He’s incredibly precise, and incredibly sure of himself. He sinks the 1 and the 5 as well, before missing the 3.

I hadn’t realized that I was holding my breath. I know that if I miss any more shots, I probably won’t get another chance.

Scowling, I approach the table like it’s a battleground. I picture where the cue ball will land after each shot, making sure I’m not going to strand myself. Once I’m certain of my strategy, I sink the 10, the 12, and the 15 in rapid succession.

Now only the 8-ball is left. It’s pressed up against Sebastian’s 3. They’re both rather close to the left corner pocket. I’m afraid that I’ll knock them in together, if I’m not careful.

Very carefully, I take aim. I split the balls apart, knocking the 8-ball into the pocket, and nudging the 3 aside. The cue ball rolls a little too far, trembling at the edge. If it falls in too, I lose the game. But it stays put.

I pluck up Sebastian’s hundred-dollar bill and tuck it into my bra.

“I win,” I say.

“I think I just got sharked,” Sebastian says.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I say.

Men always overestimate their skills. And underestimate mine.

“Should we go one more?” Sebastian says.

“Double or nothing?”

“I’m not sure you have any money,” Sebastian says, with a cheeky smile. “Other than what you took from me. What about...for every ball I sink, you take off a piece of clothing. And I’ll do the same.”

I scoff, shaking my head at him. It’s a transparent ruse.

On the other hand...I can’t resist the temptation of humiliating him further. I’d love to win a game while he stands there in his boxer shorts.

“Alright,” I say. “But I break.”

“You broke last time,” Sebastian points out.

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” he says, his voice low and intent.

Sebastian racks the balls again, and I take my position on the other end of the table. I break, though not as cleanly as last time. None of the balls go in the pocket.

They’re evenly disbursed, with no real advantage between solid and stripes. I take solid this time, because the 3-ball is practically in the side-pocket already. I nudge it in with a little tap to the side, then throw a look at Sebastian.

“That’s one,” I say.

“Fair enough,” Sebastian says.

Crossing his arms in front of him, he grabs the bottom of his black t-shirt with both hands and pulls it over his head. I can’t help staring at this maneuver as he bares his long, lean torso, deeply tanned and rippling with muscle. He’s even more fit than I expected. His shoulders and chest are thick and full, his abdominal muscles are cut all the way down. A trail of dark hair leads from his bellybutton into the waistband of his jeans. My eyes follow it all the way down...

When I snap them back up again, he’s grinning at me.