Would You Rather

2 - WYR: win the game or kiss the girl?

FIDAN 

I didn't really anticipate getting challenged to a body-shot-as-a-consequence round of pool at Casey's tonight. I came for a drink and a grovel with my new teammates after taking a hard loss in the third game of the season. I'm sore, I'm tired, and I have extra ice time reserved tomorrow to drill the skill I messed up halfway through that cost us a shot. I need it to be an early night but those plans are changing rapidly.

The sullen mood was brought up by the two girls sauntering their way over, long-legged and wearing not nearly enough clothing for Saskatchewan in the fall. I'm not complaining. Finley looks like she hits the gym and is wearing three necklaces, one stacked on top of another that really highlight her defined and biteable collarbones. If Hugo wasn't throwing his game so goddamn badly, I'd be trying to decide if I want to take a shot out of the hollow of her throat or said collarbones, or God, if she let me, the dip in her stomach.

But no, Hugo Romero is good at several things, hockey and threatening people in rapid Spanish, but not pool. Of course. I wish her friend with the stunning ass and hundreds of thin braids down to her mid-back had picked Langley instead because the guy could murder someone with a pool cue. But no, she picked Hugo, our other ice-loving Mediterranean boy.

So, instead of picking a spot on her body I want to lick tequila off of, I'm trying to decide how I'm going to throw this game, because I'm not leaving this match with her buying drinks. I'm leaving this match with one of us getting their tongue on the other and despite how badly I want to know what her skin tastes like under a layer of bitter alcohol, it's looking like she's going to be doing that to me.

I set my hands on the wooden table, watching her line up, scrutinizing the lay of the land before she throws her waist-length brown hair over a shoulder and lines up to take another shot. I can tell she's a bit panicked because her line-ups are less sultry now, more competitive. I like the edge that competition brings to her so much better than the hip sway of a woman who thought I was a man easily won that she had before. Don't get me wrong: I am easy, but I like a competition much more than I like a hard come-on.

Finley takes the shot and I watch her smile to herself, a ball falling into the pouch to my right.

I line up, completely throwing it, acting surprised when the ball spins off to the side.

"Losing your focus?" Her smooth voice smells like grapefruit when she gets close enough and I'm getting the building urge to lick remnants of lonkero from the space between her lip and her bottom teeth.

"I think I might need another drink." I lean back on the table and completely ignore her chastising look when I take a sip from the bottom of hers. It's not exactly the same, but the flavor of the gin and grapefruit brings me back to juniors. The thrill of being sixteen, indestructible, and drunk as hell.

I switch focus, draining the bottom of my beer, and teasing the wet glass bottle against her upper arm. When she tips her head in a playful glare, I lean closer, rolling it up to her throat, watching her swallow against the cold glass. It's like a villain pointing a sword under the hero's throat but I know she's into me enough to let this affect her and, well, if I can tip her chin up with cold glass that's raising gooseflesh, force her to make eye contact with me for just a moment, really play it up, I will. I'm a flirt at heart. Can't help it.

"You want another, too?" I offer and frown when she shakes her head. "Feel free to move all the balls around while I'm off."

I'm not kidding. I must lose this round with Romero closing out his loss.

I stop by his table on the way back, looking at the other girl for a moment before splitting my attention to him. She's pretty. Gorgeous, really; but isn't running numbers on my body like her friend is. There's something about Finley. Something specific. I haven't pinpointed it yet. Who knew Regina, Saskatchewan would bring out a whole new deck of playing cards. Finley is tall and broad-shouldered like a swimmer with runner hips and a terrifyingly sexy sway in her waist. She's freckled across her bare collarbones and shoulders, spattering up to her cheeks and chin. It's natural, the look of a girl who spends summer outside.