Page 16 of Eight Years (The Trident Trilogy 1)

“Y’all okay if I break?” she asks as JJ picks up the money and starts to rack the balls. I’m back in game mode now. I nod to the table without saying anything. Ladies first.

She walks over to the head of the table and bends over slightly. Thank God I’m not standing behind her. I would have been rendered useless. Bryce’s eyes are laser-focused on her ass. I think he might be in shock. I look up to see her about ready to break, her eyes lock with mine. She breaks without looking away from me. It’s so fucking sexy.

“Stripes,” she says. I finally look at the table. Perfect break. I think we’re about to get hustled.

She moves around the table with military precision. The striped balls are falling into the pockets like obedient soldiers. It takes her about five minutes to clear the table. I’m guessing she’s done it faster, but I can tell this is more of a show to her than a competition. And, all of us are enjoying every last minute of it.

“Eight ball, top left.” She gestures slightly toward the target pocket.

Straight in. I’m not even sure it touched the sides. She straightens up, puts her stick on the table, and walks over to JJ to collect her winnings. He’s fanned the bills out like playing cards against his chest. He’s going to make her work for it. She looks at him directly in the eyes and plucks the bills out of his hands slowly, one by one. God, she has balls. There aren’t many men who would stare at JJ that long.

She walks over to Mouse and gives him his two hundred and a little wink. He winks back. I’m not liking where I think this is headed. But then, just as suddenly as she approached us, she walks away.

“Thanks for the game, boys,” she says, the Southern accent gone.

“What? That’s it?” Butch says. “We don’t get a chance to win our money back?”

“Maybe another time. I need to get some rest. I have a big meeting in the morning.” She looks right at me when she says it, knowing I should have figured it out by now.

I watch her hand her two hundred to Pete. “I’m picking up their drinks tonight,” she says, nodding over to us as she walks out of the bar.

And then it hits me, like a grenade blowing up in my face. Her meeting tomorrow is with me, with us. She’s our new CIA agent.

Well, this is just going to be fucking inconvenient.

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