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“Sure,” he said. “I can go another round.”

Two minutes later the man was back, with a fresh bottle of beer for Carson and another of his own, as Carson was resetting the balls. Carson lined up his shot to break the rack, and watched as four balls dropped neatly into the holes.

“I’ll take stripes,” he said, calmly eyeing the lay of the remaining balls.

Five shots in a row later, he sank the eight ball after dropping the rest of his, before the new guy even got one shot in.

“Good game. Thanks for the beer,” he smirked, tipping his bottle in the man's direction before taking a long pull. They held eye contact for a moment before the man started laughing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Three out of five?” he asked, a twinkling of mischief in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s your dime,” Carson shrugged. “I’ll even be nice and let you take the break this time.”

The man’s grin turned wicked, and Carson’s brain short circuited as he thought of all the places he’d like a beard burn from this man.

He beat Carson with only four hits after the break.

“It’s like that, huh?” Carson asked, genuinely pleased at the turn of events.

“It’s like that,” Mr. Tall-dark-and-Dorito-shaped answered. Carson really needed a better name for this guy in his head. But the dance they were doing was far too much fun to stop it now for formal introductions. Carson slid his tongue over his bottom lip and then held the tip between his teeth.

“My turn to break, then?” he asked, pitching his voice lower as he stared across the table, fingers running suggestively along the pool stick in his hands.

Dorito-man’s lips parted slightly as he took a deep breath, his eyes locked onto Carson’s mouth.

Carson grinned knowingly. “You did say three out of five. We still have more games to play.”

A strangled sound came from the man’s throat.

“By all means,” he said, sweeping one well-muscled arm over the table.

Their third game took longer. Carson had trouble with positioning his body to allow for the burgeoning hard-on he was trying to keep down as they traded innuendo as quickly as they sank balls.

Dorito-man had his back to the table, checking something on one of the TVs, when someone walked by close enough to force him to smush his ass against the edge of the table. The problem with that was, said glorious ass was directly across from Carson, and the distraction cost him dearly as he hit the cue ball too hard, sending his ball into the eight, which landed with a solid thunk into the pocket and began its noisy roll to the collection point immediately to Carson’s left.

“Shit!”

Dorito-man turned, and it only took him a few moments to realize what happened.

“Looks like I’m up two-to-one,” he grinned.

Carson hung his head in shame.

“What are we playing for, anyway?”

“Hmmm. How about, if you win, we go back to your place?”

Carson’s breath caught in his throat as he stood.

“And if you win?” he asked, voice breathier than he’d have cared to admit.

Dorito-man drew close to Carson, near enough that he could smell the subtle cologne—woodsy, warm, evoking an image that fit the man well—and see the variations of color in his auburn hair, including the light sprinkling of silver-gray that dotted both his temples and his beard. Carson’s teeth pulled at his bottom lip as he fought the urge to sink them into this man. Those blue eyes were no longer the bright icy blue they’d been when the night had begun. Now, they were darkened to a deep ocean hue, pupils wide as they locked onto Carson’s bottom lip.

The man’s hand came up to cup Carson’s jaw, thumb dragging over his lip, pulling it free of his teeth. Carson chased the sting with his tongue, taking a teasing swipe at the thumb, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from the stranger.

“My hotel,” he ground out, as his body crowded Carson’s against the table. Carson’s heart raced, and he had to fight to not grind up into the erection he could feel pressing into his own.

“I forfeit. You win,” he gasped, just before their lips connected.