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Max
The air buzzes with excitement in my pool hall for the mini-tournament taking place. My senses are heightened and I soak up the electricity, finishing off my opponent in a six-ball sweep to advance to the final round. Normally I wouldn't be participating in a tournament in my own pool hall, but the sponsor specifically requested my presence in the competition because of my notoriety. I'd won multiple major tourneys before, and my name usually drew a crowd.
I shake hands with my adversary, friends and colleagues congratulating me as I meander to the other game still going on, wondering who my next match will be. The crowd parts easily. My first view of the table is really the profile of a tall, voluptuous woman bending over it, her feminine shape visibly tormenting all the men around her. Long black hair falls around her face as she calls her shot, a nearly impossible combination. I choke back a laugh and wait, watch as she exhales then draws her arm forward, the cue ball smacking the five into the two, both balls sailing into the same pocket. Applause rings out, and her opponent, the arrogant Anita Rosen, has a look of disbelief on her face.
I watch as this vixen jumps the cue ball over one of Anita's remaining balls, touching the eight with just enough force to sink it, the cue ball steering clear of the pocket. Now I am impressed, and riveted. She shakes hands with a sour-looking Anita, receives praise from people nearby. I draw closer to her, wanting to get a better look at this intriguing woman.
She turns around suddenly to face me before I can place my hand on her shoulder, and I am caught off guard by her luminescent, golden tiger eyes and her bright smile and her candy caramel skin.
"Congratulations," I say, "That was pretty amazing."
"Thanks," she responds, blowing off the tip of her pool cue jokingly. "I picked up a few tricks here and there." She smiled, nodding at my cue. "How did you fare?"
"I'm not sure yet. I guess we'll see what happens when we play each other next. I'm Max, by the way."
Her eyes take on a competitive look, and I feel my cock twitch. Oh, great, this should help me focus on the game.
"Kaila, with an i," she responds, and we shake hands, her grip firm and warm.
"That's very sexy," I blurt without thinking, but she smiles.
"My mother is Hawaiian," she tells me, then looks uncertain as to why she does. This explains why she looks like an exotic fruit in the middle of this mess of people. The announcer's voice over the speakers convey that the final round is about to begin, interrupting our exchange.
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