Pool Shark
She paced the pool table and waited for me to bend over.
“Good game!”
She got a little bit of “Good season” as well. Thankfully not the testes.
She kept at this all night with numerous guys, doing splits and striking dramatic poses with her girlfriends on the barren ballroom floor.
She was a white girl in a Hawaiian dress, “Wow, you can really jump! Rumor has it that you’re an officer.”
Worried that she might have said it loud enough to be heard by others over the booming hip-hop, I shifted my eyes around to see if anyone noticed.
“Perhaps, but this isn’t the kind of place I like to talk about that.”
“Maybe you’d like to talk about it back in my room over some ice cream cake. It’s my birthday.”
“I love ice cream cake. Meet me outside in eight minutes. I’m leaving now.”
She had broad shoulders, a woman who had been on a crew team throughout college and now worked as a physical trainer. She was the girl in spandex that everyone marveled at. Women wished they had her arms and men coyly gazed at her from weight-room mirrors. Now she was on my arm, pulled close for warmth.
I drew a warm cup of water to help the knife carve through the cake. She marveled at my ingenuity.
I asked if she read and was surprised when she didn’t say Dan Brown.
“I’m reading the Count of Monte Cristo, but I can’t get but five pages into it and then I’m asleep.”
“I don’t blame you. That book is incredibly boring. You should read something else.”
“Like what? The karma sutra?”
I knew she was married before I ever spoke to her. And now, she was too drunk and I wasn’t drunk enough. I knew I never could be. I left.
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