Smug Bastard - Stacey Marie Brown Page 0,37

I leaned against the table, pulling my stick in close to me.

“Hmmm.” She tapped at her lip. “It’s been so long. I kind of forgot.” She gripped the stick wrong, bending over the table. My gaze darted to the handful of guys hovering around the table, their eyes locked on her ass.

I stood to my full height, glaring at the group, but they were too drunk to notice.

“Anything for you two?” A waitress stopped by.

“Fuck, yes,” I growled.

“Six tequila shots.” Kinsley popped up, her cheeks already rosy from the heat and alcohol.

“And a bourbon,” I grumbled.

The server nodded, heading to the bar.

“Let’s make this interesting.” Kinsley looked up at me.

As if the girl was gravity, pulling me into her orbit, I stepped closer to her. “Interesting, huh?”

“A shot for every one you miss.”

“Okay.” I narrowed my eyes on her. That sounded too easy. “You aren’t playing me?”

“I’ve played this game maybe a couple of times. I’m awful.”

“Then you sure you want to do this?”

“Gonna drink them anyway.”

“Okay…” I lifted one shoulder, noticing we seemed to have gotten closer, her knee brushing against my jeans. “Then let’s make this even more interesting. The winner gets the bed.”

Her eyes flashed, a moment of panic hinting at the edges of her dark eyes. Her cheeks pinkening, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. Her head finally nodded in agreement. “Fine.”

My back would love a night on an actual mattress.

The waitress came by with our drinks, lining them up on the sill next to the table.

Kinsley folded herself over the table, and I moved to the other side so I wouldn’t stare at her like the other douchebags in the corner.

Fumbling, her stick scuffed the table, not hitting the ball. She frowned, biting her lip again.

“Try again.” I motioned to the table.

“You sure?”

Nodding, I watched her set herself up again. Her angles were all wrong, her hold too stiff. Her stick crashed against the cue ball, bouncing it off the table. I reached over and grabbed it.

“Oops.” She picked up a tequila shot, downing it. She tried again and failed.

Shit. The way she was going, she’d be drinking them all in minutes.

“You just need to loosen your hold and hit the cue ball to direct your ball. You can’t hit the cue ball as if that’s the one you want in. Most likely the angle will be wrong when it hits the actual ball.”

She stared at the table for a moment, then at the shots. “Can you help me?”

Oxygen sealed back in my throat. Me being anywhere near her was a bad idea.

“Yeah. Sure,” I said, ignoring the alarms in my fuzzy head. I downed what was left of my first bourbon, setting the glass down and heading to her, stopping at her side.

“Bend over… Spread your legs.” My voice went low and gruff. Demanding. Holy fuck. Every word from me sounded bad… a phrase that had come out of my mouth before, but in a totally different setting.

She sucked in, her skin flushing a deeper shade.

I was about to mutter an explanation, but instead I watched her do what I asked.

Fuck. Hell. Shit.

I guzzled my fresh bourbon, trying to shove out every bad, twisted thought in my head. I didn’t trust myself to move any closer to her, feeling my cock wanting to take her right here. Hear her cry out.

She held the stick, pointing it at a ball.

“Loosen your grip.” I tapped her arm.

She tried, but still the angle was all wrong, putting the 8-ball into a pocket.

She scowled, frustration lining her brow.

“Pretend that didn’t happen.” I tugged out the ball, putting it back in place. “You’re hitting it wrong.”

“Then how?” She sighed in defeat. “Show me.”

My need to be near her to do what she asked overrode every warning, every intelligent reason not to.

I came around her, my hands going to her hips. “Lean over.” My mouth brushed against her ear. She shivered, swallowing hard. She bent forward, pushing into my cock.

A slight dizziness spun my head as the rough fabrics of our clothes rubbed against me, almost making me groan. She felt so good… and my dick became so needy for her, for more. I gripped the ledge of the table, trying to keep myself from acting on it.

“Like this?” Her voice croaked, her hold on the stick too loose now.

“No.” I pressed fully into her, all the voices yelling at me to stop were currently being ignored. We weren’t doing anything bad, right? Just showing her how to play