“You look…really nice,” I heard his gulp.

I let go of his arm after that and wiped my sweaty palms on the sides of my jeans. I needed to be careful. I didn’t want to give Gavin the wrong impression, and I didn’t want to forget what mattered to me, either.

Gavin was right. We got into the club without any trouble. The crowds were still filtering in slowly, and the band hadn’t started to play yet. To kill time, Gavin ordered a pitcher of beer and challenged me to a few rounds of pool. The twins were sitting along the bar working on a group of freshmen girls who looked star struck by them. I just rolled my eyes, embarrassed by my gender.

“Okay, how about we play some nine-ball? Do you want me to teach you how to play?” Gavin asked, assuming. I was going to play along with this, and it would be fun.

“Sounds fun. Okay,” I said, grabbing a stick from the wall and standing at the head of the table while he racked the balls.

The dingle twins and their female fans had moved over to the stools by the poolroom and were watching now. It was funny to see the girls react to their new eye candy. While the dingles were good-looking boys, Gavin was downright sexy. He was wearing a tight black shirt that accentuated his toned chest and abs and the scrolling artwork on each of his arms. He paired it with his usual faded jeans and black Converse shoes. He also wasn’t wearing his usual black-rimmed glasses, which made the blue of his eyes stand out even more than normal.

“Okay, I’ll break and show you how it’s done,” he said, moving me to the side to watch. I bit my tongue a little to force down the giggle of superiority that was dying to escape me. I’d been playing pool since I was 4; my grandpa was what you’d call a shark, and he had taught me well. When I was little, he would set me up on a chair so I could reach the center of the table, and after 16 years of play on his professional table at home, I was pretty threatening with a cue.

Gavin broke well and explained the basics of the game to me while we circled the table. Nine-ball isn’t hard. It’s just a game of counting, really. You shoot the balls in numerical order. The trick is planning out your shots in advance so you’re never left in a corner. I watched as Gavin took his next shot and knew he wasn’t going to be much competition. To make things interesting, I decided to play up my novice skills for a little longer, missing my first several shots and sighing in frustration.

“You’re doing great; it’s okay, you’ll get it. I’ve been playing for a while, so that’s why I’m so good,” he said, his eyes crinkling with his confident smile. I almost felt bad. Almost. I was still going in for the kill.

“I think I just need a goal. I’m good with goals,” I said as I pulled the balls from our practice game out of the pockets, and rolled them in the center to rack them.

“Okay,” Gavin said, scrunching his brow and not really following me.

“Sorry, I’m not making much sense. I’m just a competitive person by nature, so I’m thinking if there’s something I can win, maybe I’ll play harder,” I squinted my eyes and looked around the room a bit, pretending, as I knew full well what I was about to propose. “Ah, how about this. If I can win just one game…but only one,” I was playing up my desperation some, “you and the dingles here have to wear my red lipstick out on the dance floor.”

“Haaaaaaaaa,” Cory laughed, completely taken by my acting skills. “That’s funny. You’re so on. There’s no way you’re winning.”

Gavin leaned into the bar and had a pensive look, not as convinced by my performance. He was chewing on his bottom lip for a few seconds, considering, and finally spoke up. “Okay, but what if I shut you out?” He wasn’t as trusting as the dingles, smart man.

We stood there in a staring contest for a few seconds, considering each other’s bluffs. I was starting to think that maybe Gavin had been holding back a little, too, when he chimed in with his idea.

“If I shut you out, you have to kiss each of us on the cheek, with the red lipstick, leaving your mark behind—so that way everyone here tonight will know you lost a bet,” he said. He smiled with tight lips, laying down all his cards. He was definitely holding back. But I was still pretty sure I could surprise him. My grandpa had won thousands at the tables and had trophies named for him in Vegas. I’d been taught by the best, and I was about to put all of my faith in those skills.

I reached out my hand to shake Gavin’s, and the bet was sealed. “You’re on,” I said, sliding the balls into the rack with flair, just to show the boys a hint of my skills.