Ego Maniac(34)

“Go back to where you were standing.” She waved her hand to the other side of the pool table. “I think your view is clearer from over there.”

She bent again, attempting to line up her shot. My eyes dropped to her amazing ass. “That depends on what I’m looking at.”

When she finally took the shot, her cue scraped along the felt and completely missed the ball.

“I thought you knew how to play.”

“I do.”

“Doesn’t look that way.”

“You’re making me nervous standing behind me.”

I leaned down next to her and showed her how to position her hand to cradle the stick so it would at least be easier to connect with the ball. After she got the hang of it, I went back to the other side of the table. My intentions that time had been truly altruistic—at least until her shirt gapped open, and I was staring straight down at her tits.

I couldn’t bring myself to move. She must have been wearing one of those bras that only holds half a breast, because all I could see were two perfectly round globes of luscious, creamy skin with just a hint of something black and lacy.

Great tits to go with a spectacular ass.

I brought my beer to my lips as I waited for her to take her shot, but kept right on gawking over the bottle as I took a long draw. The only thing that eventually distracted me was watching her slide the stick back and forth between her fingers.

Then I imagined my cock was the stick.

Forcing my eyes shut as she finally took her shot, I emptied the contents of my Stella. Emerie managed to connect with the ball this time, only she sank one of my balls instead of her own. She was so excited, I didn’t have the heart to tell her.

“Does that mean I go again?”

“Sure does. I’m gonna grab another beer. You want one?”

“Yes, but not another beer. They make me too full.”

“Okay? What do you want?”

“Surprise me. I’ll drink whatever you give me.”

I definitely needed to walk away for a minute.

The line at the bar was two deep, but I was a regular here. Roman and I met at Fat Cat every weekend to play pool and talk shop. So when Tiny—the bartender who had to be nearly seven feet tall—saw me, he took my order ahead of most people.

“I’ll take another Stella and one of those.” I pointed to a margarita.

Tiny cracked a smile. “Roman getting in touch with his feminine side tonight?”

“Nah. He’s probably home getting in touch with himself. I’m here with…” What the hell was she? She wasn’t a date. Wasn’t a co-worker even though we worked in the same office. I couldn’t even call her an employee. Searching for a word, I settled on the simplest one: “a woman.”

Emerie was most definitely a woman.

While I waited, I thought about the fact that I’d never once even considered taking a date here—again, not that tonight was a date. But this was the kind of place you came to hang out and be yourself. Yet I hadn’t thought twice about bringing Emerie here. It was nice to spend time with a woman who I knew would be comfortable in an underground pool hall slash dive bar. It was a bonus that she was sexy as shit.

I was only gone a few minutes, but when I returned to the pool table, there was a guy talking to Emerie. A pang of good ol’ male jealousy sprang to life inside of me. Resisting the urge to tell him to beat it, I opted to make the guy feel uncomfortable until he slithered away.

I walked up and stood next to Emerie. Handing her the drink as I looked at the snake, I said, “Here you go. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Will. He offered to show me some pointers.”

“Oh yeah?”

Will was holding a drink in his left hand. The finger he’d slipped his wedding ring off of still had the indent in it. I waited until our eyes locked, then I let mine lead his down to his finger. “We have the table for another twenty minutes. You and your wife want next game when we’re finished?”

Nothing like a little silent man-to-man conversation.

He nodded to the bar. “Maybe another time. My friends are waiting for me.”

Nice talking to you, Will.

After that, Emerie and I finished our game and went to sit at a table in a quieter area of the bar. She drank that first margarita pretty quick, and the waitress had just delivered a second. Her mood had changed from down about the asshole with a bowtie to alcohol-assisted upbeat.

“So what was your favorite birthday present you ever received?” she asked.

“Me? I don’t know. Growing up my father bought me lots of shit. A car for my seventeenth birthday, I guess.”

“That’s boring.” She took a sip of her margarita, and a line of salt stuck to her lip.

“You have…” I pointed to my mouth where the salt was on hers. “Salt.”

She reached up and swiped her lip, but the wrong side.

I chuckled and reached across the table. “I got it.”

Without giving it a second thought, I brought the salt from her lips to mine and sucked it off my thumb. Maybe I was deluding myself, big ego and all, but I swear her lips parted, and if I’d leaned in, I would have heard a little gasp.

Fuck. I bet she’s really responsive in bed.

I cleared my throat. “What about you? Best present you ever received?”