat,” he warns. “That’s against the rules.”
“My game, my rules,” I murmur and press my lips to his earlobe. I gently nip him as he takes the shot, firing just a hair wide. I let him go, and he snorts, no longer amused.
I score my first stripe in the side pocket, and Matthew wordlessly unhooks his suspenders. His pants drop tantalizingly low on his hips as I bend over again and focus. Every turn is valuable. I have the option of another easy shot, and I knock it down. He pulls off a shoe and tosses it aside.
I peruse the table. My choices are harder now. I sigh and fire off a long pass at the corner pocket, but the ball hits the edge and bounces away. A little reluctantly, I hand the cue to Matthew.
I lose three more articles of clothing in quick succession as he drops solids four, five, and six. I shrug, and his jacket comes off, followed by the long pants under my dress, and finally, the first of his button-up shirts.
On my next turn, I take Matt’s second shoe. Unfortunately, when I bend again to aim, he comes behind me and uses my own trick against me. Predictably, I miss.
I turn to mock glare at Matt.
“I don’t have much left.” He gestures to his shirt and trousers. “I need to play good defense.”
He only has one solid on the table, and the ebony eight ball sits right outside a corner pocket, just begging to be dropped. His gaze darts, calculating angles.
“Looks like a tough shot,” I comment, flippant.
“You’re undervaluing both my skill and motivation.” He walks around the table until he’s satisfied. “I’ve been waiting for this moment since the words ‘strip pool’ first slipped from your beautiful mouth.”
“Your patience astounds me.”
“It shouldn’t. I’m so jealous of those other fellas, I could snap their necks.”
“I thought you liked Abe,” I tease.
“He will never play this game with you again. From now on, it’smine.”
He fires off his shot. The cue ball whips across the felt, rebounds on a wall, and taps his target. The solid rolls slowly, teetering on the edge before dropping into the pocket.
I exhale in disbelief and slowly unbutton the last shirt. I’m standing before him in only my dress and his white undershirt now.
The eight ball looms.
Matthew shakes his head, smiling. “Eight ball. Corner pocket.”
He knocks it down seconds later, and just like that, the first match is over. I hesitate, making sure his eyes are on me when I reach below my dress. I pull off the pair of his swim shorts I’d concealed underneath.
He curses under his breath. “Are you hiding my entire closet in there?”
I laugh. “As much as I could fit.”
While Matt reracks, I take a fortifying sip of whiskey. I pass the bottle to him as I break. I’m hoping for a good, clean shot that will drop a ball, but I’m disappointed. Handing over the pool stick feels like signing my own death certificate.
Matthew eyes the table, assessing the layout of the balls. He selects a solid in the corner, a close-range shot, and taps it in with ease. Sighing, I pull off his undershirt. I’m officially down to basics now. The dress will have to go next.
He points to my one remaining article of clothing. “That’s a beautiful sight, Katarina.”
I’m forced to rely on my fallback, scooting behind him again. I slip my hands under his shirt and trace my fingers over his bare stomach and chest.
“It’s not going to work this time,” he tells me, shaking his head. “I want it off. All of it.”
“We’ll see.” I tug the top of his shirt aside and plant a kiss on his shoulder, then move up his neck.
He inhales, exhales. When I pause to check the table, he fires. The solid ball drops into the pocket.
