It turned out that we couldn’t. Six shots later we were groaning and more than a little toasted. I had a feeling she’d done this on purpose and I didn’t appreciate it. I pointed at Stacy and Rio and yelled loudly, “You. Guys. SUCK!” My finger swayed just a bit even though I willed it to remain still so I could look as serious as possible.

“Don’t be jealous of our skills.” Stacy grinned as she wrapped her arm around Rio’s waist.

He looked down at her. “They gonna need a ride home?”

She shook her head, “No. Elly is taking a class and has her dorm just down the street. Kent can go too. Or call his fiancé.”

Rio glanced between us and shook his head. What the hell was his problem? Never seen a boy and a girl be friends before? Or had he caught me staring at Kent’s ass earlier? Oh god. The room was tipping.

Kent’s arm went around my shoulder and pulled me towards the pool table. “Come on, I’m going to show you a thing or two before I throw up all over the place.”

Stacy had yelled something about leaving but I was too distracted because Kent had bent me over the pool table and his arms were around mine. “Trying to teach me anything is pointless. Especially after eight shots.” I stilled my hips when I realized I was wiggling my ass against his crotch. Not that he’d seemed affected.

“Act like you’re going to shoot at one.”

“This is cheating,” I said. He was all but holding the stick with my hands.

“This isn’t cheating. This is how you play pool, silly,” his breath warmed my ear.

“It’s not how I play pool.”

“You handle a stick well, at least,” he said.

“I do not. You are helping me handle my stick.”

He laughed. “This all sounds so dirty.”

“I wish it were dirtier,” I murmured. I felt his lips on my neck and gasped, “Kent,” I whispered.

His hand left the pool cue and came to rest on my hip. Another kiss touched my neck. Fire was collecting in my belly as I gasped again. His other hand moved to my hip. He pulled me back and spun me around to face him.

I somehow managed to pant out his name, “Kent?” What was he doing? Why? What? I searched his face, he didn’t look nearly as drunk as I felt.

“Your lips numb?” he asked so softly; it was barely audible.

“Probably,” I whispered back. I fought back a moan as my nipples grazed against his chest.

He pulled me in closer and pressed his lips to mine, hard, as if he were laying claim on them. I kept my hands on the table, I didn’t trust myself not to strip his clothes off in the middle of the bar.