Page 43 of The Token Yank

Rafe’s head went dizzy at the other kinds of breaking in Eamonn could do withhim.

Eamonn

Eamonn explained the rules of the game to Rafe, but judging by the deer-in-the-headlights reaction he was getting from the Yank, most of it didn’tstick.

“Don’t worry. You’ll learn as we go. Just remember that you want to pot as many reds as youcan.”

“Pot?” Rafeasked.

“Get balls in thehole.”

Eamonn felt his cheeks heat up. Like his photographer impression in the cab, he had to watch what he said. He got into position and nailed the white ball straight into the pyramid of reds. They scattered in all directions like a flock ofpidgeons.

He surveyed the table, devising a strategy in his head. He glanced over at Rafe, who was trying to do the same thing. Rafe squeezed the pool cue in his hands as he studied the table. It made his arm muscles tense. Eamonn noticed the definition hiding under his T-shirt, and it sent blood rushing to his own poolcue.

“Damn,” Eamonn said after his shot. One of the reds bounced off the edge of thepocket.

“Don’t go easy on me,” Rafesaid.

“I’m not.”I just got a littledistracted.

Rafe leaned down and pointed his cue haphazardly at a ball that he’d never get in. He might have been good at maths, but Eamonn doubted he could translate it here on the firsttry.

“Let’s have this be an open game,” Eamonn said. “It’ll be practice. I’ll helpyou.”

He signaled for Rafe to come to his side of the table. He got close and whispered into Rafe’s ear, “Aim for that red into the side pocket. You have a better shot of making it. You don’t want to leave any balls that your opponent could easily getin.”

Eamonn realized he didn’t need to whisper any of this since it was obvious to anyone playing that this was a no-brainer shot. He did like getting a whiff of Rafe’s musk, atleast.

“Leave no balls hanging. Got it.” Rafe bent over the table and got his cue into position behind the white ball. Eamonn might’ve checked his arse out—to make sure the cue was lined up correctly, of course. And what a pert, round arse itwas.

“Yes!” Rafe yelled as the red slid into thepocket.

“That was knees up, mate!” Eamonn patted him on the bum without thinking. Rafe did a double take at the area of impact.Shit.

“Which ball next?” Rafe didn’t seem offended, but that was probably his friendly American instincts, and he was most likely inwardlyrecoiling.

Eamonn put his focus back on the table. He found the yellow ball in close proximity to a cornerhole.

“I got this,” Rafesaid.

“A bit cocky, aren’twe?”

“A bit nervous, aren’twe?”

Rafe studied the shot one more time before bending over the table. Eamonn sneaked one quick peek, just to make sure his cue was placed correctly. And then the guy gave his arse a little wiggle to get into position, and Eamonn nearly poked a bloody hole in his trousers.BleedingChrist.

“That’s two in a row!” Rafe straightened himself and hi-fived Eamonn. And even with that, Eamonn’s hand still felt compelled to pat him on thebum!

Eamonn told himself to get it together and ignore the need to touch Rafe’sbody.

When Rafe whiffed his next shot, Eamonn set his sights on a red ball at the far corner of the table. He focused on getting the shot lined up. Rafe stood over the corner pot where Eamonn wanted his ball to go. His crotch was literally in hiseyeline.

“Can you move over?” Eamonn asked. He took a deep breath and got back into position. “Shit.”

The red hit the pocket too hard and bouncedaway.

Rafe’s shot improved throughout the game, and Eamonn made sure not to let his eyes drift down to his arse again. Instead, he liked to watch how his eyebrows seemed to knit together as he concentrated, and how Rafe looked to his reaction as soon as he hit aball.