Hot & Nerdy

by Shannyn Schroeder

  The problem was he’d managed to avoid trouble for a long time.

  She was different, and that alone caught his attention. Most women would feign interest in the game to hit on him. Not Layla. She walked around the table and attempted to set up her shot. Leaning forward, she awkwardly tried to balance the stick in her hands.

  This was the part he loved most about helping a girl learn to play pool. He stood behind her and circled his arms around her body. With his left hand, he formed hers into a steady bridge and set the cue on it. Then he grasped her hips to straighten them. He forced his fingers not to linger.

  A subtle shift of her shoulders let him know that she wasn’t impervious to his touch. He leaned close to her ear while using his right hand to lower the back end of the cue. “Keep the cue parallel to the table. Go in on an angle and the ball will skip and hop. Use a strong, steady stroke. Follow through once you commit.”

  Her breath hitched a little on the way in, and Phin wondered if she would sound like that in bed. He didn’t move, but waited for her to take her shot.

  Layla twisted a half turn and smiled up at him. Her lips were within reach if he lowered his head. “You’re leaning on the table during my turn. Stay back.”

  Then she hip-checked him. She wasn’t nearly big enough nor strong enough to really move him, but considering his mind was on tasting her lips, she caught him off guard and he tilted.

  He took the hint and stepped back. Maybe he was off his game and she really wasn’t interested in anything other than a game of pool.

  Phin crossed his arms and waited. Layla proceeded to wiggle her hips and reposition herself the way he’d shown her. She easily sank the ball and sent him a cocky grin.

  “One ball doesn’t make you a winner.”

  “I know, but it’s more than you thought I was capable of.” She eyed the table. “Twelve off the side and into opposite side pocket.”

  “You sure?” The shot wasn’t impossible, but unlikely for a beginner.

  “I think so. Go hard or go home, right?”

  “That’s one option.”

  She winked. “It’s the only option.”

  Phin expected her to swing into the shot and miss. Instead she moved around the table, studying the placement of all the balls. She lowered herself and shifted on her feet. He could almost see the figures she was trying to create. He’d seen it before—people who approached the game with a method, like an equation.

  That’s not how Phin played. He did what felt right. Although his moves made sense, his gut led his decisions. Layla straightened and walked the table again. He started to lose his patience, the one skill he needed to hone. In tournament play, plenty of players moved slowly, taking in every option before making a move. Phin preferred to play pool like a game of speed chess. Snap judgments based on his opponent and the field of play. His mind always jumped a few steps ahead, seeing where balls would roll before being struck.

  Most players couldn’t imagine what would happen and where the balls would land, so they plotted and planned their shots. Layla was a plotter. She examined each angle, and he enjoyed watching her.

  Layla lined up her shot, and he knew she had it before the stick made contact with the cue ball. He didn’t need to look as he heard the chink of ball meeting ball, followed by the padded thud of the ball hitting the side before the final clunk of it falling into the pocket. Instead, he watched Layla’s face, especially her midnight blue eyes. She followed the twelve off the side, but then lifted her gaze to meet his. She knew she had it.

  Arrogance would never win the game. She lifted one eyebrow as if to say, “Told you.” This time, she only walked around the table once, getting a little too close when she passed him, before calling her shot. “Nine, corner pocket.”

  Again, he watched her set up the shot and, before the cue ball made contact, he knew she’d blown it. Her eyes narrowed at the nine that bounced in the opposite direction. At least she didn’t scratch.

  She held her cue in front of her chest, the line bisecting her, making it difficult to do anything other than focus on her breasts. He reread her shirt and began to think about pie. And Layla naked.

  “So what’d I do wrong?”

  “Huh?”

  She moved the stick in order to walk, breaking his concentration on her chest. She neared him and asked, “Why did I miss?”

  “You got cocky and it cost your concentration. The first two worked, and, although the third shot should’ve been an easy one, you lost your stance and your bridge was sloppy. You didn’t have enough control. You can’t ever spend time thinking about the last shot. Worst case, you focus on the shot at hand. Best case, you think two or three shots ahead.”

  She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “How am I supposed to plan ahead if I don’t know where the balls will land?”

  “You predict. Look, if I try to hit the three into the corner, it’s going to push others out of the way. Where are they going to roll? That’s how I’ll set up my next shot. I can force those balls to land where I want based on how I hit them.” He took a swig of his beer. Layla didn’t respond, but she absorbed what he said. He saw the understanding in her eyes and didn’t need the verbal confirmation.

  “I want the five to move to the left, so I’m going to hit it on the right side with a little spin. I don’t want it to shoot far, just enough.” He leaned down and took the shot. The three swooshed into the corner pocket, and the five lined up exactly where he wanted.

  Layla’s face suddenly brightened. “I got it!” She walked to the opposite corner and rattled off possibilities.

  He nodded and then cleared the solids without looking up. Layla didn’t crowd him and she’d stopped flirting. When the eight fell into the pocket, he straightened and laid his cue on the table. Layla didn’t acknowledge him. Her gaze stayed locked on the remaining balls. Maybe she was so competitive that she was a sore loser.

  “Can I clear the table?”

  Her question surprised him, and his face must’ve reflected that.

  “I know you won, big surprise, but I think I see the shots I’d take and want to try.”

  “Knock yourself out. I’m going to get another beer. You want one?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Phin went to the bar and grabbed the beers. When he returned, she was racking the balls.

  “Another game?” Layla asked.

  “Sure. What are we playing for?”

  “I’m a poor college student. I’m still not going to pay you twenty dollars.”

  “Not confident in your ability, huh?”

  “I’m confident in my ability, but you’re a shark. My money’s staying in my pocket.”

  Phin moved closer and handed her a beer. “So what do you have in mind?”

  She tilted her head, as appeared to be habit, and said, “A kiss. I’ve never kissed a guy with hair longer than mine.”

  He reached out and ran his hand over the back of her head, where there wasn’t enough hair to grab. “Not hard to do. Besides, if you want a kiss, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Uh-uh. It’s a fair wager.”

  “What do I get if I win?” Although he’d be fine paying up as the loser, Layla was looking relaxed enough that he might be able to get more than a kiss.

  “What do you want?” She took a drink and added, “Before you answer, there’s no way in hell I’m playing strip pool.”

  Hmmm . . . He hadn’t given that a thought, but eight balls, eight articles of clothing . . . could be fun. The jeans would be the first to go—he wanted to know if she was a thong or a bikini girl.

  Suddenly her hand was in his face. “Yoo-hoo. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “The gutter’s a fun place.” He shook his head and cleared the image of Layla in skimpy underwear. “If I win, you buy the next round.”

  “Deal.” She extended her hand.

  He took it, enjoying the soft, smooth skin, so pale against his hand, and leaned forward. “You make me want
to lose.”

  Her lips twitched. “You break. I don’t know how to do that right.”

  He set his bottle on the edge and walked away.

  “So, where are you from?”

  Leaning toward the cue ball, he asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from Georgia, but I can’t quite place your accent.”

  “I don’t have an accent. I’m from nowhere. I move around a lot.”

  “But where’s home?”

  The cue ball cracked into the triangle. The four flew to the corner and disappeared. Solids again. “I don’t have a home.”

  “Everyone has a home. Where’s your family?”

  He shrugged. “Probably still in New York. They move a lot too.”

  “I’m from Chicago, but I go to school at MIT.”

  MIT—a brainy chick. “Seven, side.” Before he lined up the shot, he asked, “So what are you doing in Georgia?”

  “It’s spring break. I’m supposed to be celebrating with my friend on South Padre Island in Texas. Unfortunately, I only made it this far and my car broke down. I’m waiting to hear from the mechanic to see what’s wrong and how long it’ll take to fix it.”

  He looked up at her. “Who’s the mechanic?”

  She wrinkled her face like it was a crazy question. “Some guy named Steve down the street.”

  Phin relaxed a little. He knew many mechanics would take one look at her bright face and see a mark. “When’s Steve supposed to call?”

  She shrugged. “He said he’d call before he left for the night.”

  “You’re in luck. I happen to work for Steve. I’ll find out.” He stepped away from the table and pulled out his phone. When Steve answered, Phin said, “Hey, Steve, a car was towed in a little while ago for a girl.”

  “Yeah, Bill brought the car in. Hot chick. A little clueless about her car, though.”

  “She’s with me shooting some pool. What’s the diagnosis?”

  “Ah, shit. Are you going to ask for a discount so you can get laid?”

  “Would it work?”

  Steve sighed heavily. “Her transmission needs to be rebuilt. You want to do it on your time, go ahead. It’s an old VW Beetle, and she looks broke. Talk to her and see what she wants to do. See you Monday.”

  Phin shoved his phone into his pocket. Did he want to rebuild her transmission just to get laid? He never worked that hard for a piece of ass.

  “Well? What did he say?” Her eyes were so wide and hopeful, like she really believed it would be a small fix.

  “Your transmission’s shot and needs to be rebuilt.”

  “Fuck.” The single word wasn’t angry, but full of disappointment. “Did he say what it’s going to cost?”

  Phin shook his head. “Didn’t say. Let’s play.” He picked up his cue and went back to work.

  Layla ignored the table and texted instead. The tick-tick-tick of her tapping annoyed him and he missed his next shot. He didn’t know why his concentration was so off today. He’d played with plenty of women before, most of whom were at least flashing cleavage, yet Layla distracted him every other turn.

  “You’re up.”

  She nodded absently. “I’m just letting my friend know that I’m going to be stuck here for a while longer than expected.”

  An enormous sigh lifted her shoulders, and she put her phone back in her pocket.

  “Come on, it’s not that bad. Show me your stuff. I want to see you win so you can have your way with me.”

  This brought a smile to her lips. She rolled her head and shrugged. “You’re on.”

  Her determination returned and she set to sinking balls on the table. She sank three before missing. She hadn’t been kidding. She was a quick study.

  “I’m beginning to think you’re the hustler.”

  “If I was a hustler, I’d be playing for more than a kiss and a beer.”

  “We can up the stakes whenever you want.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll play it safe.” She drank her beer and watched him drop balls.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t get at the eight without trouble, so he’d have to wait a turn to win. Layla stalked the table and planned her shots. She sank another three before missing again. She set her cue down. “I’ll go get the beer.”

  “I haven’t won yet. It’s unsportsmanlike to concede a game before it’s over.”

  She crossed her arms and one eyebrow shot up.

  “And you better stay and make sure I don’t cheat.” He leaned over and sent the eight home.

  “Shocking.”

  “Don’t be a sore loser.” He grabbed the waistband of her jeans and drew her closer.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you a consolation prize.”

  He slid his hand around the curve of her hip and applied enough pressure to bring her even closer. She wasn’t tiny, but she was short enough that he had to lower himself to align all the right parts.

  She reached up and clasped her hands behind his head. A quick smile and then she was tugging at the rubber band holding his hair back. His hair fell forward, but she ran her fingers through it and pulled his face closer.

  Their lips touched gently and, for a moment, he thought she’d back off. He held tight and shifted for a better angle. She opened her mouth to welcome him. When his tongue met hers, her fingers tightened in his hair. He deepened the kiss, tasting the beer they’d had and sweetness that was her.

  Phin turned Layla and pinned her against the table with his hips. She rocked against him and sucked on his lower lip. His fingers itched to shove her shirt up and explore, but he remembered they were in the bar, so he pulled away.

  Her eyes fluttered before opening. “Mmm. If that was what I got as a loser, I can’t wait to see what I get when I win. I’ll get those beers now.”

  Phin didn’t move. He had no doubt she felt the bulge in his pants, but he didn’t necessarily want the rest of the bar to see his hard-on. “What’s your hurry?”

  “If I keep standing here, this close, we won’t stop at a kiss.” She pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him back.

  He let her walk around him without following. He was doing a few quick math problems in his head to refocus his energy when Layla shrieked behind him. He spun and saw her frantically shoving chairs away from the table.

  “Oh my God. Where is it?”

  “What?”

  “My backpack. I left it right here and it’s gone.”

  “It probably fell.” He walked over to the table, but he had a bad feeling. It wasn’t like the bar was filled with thugs, but people took any opportunity afforded them.

  “Shit. It’s gone. Someone stole it.” Layla thunked her head against the table.

  “Did it have anything important in it?”

  “Everything, except my license and my phone. All my clothes, my wallet, my phone charger . . .”

  Who the hell traveled with all of their possessions in a backpack and then left it unattended? “Why would you leave it alone if it held everything you own?”

  Her head shot up so fast, he thought it might fly off. “What was I supposed to do? Keep it on my back while we played pool? Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. I left it on a chair in plain view so I could keep an eye on it.”

  Layla spun and pointed a finger at his chest. “This is all your fault.”

  He laughed. “My fault?”

  “If you hadn’t distracted me with ‘Let’s play pool,’ and then the flirting and the touching. And let’s not forget the sexy kiss to make my brain foggy enough that I couldn’t see anything, much less focus on my bag.”

  “It’s my fault you can’t keep your hormones in check?” This was getting good. He crossed his arms and waited. Layla was pissed and she looked damn fine like that.

  “You’re probably in on it. You probably have a partner who grabbed my stuff while you distracted me.”

  “Whoa.” He put his hand up to stop her tirade. It was
one thing to accuse him of distracting her because he had sex on his mind, but it was another to accuse him of being a thief. He’d left all of that behind a long time ago. “I do not steal.”

  “And why should I believe you?”

  Phin stepped closer and leaned his face within inches of hers. “Because if I wanted to steal from you, I sure as hell wouldn’t still be standing here. And you can bet that the cash and phone in your pocket would be gone too.”

  Her face fell. “That really doesn’t make me feel any better.” She moved back and sat on the stool. “I have nothing. I hadn’t even gotten around to getting a room for tonight. I have to cancel my credit cards, and I barely have enough cash in my pocket to buy dinner. What the hell am I supposed to do for clothes? My favorite shirts were in that bag. And my car . . . Fuck. I’m sure Steve’s going to fix that for free, right?”

  Layla held her phone in her hand looking utterly confused. Her anger and spunk sputtered out.

  Shit. Even he wasn’t enough of an asshole to leave her sitting there like that. “Go check the bathroom.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll check the men’s room; you check the women’s. Chances are if someone here took your bag, he or she would’ve grabbed the wallet and dumped everything else. It doesn’t sound like you had anything else of value in the bag.”

  She slid from the stool and moped toward the back. He trailed behind and tried not to study her delicious ass. Before they even got to the bathrooms, Layla darted forward. “My bag!”

  Her backpack lay by the rear exit, contents spilling all over the floor. Layla knelt on the floor beside the bag and dumped everything out. She reached deep into each pocket, almost turning them inside out. “No wallet.”

  Phin snorted. “Did you really believe it would still be there?”

  “No. But I kinda hoped.” She set to the task of refolding her clothes.

  Phin glimpsed something purple and shimmery and bent over to pick it up. The slippery scrap of material slid between his fingers as he handed the panties to Layla. She was a bikini girl.