In Heat (Part 4)
#4 of In Heat (By Chapter)
PART 4
I rose, leaning over the table as he'd leaned on his desk a few days before. "Would you care for a spot of billiards, my good fellow?" I grinned. I wasn't bad with accents, but I laid on the phony British-ness way too thickly.
He stood too, and I had to look up into his eyes, even when I straightened. "Only if you stop talking like that. You sound like you're gonna spontaneously burst into tea and crumpets."
I snickered and ushered him forward with an outstretched arm. "Then lead the way." I felt mesmerized as he coasted ahead, those hard-soled boots making almost no noise as he moved with far more grace than a frame that big should have. I hadn't noticed that hypnotic sway of his posterior a few days ago, but he wasn't exactly feeling his best then. We edged around the dance-floor. Mr. Hindsight was no longer in evidence, and neither was his friend. More's the pity; he was certainly easy on the eyes. I didn't feel too bad, though. I had something better to look at.
Trey flagged me down as we passed, and gave me a thumbs-up, which I returned with a huge shit-eating grin that I just knew looked ridiculous, but couldn't help. He just laughed and watched as we hit the pool tables.
Rob grabbed his cue, I grabbed mine, we racked up the balls, and he took the break shot. I figured I'd let him win if he was any good, since showing him up probably wouldn't be a wonderful idea. I wasn't too bad a player myself, so I could at least keep things somewhat even until the end, letting him pull ahead in the last round or two.
"So Rob," I said as he lined up the break, "what's up with the wolf motif?"
"You noticed that, huh?" The split knocked the fourteen and the fifteen down, and took the two-ball down with them. Looked like he was going to play stripes, then.
"Kind of hard to miss." Ball number eleven, sunk in the corner pocket. "Your office is practically crawling with them. You even have a wolf on your belt buckle."
He scratched behind an ear, his eyes a bit less focused for a moment. "My father...shot a female he caught on our farm when I was a kid. I...I found the pup she'd been nursing and I raised him. As a pet. I've loved them ever since." His voice sounded a bit odd, but I chalked it up to the alcohol.
There went ball number twelve, side pocket.
That must have been the 'dog' in the torn photograph. I wasn't sure if the photo would be a sore subject, what with the angry tear, so I left it alone, for now. "I could tell. I especially liked the one by the door." The corners of my mouth turned up and my eyes narrowed rakishly as he glanced my way. "Pretty eyes."
He cleared his throat, self-consciously, I thought. "Yeah, well, photography is a hobby of mine, and I've always been big on the Great Outdoors, so I figured..." He shrugged.
"...why not combine them all? That could work."
Ball ten was in a tough spot. He tried to ricochet off the rail. It didn't work, but he'd put me in an awkward position for my first shot, between one of his remaining stripes and the eight-ball.
I moved into position as I studied the table. He'd intentionally blocked off most of the pockets from here, limiting my shots. Nice. The game was turning out to be interesting, though I liked the conversation better.
My first shot caromed three times as it followed the path I'd had in mind fairly accurately, the six-ball teetering on the edge of the open pocket before gravity finally took over.
"Nice one." He nodded appreciatively. "Tell me kid, why'd you follow me back to my office?"
I was ready for this one. "I had a question about the assignment. Nothing major, and I figured it out later on anyhow." Hey, it was the truth. Basically. The fact that I'd wanted to get him alone was beside the point. Ball five, side pocket, after clearing the way for my next shot. "I wouldn't recommend relying on that the next time you get in trouble, though. I may not be so...distracted next time."
He watched me set up my angle, and gave a theatric full-body stretch right in front of me and I botched my shot, badly. The cue-tip scraped along the green felt and the cue-ball spun off wildly. I scratched. Damn. I did get ball number one though, if only on accident. "Distracted, eh?" A knowing smirk slid into place and stayed there.
"Oh, get over yourself. What were you saying about humility and relapses?"
"Hey," he retorted, "at least I know I still got it."
"Well, yeah. But that's totally beside the point." I fished out the cue-ball and tossed it to him before backing off the table. "You're up."
He surveyed the smooth verdant landscape populated by spherical topography; it was his turn, he had several great shots with the cue-ball in hand, and we were tied. I doubted he'd have trouble this round, and while scratching on the eight-ball was always a possibility, it wasn't something I'd bet on.
"You moved from Texas, right? Couldn't stand the GOP and the 'old fashioned values,' huh?"
"Not really, no." The nine-ball fell easily into a corner pocket, though it left his cue-ball in an odd spot behind one of my solids. "I grew up there, but I never felt at home; I was always really uncomfortable, especially after my then-boyfriend and I were outed to my father and some of his police officer friends when they came home early from patrol." His voice was less than happy. Ouch.
"Sounds rough."
That ten-ball finally got what was coming to it, in a side-pocket. He grunted. "I came here when...things in my life changed and it became clear I needed greener pastures. I got my degree and took up teaching, and I've been here ever since. This town's been pretty good to me. How about you?"
I watched as he swayed his way around the table, searching for his next shot. "I didn't have it that bad, though I had a bit of falling-out with extended family and some crap in high school. It was one reason why I got interested in sports and martial-arts; they made for a good distraction. The other was so I could buff up and kick some ass if I needed to. Of course, locker room shenanigans didn't hurt anything, either."
"I'll bet."
"My hometown isn't too far away from here, but it's far enough away that I can stay in my own apartment, rather than living at home, thank god. Taking guys home can be kind of awkward even when your parents say they're okay with the whole gay thing. So what made you move here? Family? Friends? A hot young college student you knew you'd meet up with one day?"
He rolled his eyes. "Mom died when I was twelve. Dad kicked me out for being gay, and my boyfriend and I broke up not long after that, not that he stuck around either. None of my other friends were open-minded enough to be willing to brave my father's shit-list, especially since he was sheriff at the time, so I really didn't have any reason to stick around. I wandered a bit, tryin' to find something that stuck, until I came up here. Had my great-aunt Clarice, but she passed on just over ten years ago now. She was a wonderful woman with a great sense of humor, though I doubt she would've taken to the idea of me bein' interested in men. I never did tell her. She 'n Dad never got along, and I didn't tell him where I was anyway."
The shot against ball thirteen was a difficult one, involving a rebound off the side of the table and a squeeze between number three and seven. The unlucky ball dropped into a corner pocket. "Sorry to hear that, man. Life can suck sometimes."
He chewed his lip for a second, looking pensive. "Not even sure why I told you about it. It's not something I usually talk about."
"People tend to open up to me for some reason. It's a talent, I guess. But maybe you just need someone to talk to?"
"Could be. Anyway, that's all long-gone, and I've come to terms with it. I try to look to the future, live in the present, and learn from the past, not the other way 'round."
"Good philosophy. I might have to quote that in one of my papers this semester," I said, eyeing the table. Only the eight-ball was left on his side; so much for my letting him win.
"So long as you cite your sources, sure."
"Even if it's for your class?" I had an idea, and worked my way behind him while he lined up his last shot.
"'Specially if it's my class. You don't think I'm gonna let you slide just because we're getting friendly, do ya?" He smiled, and the weight of a moment ago was gone. "Eight-ball, side pocket."
Robert started the motion for his shot, and I goosed him firmly with my pool cue from a safe distance. He jumped, his aim went wildly off, and not only did the eight-ball slide off into a corner pocket, but he scratched as well.
"Hmm. I do believe I've won." I tried for sweet-faced innocence, but I wasn't sure how close I made it.
Apparently not very, as he scowled at me, and it would've been a good scowl if the edges of his mouth weren't trying to curl upward. "That's cheating, boy."
"That's funny. From here it looks like you just got a bit distracted. That happens a lot around here, I'm told. Especially when cute men are involved."
"Wow. That sounded really gay." He definitely looked amused now.
"Just how I like it."
A few hours of conversation later, and Rob sank the eight-ball. "Game. Set. Match!" His eyes were backlit with the laughter we'd been sharing all evening.
I made a face. "That's tennis."
"I still won."
My pout couldn't hold; his smile was infectious. "Fair enough. You're three for six. Want to go another round to break the tie?"
My watch beeped, and I studied the digital numbers. "Wow. 2 am already? Time flies, huh?"
"Yup. Haven't enjoyed a night like this in quite awhile, but it's getting kinda late. Maybe we should hold off on that next game for now." He certainly didn't look like he wanted the night to be over, but 'all good things must come to an end,' and all that.
"I guess. Say, uh..." I fidgeted a bit, the sudden burst of unaccustomed nerves devouring my usual bravado. "Are you busy tomorrow? I was hoping we could maybe...do this again."
His smile evaporated, and a skeptical frown took its place. "You asking me out on a date, son?"
I raised my hands to ward off the question. "No, no. Well, maybe." My arms dropped sheepishly. "Okay, yeah, I guess I am. Assuming you're not taken...?"
"No, I'm not." The frown turned concerned. "You're cute, but you're also, what, twenty-one?"
"Twenty-two." Huh. He said I was cute.
"I'm forty-five. I'm old enough to be your dad. And as good as it feels to be admired by the Generation Y crowd," his rich baritone voice groused, "you know we can't. You're my student. You'd be put on academic suspension, and I'd be fired."
"Assuming someone actually found out, and assuming they actually cared."
"Don't you watch movies? These things never work out."
"Only on Lifetime." I arched an eyebrow dubiously. "And movies also tell us that we're living inside a sentient holographic computer program."
"That's as may be, but... Ah, hell." His fingers clutched at his temples, his eyes closed. He appeared to debate with himself for a moment, and I heard him mutter under his breath, "Hope I don't regret this." He flicked one hand in exasperation, visibly giving in. "I like you, pup, and it's not like we haven't been flirting the hell out of each other tonight anyway. I guess we can try it. If it turns into more than a couple of dates, we'll get through this semester, and find a way to get you into courses I don't teach after that." He poked a finger right between my eyes, at the bridge of my nose, and gave a little jab. "But don't expect me to play favorites. You're taking my class to learn, and I'd be doing you a disservice if I let you slide, whatever we're doing elsewhere. Got that?"
I looked in his so-serious eyes and nodded. "Yessir." I believed him.
Well, that was almost too easy.
©Lycanthromancer
10/14/2010