Last Mile

“Yeah. It sure as hell is.”

“Then I’m always down for that.”

I smacked him on the back. “Can see that one.”

Joe waved his hand. “Come on, man. Let’s get this shit taken care of before the natives get restless.”

“Okay,” Marley said. He then followed Joe out of the roadhouse. When I turned back to the others, I noticed it wasn’t just Crazy Ace and Samantha anymore. One of the newest sweet butts appeared to be glued to Crazy Ace’s side. As she whispered in his ear, his eyes got glassy, and I knew that pool was the last thing on his mind. “See ya later, B,” he said as he let the girl lead him away to one of the back rooms.

That left me all alone with Samantha. We stood in awkward silence for a few seconds before I held out a stick to her. “You play?”

She shrugged. “A little.”

“Then let’s have a go.”

Samantha took the stick. “Just promise you’ll go easy on me.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

“Good.”

As I racked up the balls, I said, “Marley hasn’t told me too much about you.”

“Glad to know he’s keeping my secrets.”

I cocked my head at her. “You got secrets?”

She shrugged. “Maybe . . . maybe not.” After tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder, she pinned me with a stare. “Don’t we all have secrets?”

“I guess so.”

“It’s been my observation that everyone has his or her own set of personal secrets. Hell, we even have some professional ones along the way.”

“That’s an interesting thought.” Placing my palms on the edge of the table, I smiled at her. “Wanna trade some secrets?”

“What did you have in mind?”

I jerked my chin at the table. “For every ball the winner sinks, the loser has to give up something about himself.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“I thought as much.”

Samantha leaned in on her cue, swaying her hips as she looked at me. “How can I be sure the odds aren’t stacked against me? You know, since I’m new to the game and all.”

“I said I would go easy on you.”

She gave me a skeptical look. “Hmm, we’ll see.”

“How about this? To demonstrate my good intentions, I’ll let you go first.”

“Aren’t you being sweet?” she teased.

“I try.”

She took me off guard when she asked, “Stripes or solids?”

“Huh?”

With a grin, Samantha replied, “I was asking which balls you wanted—stripes or solids?”

“If I were really being sweet, it should be lady’s choice, shouldn’t it?”

“My, my, you sure are a gentleman,” she mused as she brushed past me. It didn’t go unnoticed how her breasts felt as they made brief contact with my chest. I was still thinking about her fabulous tits when she said, “I’ll take solids, then.”

I cleared my throat while I also tried clearing my mind. “Sounds good.”

When I had suggested playing with her, I hadn’t stopped long enough to think about what she was going to look like bent over the pool table. If I’d had any idea what a vision of pure sex she would look like, I would have tucked my tail between my legs and headed for the hills. Samantha’s tight-as-hell pants gave me a great view of her perfectly rounded ass cheeks—the kind that when you were fucking doggy-style, you wanted to smack until you left a red handprint. When I leaned forward, I saw how her almost-double-D tits were spilling out the front of her shirt. There was no doubt I was going to end the night with balls as blue as some of the ones on the table.

When Samantha called, “Blue ten. Corner left pocket,” I couldn’t help noticing the irony. After she knocked the ball effortlessly across the table and into the pocket, my mouth dropped open in utter shock.

“Why am I thinking that wasn’t beginner’s luck and you’ve been hustling me?” I asked.

She batted her eyes innocently at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I’ll start calling you Fast Eddie.”

“Ah, after Edward Felson?”

My jaw dropped in surprise. “You know Fast Eddie, the pool hustler?”

Samantha laughed. “Actually, it’s more like I know my Paul Newman, and since he played Fast Eddie in The Hustler and The Color of Money, I know the character.”

“I see.” Closing the gap between us, I asked, “How did you learn to play pool?”

“Uh, uh, uh. I believe by the rules of your game, I’m the one who gets to ask the question.”

I grunted in frustration. “Fine. Ask away.”

Samantha drummed her bloodred nails on the edge of the pool table. “Hmm, this is harder than I thought it would be. I feel a little pressure to not ask some bullshit question.”

“You can always forfeit and let me go.”

“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy.”

“Damn. At least I tried.”

After momentarily closing her eyes, she opened them. “Okay. I have one.”

“I can’t wait to see what you came up with.”

“What’s something you’re good at that I wouldn’t be able to guess?”

With a smirk, I replied, “I don’t think you really want me to answer that.”

While I expected her to roll her eyes in exasperation when she got my meaning, she surprised me by pursing her lips. “I would think you being good at fucking would be a given. Right?”