“I’ll break—it can be challenging if you aren’t used to playing,” he offered, leaning over and putting his sculpted back on display. In one swift motion, he sent the white ball rocketing into the others with an ear-piercing crack, scattering them across the table. “Try not to pulverize me; I’m somewhat of a sore loser.” “Have you played before?” “Only a couple times, and it’s been a while. So, remind me what I’m shooting at.” “I got a stripe and a solid into the pockets, so I’ll choose stripes. That means you’re shooting for the solids, but not the white one or the black eight ball.” He attempted to sink one more striped ball and missed, making it my turn. I gnawed at my bottom lip as I assessed my options. The red three ball was at a decent angle, although far from the white ball. I lined
