Big Man

I raise my chin and lock eyes with him. “And if I win?”

“Then same. You make the rules.”

“Do it,” Troy shouts.

“Make that boy your bitch,” Meredith adds, and I laugh, watching her and Joe elbow one another after that comment.

I tap my chin with the pool cue, as though debating. But really, all I can think about is what it would be like to be his for an hour. Forced to obey his every command, his every whim… It’s almost enough to make me want to lose on purpose.

Almost.

But then I think about being the one in charge of this big, sexy country boy, and I change my mind. Hell no. I want to win this thing. If for nothing more than to see what I can make this big man do to me…

“You’re on,” I tell him, and his grin widens.

I’m not sure why until I study the table again. Crap. My next shot is tricky as hell. I’ll have to bank the cue ball twice just to hit my ball, let alone sink it. I take a deep breath and line up. I have to block out the chants that the crowd has started—Bust him, Bluebell, in particular, has become a fast favorite apparently.

I shoot, but the second my stick hits the ball, I realize I’ve messed up. It banks off the wall too sharply, and misses my shot entirely.

Grant’s smile widens.

I swallow hard. He lines up his next play. I watch him sink his fifth and sixth balls without too much worry. But as he lines up an easy shot for his seventh, my nerves start to jangle.

Shameless by this point, I hike up the edge of my dress and take a seat across from him on the table. A few of the guys wolf whistle. Grant fixes his gaze on me and smirks.

“Not going to save you this time,” he says.

I narrow my eyes. “Worth a shot,” I shrug, letting a finger trail up my outer thigh. “You know. Just in case you’re easily distracted…”

He fires the next shot, and the ball hits the pocket straightaway. Shit.

He just has the eight ball left.

The crowd, at least, seems to be on my side. I laugh as chants of Miss, Miss, Miss replace the old Bluebell cry. Maybe Grant’s friends just want to see him lose a game for once, but for me, it almost makes me feel like I belong here for a moment.

Almost.

Unfortunately, Grant doesn’t take the crowd’s advice. He calls the eight ball pocket, and I watch with my heart in my throat as it glides right in on his first try.

I swallow hard around the lump.

“Good game,” Grant says, hand extended.

I lock eyes with him as I grasp his hand. “You too.” His grip tightens, and I enjoy the warm sensation of his fingers wrapped around mine.

Then he lets go, as the crowd begins to dissipate a little, spectators drifting off to watch another pool match starting up at the other table. Troy slaps my back as he passes, and shoots me a commiserating smile. “Almost had him,” he says. “Next time.”

“Well,” I say to Grant, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “Congratulations, big winner. What happens now?”

“Now?” His smile deepens. “I believe by the terms of our agreement, you owe me an hour.”

“Mmhmm. And just what did you have in mind for this hour of being the boss, exactly?”

His gaze drops down my body, tracing the outlines of my curves. Then he leans down to whisper against my ear, so no one else can hear, his breath so hot it makes my belly tighten with desire. “Meet me behind the tents in five minutes and find out.” With that, he strides away and leaves me holding my cold beer, heart racing, panties already in danger of getting far too wet for a public setting.

“Tough luck,” Meredith says as she reaches my side through the crowd, slapping me on the shoulder.

I shrug. “You win some, you lose some.”

“Still, you play great. Where’d you learn to shoot pool like that?”

I grimace, and repress the memory as fast as I can. Me escaping Dad’s shouts in the farmhouse, hiding out in the toolshed with the toy pool table Dad made me when he was in one of his better moods, way back when.

“Around,” I reply.

“Who knew New York could handle bar games that well,” Joe, Meredith’s husband, comments with a laugh. He doesn’t seem judgmental though, just stating a fact.

I put a hand on my hip. “We do have bars up in the big city, you know,” I point out. “And parties too. Even backyard hoedowns in some places.” I gesture around us.

“Not like ours,” he counters, and I have to concede that point. I haven’t been to anything quite like this party up in the city.