Tunnel Vision by Brenda Adcock

looked around the bar. About twenty couples with varying degrees of ability moved around the dance floor. Once upon a time she had loved to dance, but it had been a long time since she had taken a spin on a dance floor. Maybe later, she thought.
    On her way in she had seen a few interesting faces in the pool room and wandered back toward it. She leaned against a wall and observed the games already underway. Then she noticed a familiar face and a smile made its way across her lips. Fishing quarters from her pocket, she stepped forward and placed them on the side rail of the table, a challenge to take on the winner of the match in progress.
    When the match ended, she picked up a cue stick and walked to the table. The winner walked up to Maggie as she shoved the coins into the slots. “Royce Brodie,” the winner said. Looking at Maggie closely, Brodie asked as they shook hands, “Have we met before?”
    “Sort of,” Maggie said.
    “Shit! You’re the one with the drunk Bubba last month!”
    “Is it true what they said around the station?
    About Simmons,” Maggie asked.
    Brodie smiled at the mention of the rookie’s former partner. “I heard he fell off his roof while adjusting his satellite dish,” she said as she shrugged.
    “Yeah, I heard that, too.” Not long after the incident Wheeler had suggested he and Brodie should give Simmons an off-duty attitude adjustment. When reason hadn’t worked they wound up knocking the shit out of him. Maggie laughed as she hoisted her drink. “To the roof.”
    As the challenger, Maggie racked the balls and watched as her opponent prepared for the break. She guessed Brodie was ten or twelve years older, but still attractive enough for Maggie to consider getting to know her a little better.
    “I’ve got a twenty that says I can take you,” the rookie challenged, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans.
    “Your money,” Brodie said with a shrug.
    “I should warn you,” Maggie said, her eyes flashing. “I hate to lose.”
    “Yeah, well, I hate green beans, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get stuck with them on my plate from time to time.”
    Maggie lifted the rack from the balls and took a drink of her beer as she stepped back for the break. A solid ball fell into the side pocket and Brodie walked confidently around the table looking for her best shot. Four balls later she missed a difficult shot and had to turn the table over to Maggie. She picked up her beer and leaned against the wall as her opponent surveyed the table. Maggie couldn’t suppress a smile as she leaned over the table to line up her first shot and gave her opponent a primo view of her ass.
    She studied each shot carefully, considering where the cue ball should stop for her next shot. She never spoke and seemed to be oblivious to the appreciative looks from the older officer. She got down to her last two balls on the table before a ball rattled a corner pocket, but failed to drop.
    “Better not miss or your ass and your money will be mine,” Maggie said in a low voice as she brushed past Brodie.
    “I’ll do my best, but suddenly losing doesn’t sound like such a bad thing,” Brodie responded with a grin.
    She sank her remaining balls, but was left with a difficult bank shot the length of the table for the eight ball. Squatting down, she estimated the angle to the corner pocket before tapping it with her cue and leaning over the cue ball. The second her stick hit the cue ball Maggie knew Brodie had hit it perfectly and watched the eight ball drop into the designated pocket. She walked over and extended her hand. As Brodie took it, she smiled broadly. “Keep your money,” she said.
    “I always pay my debts.”
    “It wasn’t a fair match, you know. I’ve probably been shooting pool since you were in diapers.”
    “I never make excuses for losing. You just outplayed me, this time. But you could ask me for a dance to soothe my damaged ego.”
    Stepping onto the lightly saw-dusted floor, Brodie