Page 40 of The Girlfriend's Guide to Dating a Biker
UPDATE (5:13 p.m.): Texted my brother to let him know his days of pool dominance are numbered. He replied with “ sure sis.” The disrespect. Jake's going to help me wipe that smugness right off his face.
Current status: Having a full-blown outfit crisis while trying to mentally prepare for an evening of Jake correcting my stance, adjusting my grip, and probably standing very close behind me while I attempt to not think about the load-bearing capacity of pool tables and whether they meet safety standards for non-billiards activities.
P.S. To my future self who will inevitably read this after tonight's date: I hope you managed to actually improve at pool and didn't spend the entire evening mentally undressing your instructor.
P.P.S. If anyone knows how to look like you're paying attention to pool strategy while actually fantasising about your hot teacher's hands, please send tips. This is for academic purposes only.
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JAKE
March 28
The clack of balls and low hum of ’80s rock wrapped around us inside the pool hall. Neon signs buzzed. Every table in the joint had its own patch of light like a little stage. Eden drew the light to her without even trying. She was too alive, too gorgeous, and I was having trouble looking anywhere but at her.
Blue jeans hugged her in ways I tried hard not to think about, and the neckline of the soft black tee she wore stretched just enough to make me imagine my mouth dragging along her collarbone. Her long, brunette hair was down, wild in a way that made me want it wrapped around my fist. It looked like she’d been running her fingers through it before I picked her up tonight, the same restless habit I’d already noticed in her. Eden fidgets when she thinks. I’d watched her do it enough to know. Hell, I’d watched her enough to know a lot of her tells, but I wasn’t close to done.
I wanted to know it all. Her habits, her tells, her secrets, the shit she thought she’d buried too deep for anyone to notice. Like the way she chewed the inside of her cheek when she was trying to stop her brain spilling out her mouth and the little hum she made when she got lost in thought. I wanted her scars and the stories behind them. The fears she never told anyone. I wanted every piece until there was nothing left hidden from me.
She turned to me with that smile she gets when she’s nervous. Chin up, eyes bright like she’s dared herself to do something. “Okay,” she said, biting her lip. “Destroy me.”
I lifted a brow. “At pool?”
Colour climbed her cheeks. “Obviously.”
I grinned before I could stop myself. She had a way of doing that, pulling smiles from me. “We’ll start with your grip and stance. Then we’ll tweak your aim and stroke before practicing your bridge.”
I racked the balls. Eden stepped in beside me to watch, hip brushing my thigh, heat skating up my side. I breathed it in and kept my concentration on the table. The triangle, the tight cluster, the click when I lifted it away.
“Are you always this focused and exact?” she asked.
“Depends what I’m doing.” I glanced at her and caught the flare of understanding in her eyes. “Grab the cue.”
She did as I said, and I took my time walking her through stance and balance. Left foot forward, right planted, and the angle of her hips.
Sliding in behind her, I set my hands on her hips, guiding until her body tilted just right over the table. “Like this, so you can bend easy.” My chest brushed her back as I leaned in and tapped two fingers against her forearm. “Move your hand forward, so your elbow lines up over the cue. You’re holding too far back.”
She shifted, adjusting, bent now and lined up to shoot.
I dipped lower, my mouth grazing her ear as I nudged the cue beneath her chin. “Now look straight down the line.”
“Okay,” she said, and fuck me, I could hear how turned on she was.
I reached for her right hand that was gripping the cue like she never planned on letting it go. “You’re strangling it. Loosen up, let the cue breathe.”
“It’s kind of hard to relax when you’re . . .”
“When I’m what?” I fought a grin. I knew what she meant but I wanted to hear her say it.
“When you’re so close. And being all . . . instructor-y.”
“Want me to back off?”
“No.” Her answer came quickly. “Definitely don’t back off.”
“Okay, eye the ball you want to hit.”
