by KD Robichaux
“Your wife asked me to grab her wine, and now I’ll have to drink a recovery shake in order to not be sore tomorrow. That’s Kayla,” he points at me, “and this is Mr. Robichaux,” he tugs on the cargo pocket of Jason’s dad’s shorts, earning a gentle kick to his hip.
“Steve,” he says, taking my hand and shaking it firmly. His green eyes are stunning, and I kind of melt a little when he smiles at me. Mrs. Robichaux is a lucky lady. “Where’s the rest of your crew?” he asks, looking back down at Gavin.
“Jason is taking a shower and getting ready—we’re going to Legends to shoot some pool—and Adam is probably watching TV or something.”
I had forgotten about Adam again. The guy is so quiet, even stealthy for a dude his size. We all turn our heads toward the living room, and sure enough, there he sits. He looks over at us from the couch, gives us a wave, and then goes back to watching his show.
Gavin reaches his arms up into the air, waiting for any of us to grab his hands to help him up. I take hold of one, Steve grabs the other, and as we pull him up, Mrs. Robichaux takes the opportunity to tickle his sides, digging her fingers into his ribs and making him wiggle and jump out of our grasps.
“You see? Handsy! And he was here to witness it this time,” he says, playfully and gently pushing her toward her husband.
Steve wraps his arm around her and gives her a quick peck on her forehead before walking over to a cabinet and pulling down two wine glasses. “You want some too, Momma?” he asks his wife.
“Yeah, I’ll have a little one,” she replies, and she opens up one of the drawers and pulls out a corkscrew. Gavin tisks at her and takes it out of her hand, sliding the bottle across the counter toward himself and uncorks it for her.
We laugh and enjoy our drinks for a few minutes, the Robichauxs making me feel like we’ve known each other for ages, when Jason finally strides into the kitchen attaching cufflinks to his long-sleeved, button-up shirt that’s black with tiny white pinstripes. He’s paired it with some dark-washed jeans and cowboy boots. The light above the dining table reflects off the silver cufflink as he holds his arm up to check that it’s securely fastened, and it draws my attention to the small silver hoop in his left earlobe. I’ve never found earrings attractive on a guy before, but it looks sexy on him, and adds to the bad-boy vibe he puts off.
When he walks past me to give his mom a brief peck on her cheek, the cologne he’s wearing wafts up my nose and directly down to my core. I actually feel light-headed for a second, and I’m sure it’s not from the little bit of wine I’ve drank. It has to be the most delicious smell I’ve ever inhaled in my entire life. I want to ask him what it is, but don’t think it’d go over too well in present company. I even consider doing a recon, saying I need to go to the restroom to see if he keeps it in there. As my little daydream escalates to me smuggling the mystery cologne into my purse and flashes forward to me in my room pulling it out, sniffing it, and whispering “My precious,” in a severely creepy voice while I stroke the bottle. I’m snapped to attention when Gavin claps his hands together and says, “Let’s go!”
I clear my throat and walk over to the sink, wash my glass out, and put it in the rack on the counter. When I turn to follow the guys out the door, Mrs. Robichaux grabs me in another hug and urges, “Be careful and have fun. They’re good boys, but they can get a little rowdy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply with a smile, and agree when she tells me to come back soon. I catch up with the guys and head to Gavin’s truck, already feeling the loss of Jason’s presence as he hops in his own with Adam getting into the passenger side, wishing we could all just ride together. Being enclosed in his truck’s cab would give me prime opportunity to covertly look at him…and smell him. God, I’m such a creeper.
We arrive at Legends Billiards about half an hour later, after having several mini-heart attacks as Gavin and Jason raced each other down 45 South, exiting onto the feeder, and then burning off at every stoplight. We swing into the parking lot and circle the building¸ which looks like an old-timey saloon with its covered front-porch decorated with rocking chairs and wood-burned signs. Hopping out of the truck, anxious to be in Jason’s company again, I smile as I listen to the two of them bash each other’s racing skills and call each other names. I look back and see Adam just trailing behind quietly, looking down at his wrist as he taps a new pack of cigarettes against it.
We walk around the corner of the building and onto the wooden porch, and I can’t help my giggle when I hear the loud hammer of Jason’s boot heels as he heads toward the door. When he pulls it open, I thank him as I walk inside, catching the smirk on his face even though he doesn’t actually look at me, still refusing to make eye contact for some reason. We pass by an old arcade game as we stroll up to the bar, and the guys order drinks, Gavin asking me what I’d like. When I tell him just a Sprite, he shakes his head and says, “Try again.” When I give him a questioning look, he turns to the bartender and tells her, “Malibu and pineapple, please.” I’m both pleased he remembered my favorite drink and thrown off-guard since I’m not twenty-one yet, wondering what he’s thinking buying me an alcoholic drink, but when the bartender hands me my drink without carding me, I stop my mind’s questions and just go with it.
Jason orders a ‘rack of balls’, gets his own drink, and then leads the way around the corner of the bar through room after room of different sized pool tables. We pass a jukebox pumping country music over the speakers, and then finally come to the longest room of the building, which holds about ten eight-foot pool tables with plenty of room around each to line up the perfect shot without bumping into anyone at the next table. As a group, we head to an open pool table near the center of the room, and sit our drinks down on a ledge-like counter sticking out from the wall with two wooden stools underneath it. I pull one out and watch as Jason and Adam head over to the opposite side of the room, picking which stick they’re gonna play with. Gavin sits his leather bag on the pool table, and unzips it to start screwing the pieces together. Jason chooses one from the wall, then walks over to the opposite end of the table as Gavin, and rolls the cue across the green felt, eyeballing it closely.
Without thinking, I ask him, “What are you doing?” I swallow a gulp of my fruity drink when his eyes shoot up to mine, the light hanging above the table casting shadows over his face, making his already dark features look ominous and mysterious.
His next words are the first he’s ever spoken to me. “Making sure my cue is straight. No one likes a crooked stick.”
My mouth gapes open for a second, and he gives me a heart-stopping wicked grin, but he quickly recovers and goes back to his ever-present scowl. It doesn’t last long though, because when I get over my initial shock at his dirty joke, I throw my head back and let out burst of laughter, and I catch him hiding his own snicker as he reaches into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lights one behind his hand.
He snatches his cue from the table, apparently deeming it straight enough, and then begins to rack the balls from the triangle frame he grabs from the top of the light fixture above his head. Adam doesn’t bother checking his stick on the felt, just grabs one in his beefy hands and then comes to sit on the stool next to me, silently pulling his own cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, lighting one up to watch Gavin and Jason play the first game. After the two of them use the little cube of blue chalk sitting on the side of the table to coat the tip of the cues, Gavin tells him, “You’re breakin’. I just had this bitch re-tipped.”
Jason sighs, shakes his head, and walks around to the end of the table closest to me, and I hear him inform Gavin, “You’re the rack bitch tonight, then.” When Gavin shrugs and stands back, Jason takes hold of the white ball, sets it on the felt a little off center of the triangle of colorful balls at the other end, places his cue on the table and aligns it. Leaning down low, he’s practically lying on the pool table. From this angle, I have a great view of his amazing muscular ass in his dark jeans. His right hand holds the back end of the stick lo
osely as he pulls it back and pushes it forward several times, before he exerts a burst of force into the cue ball, sending it hurling into the racked ones on the other side. They scatter like a swarm of ants when you throw a stick on their anthill, and when they finally settle, rolling to a stop, they’re all completely dispersed around the entire table, a few even falling into various pockets. Jason walks around the perimeter, glancing into all the holes, and when he seems to find what he’s looking for, he looks up and says, “I’m stripes.”
He takes a position on the opposite side of the table this time, so he’s facing me as he leans down low over the table. I take in a deep stuttering breath as I watch the look of complete concentration on his face as he lines up his shot. His cigarette is pressed between his full lips at the side of his mouth, his dark eyes framed with his jet black eyelashes dart back and forth between the cue ball, the striped one he’s about to hit, and the pocket he’s aiming for, and again, that strong masculine hand holds the back end of the pool stick loosely as he moves it back and forth before he takes his shot. Everything about him screams pure sex to me, and indecent visions of his hand wrapped around a different stick as he strokes it up and down pop into my head.
The loud crack of balls hitting together startles me out of my fantasy, making me jump, and when I shake my head to clear it, I see they’ve already started another game; this time, Jason plays Adam. I look up as Gavin walks over to our table and plops down onto the stool Adam had vacated. He lights one of his cigarettes and throws his pack and lighter up on the table, and then checks the tip of his cue. “You gettin’ a grasp of the rules? You looked like you were concentrating pretty hard on the game; you wanna play?”
I clear my throat, glad it wasn’t obvious I had actually been drooling over thoughts of his friend masturbating in a pool hall…da fuck? “Y’all play differently than I learned the few times I played before,” I tell him, trying to further cover my tracks. What is this pull Jason had on me? So far, he’s been nothing but a douchebag, practically ignoring my existence since I met him two hours ago. Is he anti-social? Or does he just instantly not like me for some reason unknown to me? I’d never had a guy utterly disregard me before.
“We’ve played so often we’ve pretty much made up our own rules. We take a few from nine-ball and some from WPA, and mix them with our own little twists, but we always play by that set,” he explains. Again, I have no idea what he’s talking about, so I nod and finish off my drink. “Here, let me get you another one,” he says, and starts toward the bar.
I reach out and grab his arm, stopping him so I can ask, “What’s the deal? How are we able to drink here?”
He gives me his mischievous grin and tells me, “Well, I celebrated my twenty-first birthday here last year, and at the time, Jason had a fake ID that said he was twenty-one, too, when he’s actually not turning it ‘til the end of this month. We always come here, practically every night, and we’ve gotten to know all the bartenders and servers who have worked here for years, so they never check for our IDs anymore, and assume all our friends we bring with us are twenty-one too. Except for Adam, who they know isn’t twenty-one yet.”
I look over at Adam, and sure enough, he’s just got a Sprite in his hand as he waits his turn while Jason takes his shot. I forcefully jerk my eyes away from Jason’s concentration face before naughty visions start playing in my head again. “So you want the same drink, or you want to try a shot?”
“Oh, I don’t do shots; they remind me too much of liquid medication, which I’ve refused to take since I was four. Ick. Just the same drink would be good, thanks.”
I smile up at him, and he shakes his head, saying, “You’re such a girl. Come on, it’ll put hair on your chest.”
“Um, should I be worried that you want to put hair on my chest?” I ask with fake concern, tilting my head as I look into his bright blue eyes, which are twinkling playfully.
“You should ask him about the time he auditioned to be in a porno,” a deep voice says, sending a thrill through me as Gavin steps to the side revealing Jason standing right behind him, sipping on his dark-colored drink, his eyes still on the pool table as Adam takes his turn.
“Dude! The fuck?” Gavin exclaims with a laugh, obviously not really fazed by his friend outing him.
“You auditioned for a porno?” I ask in disbelief, crinkling up my nose and thinking, I thought men in pornos had to have big cocks.
“Ha! I’m gonna go get us some drinks, and if you take a shot, I’ll tell you all about it,” he bargains.
“Ugh, shit. Okay, but make it one that at least tastes good. I don’t like to taste the alcohol in my alcohol,” I give in.
“Hold my stick,” Gavin demands with a goofy leer, and after I take hold of his cue, he makes loud groaning noises, shudders his whole six-foot-plus frame, and moans, “Ahhhh yeah, baby. You grab my stick sooooo good. Just like that.” I laugh and shake my head at him. Righting himself, he walks off, with every few steps, stopping to fake some aftershocks as he makes his way to the bar.
I turn back toward Jason to ask what he’s drinking, but he’s already moved to the other side of the pool table. A blanket of disappointment shrouds me when I see it’s not even his turn to shoot yet. It’s clear to me now that he’s purposely avoiding me, but I still have no idea why. I grab my purse off the back of the stool, determined to see how he will react to me. I walk straight up to him blocking his view of Adam’s shot, and ask, “Where’s the bathroom in this place?”
He visibly takes in a deep breath, expanding his muscular chest just below my eye level. I’m so close to him that I breathe in that delicious cologne again, and when he blows out his breath in a heavy sigh, I feel it against the bare skin of my upper chest exposed above my hot-pink tank top, hardening my nipples instantaneously. It has a built in shelf bra, so with my non-existent boobs, there was no need for me to wear a real one, but now I wish I would have, because his gorgeous almost-black eyes are drawn automatically to my breasts like a magnet. I immediately take back that regret though, because as he slowly raises them up to meet my own green ones, a heated look crosses his face before he’s able to hide it. I smirk on the inside, my inner-self doing a happy dance seeing that I do, in fact, have an effect on this hard-to-read man, but on the outside, I only raise an eyebrow at him in question.
With a jerk of his head, Jason tells me, “It’s in the back corner by the arcade games.”
“Thanks a million,” I tell him with extra enthusiasm, making sure to whip my long dark hair in his direction as I turn to make my way to the restroom. Before I exit the room we’re playing in, I glance back and catch him staring at my ass.
Boom! I finally let my face grin out the girly glee I have been holding in as I walk toward the games I see in the corner, where he’d told me. After using the facilities, I take a minute to freshen up in the mirror. I apply a little bit of shiny lip gloss to my “DSLs” as my best friend Anni calls them—short for dick-sucking lips—and use my fold-up travel brush I keep in my purse to get out a few knots in my hair. Finally, I lean close to the mirror and pull my upper lip between my teeth to make sure I don’t have any bats in the cave—don’t even act like you don’t do it—and then check my teeth. Seeing I’m all clear of both offenses, I head back to the guys.
When I get to the table, they’re all standing around the stools and I see there are three shots sitting on the counter. They are a milky brown color, like a café au lait, and when I pick one up to sniff it as I sit down on my stool, it smells like butterscotch. “What’s this called?” I ask, holding it up to get a closer look at how the opaque liqueur on top looks like it’s forming a mini tornado where it meets the clear liquid on the bottom.
“It’s called a Buttery Nipple…a total girl shot, so you should like it,” Gavin teases.
“Ugh, okay. Let’s get this over with,” I reply, and he and Jason pick up the remaining two shots.
“Here's to the storks that bring good babies, the crows that bring b
ad babies, and the swallows that bring no babies,” Gavin says loudly, holding his shot glass in the middle of us, up in the air, and then they both take down the drinks in a heartbeat. I bring the glass to my lips, breathing in the sickly-sweet fumes coming off the liquor while my pulse rises, nervous as all hell to gulp down the unfamiliar beverage. They stare at me for a second, and Gavin starts taunting me, pissing me off more than anything, and it’s not until Jason quietly reminds me, “Gotta take the shot if you want to hear about his big”—dramatic fake cough—“audition,” that I finally take a deep breath, close my eyes tight, and shoot the drink.
I swallow the thick liquid, open my mouth wide, and let my tongue hang out, making a very unladylike noise before Gavin hands me my Malibu and pineapple juice while calling me a pussy. I take a swig through my straw while glaring at him. He smiles that mischievous grin, and then begins his story.
"So I’d broken up with my ex a couple months earlier and decided I didn't want anything serious for a long, long time…but that didn't mean I had to be celibate. So what did I do? Got on the wonderful World Wide Web and searched for some casual encounters, of course."
I internally roll my eyes as I think about my search on Plenty of Fish when I had specifically weeded out the assholes who had checked that box. "Anyways, one page led to another, and I found an ad for porn auditions. I thought, why the fuck not? So I emailed the contact and set up a time to meet them. The night I went—"
I interrupt him, "Wait a second. Did you do any research to make sure this person was legit?"
He scoffs and says in an I’m-not-stupid tone, "Yeah, I looked up the company name they had on their site, and it was an independent label based here in Houston, and as an extra precaution, the night of my appointment, I told Robichaux and Adam where I was going, and told them if they didn't hear from me in an hour, to come looking for me," he replied.
I took a swig of my drink, feeling the nice warm buzz in my belly from the shot, and nodded for him to continue. "So when I get there, it's a rundown, cheap hotel off Airport Boulevard, that—I kid you not—has an hourly rate. I walk up to the room I'm supposed to meet the contact at, and who opens the door? This fat, hairy Mexican dude who’s about five-feet tall and wearing just plain old jean shorts and a t-shirt. I'm kinda confused for a second, but then the dude asks if I'm Gavin, so I know he's the fucking contact, and I walk in—"