down again, glancing up for a nod of approval before I took the shot.
The wood connected with the ball, hard, and the cue trembled in my hand. The balls made a satisfying crack, but fewer than half of them even moved.
“I suck.”
He grinned and corralled the balls back into the triangle-shaped ball rack. “So, do it again until you don't suck. There aren't many things in life you get a second chance to get right, but this isn't life, it's a game.” With an easy grace, he rearranged the balls and nodded for me to try again. “Put the ball a little to the left of where you had it before. And hit it… hmm… what's the word?” He scratched the dark stubble on his chin.
“Harder?”
“Ah!” His eyebrows shot up. “Yes, hit the balls harder. Good idea.”
I tried again, with more power, and was rewarded with a few more balls rolling languidly out of formation.
Again. Finally, some action.
Again. Worse.
Again. Hopeless.
Again and again, one humiliating shot after another. I tried to go home, but Sawyer blocked my exit.
Again. A spectacular break, like the kind I'd seen guys at the bar do, with balls scattering. I whooped with glee as one ball sunk into a pocket.
“Wow,” he said. “Aubrey the Goddess of Sadness and Sarcasm, smiling and making excited noises. Now I've seen everything.”
I stood proudly, one hand holding the cue, the other hand on my hip. “Now if someone bets me that I can't break, I might not lose that bet.”
“Time for me to take you home, before you tire yourself out.”
Setting the stick in the corner with the others, I said, “Don't you want me to look at that thing you're working on?”
“It's up in my bedroom.”
“And?”
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “And you're married. I wouldn't feel right taking you up there.”
I crossed my arms. What was that feeling I was having? I wanted to go upstairs, but my desire wasn't about seeing the art. I wanted to push him the way he'd been pushing me. I wanted to do the thing he said we couldn't.
Or did I?
I bit my lip and thought through our conversation from earlier, about dares. Was he daring me to go up to his bedroom? This was all a game to him. A game of seduction.
“Fine. Maybe next time,” I said, picking up my purse and putting it on my shoulder.
“I guess I could move the art down to here.”
“Whatever,” I said, crossing over to the front door. I didn't wait for another reply as I opened the door and stepped out on the porch. The skinny guy was still sleeping on the tattered sofa on the porch.
Sawyer came out the door just as my feet touched the front walkway.
“Thanks for the lesson,” I called over my shoulder.
“Don't you want a ride home? I've got a spare helmet here, so we can both have one.”
“I'm fine. I don't live far from here!”
“What street are you on?”
“I don't know what it's called,” I said, which was a lie. We both knew it, but he was quiet as I walked away.
Chapter Six
SAWYER JONES
My friends told me not to mess around with a single mom. Well, half of them did, and the other half told me to use a condom, and make sure it was one I brought, so it didn't have holes poked in it.
I'd heard about guys getting trapped by women, but it had never actually happened to anyone I knew. It was just stuff of legend. Stuff you talked shit about to make yourself seem cooler and more worldly than you were.
My housemate, Spanky, was the first to give approval of Aubrey. He saw her on the porch when she came by the house, even in his BC-bud-enhanced state of relaxation. After she left that day, he came into the house and said one word: “Quality.”
“I dunno, bro, she's got issues.”
“Dat ass.”
“I may have also noticed the rockin' body, but thank you for being a gentleman and not pointing that out while she was here. In fact, thank you for not even coming inside. You do an excellent impression of the stoner roommate from True Romance .”
His eyes red and eyelids
The wood connected with the ball, hard, and the cue trembled in my hand. The balls made a satisfying crack, but fewer than half of them even moved.
“I suck.”
He grinned and corralled the balls back into the triangle-shaped ball rack. “So, do it again until you don't suck. There aren't many things in life you get a second chance to get right, but this isn't life, it's a game.” With an easy grace, he rearranged the balls and nodded for me to try again. “Put the ball a little to the left of where you had it before. And hit it… hmm… what's the word?” He scratched the dark stubble on his chin.
“Harder?”
“Ah!” His eyebrows shot up. “Yes, hit the balls harder. Good idea.”
I tried again, with more power, and was rewarded with a few more balls rolling languidly out of formation.
Again. Finally, some action.
Again. Worse.
Again. Hopeless.
Again and again, one humiliating shot after another. I tried to go home, but Sawyer blocked my exit.
Again. A spectacular break, like the kind I'd seen guys at the bar do, with balls scattering. I whooped with glee as one ball sunk into a pocket.
“Wow,” he said. “Aubrey the Goddess of Sadness and Sarcasm, smiling and making excited noises. Now I've seen everything.”
I stood proudly, one hand holding the cue, the other hand on my hip. “Now if someone bets me that I can't break, I might not lose that bet.”
“Time for me to take you home, before you tire yourself out.”
Setting the stick in the corner with the others, I said, “Don't you want me to look at that thing you're working on?”
“It's up in my bedroom.”
“And?”
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “And you're married. I wouldn't feel right taking you up there.”
I crossed my arms. What was that feeling I was having? I wanted to go upstairs, but my desire wasn't about seeing the art. I wanted to push him the way he'd been pushing me. I wanted to do the thing he said we couldn't.
Or did I?
I bit my lip and thought through our conversation from earlier, about dares. Was he daring me to go up to his bedroom? This was all a game to him. A game of seduction.
“Fine. Maybe next time,” I said, picking up my purse and putting it on my shoulder.
“I guess I could move the art down to here.”
“Whatever,” I said, crossing over to the front door. I didn't wait for another reply as I opened the door and stepped out on the porch. The skinny guy was still sleeping on the tattered sofa on the porch.
Sawyer came out the door just as my feet touched the front walkway.
“Thanks for the lesson,” I called over my shoulder.
“Don't you want a ride home? I've got a spare helmet here, so we can both have one.”
“I'm fine. I don't live far from here!”
“What street are you on?”
“I don't know what it's called,” I said, which was a lie. We both knew it, but he was quiet as I walked away.
Chapter Six
SAWYER JONES
My friends told me not to mess around with a single mom. Well, half of them did, and the other half told me to use a condom, and make sure it was one I brought, so it didn't have holes poked in it.
I'd heard about guys getting trapped by women, but it had never actually happened to anyone I knew. It was just stuff of legend. Stuff you talked shit about to make yourself seem cooler and more worldly than you were.
My housemate, Spanky, was the first to give approval of Aubrey. He saw her on the porch when she came by the house, even in his BC-bud-enhanced state of relaxation. After she left that day, he came into the house and said one word: “Quality.”
“I dunno, bro, she's got issues.”
“Dat ass.”
“I may have also noticed the rockin' body, but thank you for being a gentleman and not pointing that out while she was here. In fact, thank you for not even coming inside. You do an excellent impression of the stoner roommate from True Romance .”
His eyes red and eyelids
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