Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel) by Angela Burt-Murray Page B

play after school at his bar when I was supposed to be doing my homework. I’d been playing pool with the hardest of cats for over ten years, and I hustled throughout college, armed with all the tricks a nd angles.
    “Has this beautiful young lady beaten you before, Jake?” Jake’s friend asked as he looked at me and then chuckled. His eyes twinkled.
    I had regretted not going home after work and changing. I smoothed down the sides of my medium-length layered bob and tucked my hair behind my ears. I had tossed on a pair of my favorite jeans, a black turtleneck, my old faithful Nine West boots, and my red leather blazer. Why did today have to be the day when everything decent I owned was at the cleaner’s?
    “She’s gotten lucky a few times, Terrence,” Jake said, trying to play off all the many cans of whoop ass I had opened on him for the last several weeks. I appreciated his bravado. “But it looks like I’m going to be the one getting lucky tonight.” Jake broke the stack and watched as the balls scattered across the worn table. The ten ball went in the side pocket on the break.
    “Cool. At least you got one ball in the pocket tonight,” I said, laughing.
    “Tonight’s my night, Nia. I can feel it. Terrence, she’s been beating me up a little bit, but tonight she’s go ing down.”
    “Yeah, in your dreams, Jake,” I shot back. OK, so now I knew his friend’s name was Terrence. Jake surveyed the table, looking for the easiest next shot and not realizing that he needed to think three shots down the line to even have a chance of b eating me.
    Rooki e mistake.
    Jake hit the cue ball too hard, missing his pla nned shot.
    “OK, well, I’ve got next,” Jake’s friend said as he laughed at his poor friend. He then placed his beer on top of a crisp fifty-do llar bill.
    “Are you sure you want to lose all your money so early in the evening?” I asked, walking around the table to size up my strategy to run the rest of the table.
    “I don’t plan on losing,” he said confidently. His voice was a deep honey-coated baritone.
    “No one ever does, and then they play me ,” I said.
    Jake missed his next shot as usual . My turn.
    “Seven ball, corner pocket.” I chalked my stick and set my position for my next shot.
    “Three ball, in the sid e pocket.”
    The next five balls fell just as easily. In order to sink the eight ball and win the game, I had to squeeze by Jake’s friend. And when I did, I swore I felt an electric current jump between us. I noticed he smelled like a fresh shower and soap. Nice. I hated pretty boys who wore cologne li ke chicks.
    I bent over the table and lined up my stick. I could see out of the corner of my eye that old boy was sizing something up as well. I was glad I had at least worn my sexy low-rise jeans. I decided to give Jake’s friend a real show and a last chance to pick up his money if he asked me nicely.
    “Eight ball, corne r pocket.”
    “I hate to say this, Nia, but it’s impossible for you to put that ball in the corner pocket,” Jake said, surveying the table. He was sure that he was going to get another turn at the table to try to redee m himself.
    “Again, eight ball, corner pocket,” I said, not lifting my head from the table. I drew back my stick and hit the cue ball hard. It shot across the table, then ricocheted around. Slowing down, the ball then gently tapped the eight ball into the corn er pocket.
    My work here was done.
    The bar erupted in hoots at my victory. Jake hung his head an d laughed.
    “Damn, I thought I actually had a shot tonight.” Jake handed me twenty bucks and headed over to his friend. “Be very careful, Terrence. Nia’s a real shark.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder and then headed over to the bar to get another beer to soothe his wo unded ego.
    “Is that true, Nia?” Terrence asked as he leaned against the table with a pool cue between his legs. He said my name slowly like he was trying it out for the first time, and