Hard Beat

She slides her eyes over to the empty pool table, and when I roll my eyes in response, her laugh crosses the distance between us. She knows I detest pool just about as much as she hates Scrabble, but we’ve learned to compromise to pass the time. Shaking my head, I rise from my seat while she walks to the far wall and grabs the cues and the rack for the balls. Out of habit and because, shit, how can I not look, I take in the curve of her hips and the muscles in her shoulders as she grabs the sticks for us.