corner pocket.” He gestured to the appropriate corner and bent. Almost in slow motion, he watched as his perfect strike sent the cue ball skidding off course. It barely struck the nine ball and instead went careening intothe twelve ball, sending it hobbling toward the opposite corner. It stalled out before it got there, however, and that was the end of his turn.
Uproarious laughter erupted from all sides. Sean stood straight and bowed. Then he held up the cue. “Ladies and gentleman, I give you the Lord High King of Failed Pool: The Humiliator!”
“Hear, hear!” They all raised their glasses and toasted.
“Yourturn, Tori,” Derek said.
She looked at Chloe. “Do you mind going? I think I need to comfort Sean.”
Derek laughed. “More like rub it in.”
Chloe playfully slugged her husband in the bicep. “Shut up. I’ll go, no problem.” She flashed Tori and Sean a grin.
Sean retreated to his spot by the bar and polished off his beer.
“You’re a good sport. I’m not sure I would’ve done the same.” Tori smiled.“I guess the competition is still there.”
And recognizing it was half the battle. Hope surged in Sean’s chest. If she could cling to just a bit of who she was buried underneath all of her grief and anxiety, maybe he had a chance. But wait, he’d written her off, hadn’t he?
“I ought to break this damn thing so it can end its reign of degradation.”
She giggled in response. “You can’t. But maybeyou could deface it a little.” She went behind the bar and dug in a drawer, coming back with a black Sharpie. “Here.”
He took the pen and looked at the cue in his other hand. “What do you suggest? A mustache? Maybe something obscene?”
Her eyes lit with mischief. “I think you should write an insult. You’re really good at those, if memory serves.”
“Ah yes, the infamous Insult-a-thon.” They’dhad dinner with some of Sean’s friends when Tori had come to LA for the weekend. After dinner, the host had brought out his homemade game, Insult-a-thon. Players drew cards with a word or phrase that they had to work into an insult about a topic that was drawn for each round. They took turns going around and offering their insult, and whomever’s was deemed the most offensive won the point. Sean hadwon a crushing victory. “We Brits do know how to deliver a brutal set-down.”
Tori’s eyes sparkled. “That was a fun night. I still use ‘shagging shit spike of doom’ whenever I can.”
“I can’t imagine you get much opportunity for that.” He picked up his scotch and took a sip. Damn, that was a fine whiskey. “Pardon me, sir, but you look like a shagging shit spike of doom.”
A tremor raced acrossher shoulders. It was subtle, but Sean caught it. “I still contend you won only because insults sound a thousand times better with a British accent.”
He gave her a lazy smile. “Everything sounds better with a British accent,” he said, intending to sound arrogant.
She rolled her eyes. “So what are you going to do to the cue?”
Right. He’d almost forgotten that was what had spurred this delightfulexchange. “Since I’m not allowed to break it, I think I shall leave a parting comment so that it may perhaps rethink its shame-inflicting ways.” He laid the cue across the bar and scrawled a few words above the grip. Then he dated it and signed his name.
Tori leaned close and peered over his shoulder. Her scent assaulted his already-teetering senses. Temptation washed over him, and he workedto keep it at bay. “Sod off, you manky pillock.” She looked at him, smiling. “Colorful.”
She was so close. If he just turned his head and moved toward her the barest inch, he could kiss her. But she didn’t want that.
Did she?
Not wanting to stay married didn’t mean she wasn’t still attracted to him. They’d started with a physical connection. Was there a chance it was still there on her part?It was definitely still there for him.
“Tori!” Kyle’s
Uproarious laughter erupted from all sides. Sean stood straight and bowed. Then he held up the cue. “Ladies and gentleman, I give you the Lord High King of Failed Pool: The Humiliator!”
“Hear, hear!” They all raised their glasses and toasted.
“Yourturn, Tori,” Derek said.
She looked at Chloe. “Do you mind going? I think I need to comfort Sean.”
Derek laughed. “More like rub it in.”
Chloe playfully slugged her husband in the bicep. “Shut up. I’ll go, no problem.” She flashed Tori and Sean a grin.
Sean retreated to his spot by the bar and polished off his beer.
“You’re a good sport. I’m not sure I would’ve done the same.” Tori smiled.“I guess the competition is still there.”
And recognizing it was half the battle. Hope surged in Sean’s chest. If she could cling to just a bit of who she was buried underneath all of her grief and anxiety, maybe he had a chance. But wait, he’d written her off, hadn’t he?
“I ought to break this damn thing so it can end its reign of degradation.”
She giggled in response. “You can’t. But maybeyou could deface it a little.” She went behind the bar and dug in a drawer, coming back with a black Sharpie. “Here.”
He took the pen and looked at the cue in his other hand. “What do you suggest? A mustache? Maybe something obscene?”
Her eyes lit with mischief. “I think you should write an insult. You’re really good at those, if memory serves.”
“Ah yes, the infamous Insult-a-thon.” They’dhad dinner with some of Sean’s friends when Tori had come to LA for the weekend. After dinner, the host had brought out his homemade game, Insult-a-thon. Players drew cards with a word or phrase that they had to work into an insult about a topic that was drawn for each round. They took turns going around and offering their insult, and whomever’s was deemed the most offensive won the point. Sean hadwon a crushing victory. “We Brits do know how to deliver a brutal set-down.”
Tori’s eyes sparkled. “That was a fun night. I still use ‘shagging shit spike of doom’ whenever I can.”
“I can’t imagine you get much opportunity for that.” He picked up his scotch and took a sip. Damn, that was a fine whiskey. “Pardon me, sir, but you look like a shagging shit spike of doom.”
A tremor raced acrossher shoulders. It was subtle, but Sean caught it. “I still contend you won only because insults sound a thousand times better with a British accent.”
He gave her a lazy smile. “Everything sounds better with a British accent,” he said, intending to sound arrogant.
She rolled her eyes. “So what are you going to do to the cue?”
Right. He’d almost forgotten that was what had spurred this delightfulexchange. “Since I’m not allowed to break it, I think I shall leave a parting comment so that it may perhaps rethink its shame-inflicting ways.” He laid the cue across the bar and scrawled a few words above the grip. Then he dated it and signed his name.
Tori leaned close and peered over his shoulder. Her scent assaulted his already-teetering senses. Temptation washed over him, and he workedto keep it at bay. “Sod off, you manky pillock.” She looked at him, smiling. “Colorful.”
She was so close. If he just turned his head and moved toward her the barest inch, he could kiss her. But she didn’t want that.
Did she?
Not wanting to stay married didn’t mean she wasn’t still attracted to him. They’d started with a physical connection. Was there a chance it was still there on her part?It was definitely still there for him.
“Tori!” Kyle’s
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