I line up on the white ball and with a swift clean stroke,
hit the center ball of the triangle square on with such force
that a striped ball spins and plunges into the top right
pocket. I’ve scattered the rest of the balls.
“I choose stripes,” I say innocently, smiling coyly at
Christian. His mouth twists in amusement.
“Be my guest,” he says politely.
I proceed to pocket the next three balls in quick
succession. Inside, I’m dancing. At this moment, I am so
grateful to José for teaching me to play pool and play it
well. Christian watches impassively, giving nothing away,
but his amusement seems to ebb. I miss the green stripe by
a hairsbreadth.
“You know, Anastasia, I could stand here and watch
you leaning and stretching across this billiard table all day,”
he says appreciatively.
he says appreciatively.
I flush. Thank hea一vens I am wearing my jeans. He
smirks. He’s trying to put me off my game, the bastard. He
pulls his cream sweater over his head, tosses it onto the
back of a chair, and grins at me, as he saunters over to
take his first shot.
He bends low over the table. My mouth goes dry. Oh,
I see what he means. Christian in tight jeans and white Tshirt,
bending, like that . . . is something to behold. I quite
lose my train of thought. He sinks four solids rapidly, then
fouls by sinking the white.
“A very elementary mistake, Mr. Grey,” I tease.
He smirks. “Ah, Miss Steele, I am but a foolish mortal.
Your go, I believe.” He wa一ves at the table.
“You’re not trying to lose are you?”
“Oh no. For what I ha一ve in mind as the prize, I want to
win, Anastasia.” He shrugs casually. “But then, I always
want to win.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Right then . . . I’m so glad
I’m wearing my blue blouse, which is pleasingly low-cut. I
I’m wearing my blue blouse, which is pleasingly low-cut. I
stalk around the table, bending low at every a一vailable
opportunity—giving Christian an eyeful of my behind and
my clea一vage whenever I can. Two can play at that game. I
glance at him.
“I know
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