One Shot Bargain by Mia Grandy Page A

a short period of time she was not being tossed about by random luck, but rather she was able to maneuver the table according to skill.  Sure there was a small amount of luck involved, but mostly on that green rectangle she could own her destiny.  And that was something.
    As Randa measured up the shot, she glanced back and caught Drake looking at her bottom.  Smiling and tilting her head to the table, she lifted her rear up that much more, pushing it out until it was straining against her shorts.  After all, she had to make sure that she used all of her assets, besides she liked the way he looked. 
    She took a deep breath to try and shake off the sexual excitement that was now crawling over her flesh in waves as she imagined his palms caressing her rear and spreading up over her back.  A moment later she opened her eyes pulled back her cue and struck the shot, but not before taking one final glance back.  She met his smoldering gaze straight on, and she felt the pulse race through her veins.   
    Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned her attention back to the ball.  But at the last possible second her hand shook just a little when she heard him shift at the back of the room.  The moment that the cue struck the ball she knew that the shot would not go through and she inwardly cussed herself. 
    Biting down on the inside of her cheek so hard that she drew blood, Randa silently prayed that she hadn’t blown it so bad that she scratched the shot.  After all, if the cue ball went into the pocket, the game was over.  Her money would be gone and she would be sleeping on the street tonight.
    A whoosh of breath left her as the cue ball and the eight ball found themselves wedged against the bumper.  She might have missed the shot, but at least she hadn’t blown the whole game; especially not since he still had four more balls and the eight ball to take care of.
    “Hmm, looks like you blew that one,” he said, laughing a little under his breath as he walked around the table.
    She felt the flush of indignation rising up in her cheeks. “Yeah, well I can’t always be perfect.”
    The corner of his lip twitched a little before curling up into a half-smile. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
    Turning his attention back to the table, he walked around it three times.  Each time he would lean over at different points and survey the balls, and each time he did it she felt her insides twist just a little tighter.  These were not the actions of the kind of half-assed player she had been playing all night.   Worry began to creep in around the edges and gnaw at her confidence. 
    If I had just taken him down a moment ago, this wouldn’t be happening. Her interior voice kept scolding her, shaming the wanton desire that was still curled deep in her abdomen.  It had been a while since she’d been with anyone, and she couldn’t keep the dangerously delicious images from crawling through her thoughts. 
    Finally, he turned back to her to call the shot.  “Bank the fifteen ball into the eleven. The eleven will go into the right corner pocket, the fifteen into the left.”
    Randa looked down at the table and almost snorted with a short outburst of laughter.  That was before she noticed his face.  His chiseled features had taken on a decidedly more dangerous air, and his eyes were cool and appraising.  She gulped down a large breath of air and nodded her head to let him know that she had heard him call the shot and understood.
    Then, he leaned over the table, stretching out like a lion waiting to pounce on his prey. When he pulled back and struck the cue ball, she knew by the sound that he had hit his mark.  Anytime a ball is hit off and the cue slides off the surface or doesn’t come into contact the way that it is supposed to it makes a different sound, but when a shot has been executed properly, the shot always rings out with a clarity that Randa could feel in her bones.
    As she watched, the cue ball struck the fifteen