A Night at the Bar

         He leaned over the pool table freely, with what seemed like utter carelessness, as he pressed his flat stomach against the rail. He smirked, revealing near perfect teeth, sparkling in the bar's lights, as he easily shot yet another ball into a pocket. He had a way about him when he played pool, it seemed as if he forgot he was in public, as was made clear by his mannerisms, hardly taking notice when he stretched his arms and his shirt pulled up with them, paying no mind to the cold metal rim against his stomach, and easily sipping from his glass without any notice of whoever's eyes were on him.
         My eyes were on him, had been all night. He never missed a shot, and never failed to show off. He strutted around the table like a champion, and when he did miss, he took it coolly, still wearing that pretty smirk of his. Taken was a misnomer, I was entranced with each movement he made. Each shot he dropped on the table was near flawless, and each shot he dropped down his throat seemed to leave him a little more loose.
         Finally he won another game, and smoothly dropped another ten dollars in his pocket, people were willing to pay to play against him, I was more than contented to pay to lose to him. I stepped up to the table, and placed a twenty down on the rail. He smiled up at me, his sapphire blue eyes meeting my emeralds, and he matched the twenty I laid down. I took my time racking the balls, spending most of my attention on him as he stretched and danced around the cue. I finished finally and removed the rack, he lined up and took his first shot, immediately three balls were pocketed.
         I frowned, it looked like it wouldn't be a long game, as he ran the table down to the point that there were only two solids left, and five stripes. I stared at the predicament, then I stared at him. He nodded toward the table and taking the hint I took my shot, but by then I had resolved to drag the game out. I shot a hook, leaving him with no clear shot at either solid. Of course he didn't let that throw him off, he immediately planted his butt on the side of the table, raised his cue over the edge of the cue ball, and dropped his cue like a rock, putting such masse on the cue that it merely swerved around the eight ball and put the first solid into the corner pocket.
         He grinned at me as he passed by, bumping into me ever so slightly before lining up his next shot and sinking it easily. The eight ball shot was lined up directly in front of me, he bent over the table, lined up, and missed, just barely ricocheting the eight ball off the corners of the pocket. I stared at him bent over like that for a moment, before he stood and shrugged, and then nearly skipped around to where his drink was. He took a short sip as I looked back and forth between the table and him, then finally took my first shot, which I managed to sink, but the second left me high and dry, with a bee-line between the cue, the eight ball, and the corner pocket. His tight t-shirt rolled up as he yawned and stretched. He leaned over the table again, his stomach rubbing against the cold metal, and took the straight in shot again, this time it was too hard, and when it railed out it rolled a good six inches away from the pocket.
         I stared at him still more as he stood and stretched, shaking his body back and forth as if shaking off the bad luck, or shaking off something else perhaps. He returned to his drink and pointed his stick at the table, tearing my eyes away from him. I went back to the table and took the next shot I had lined up, another hit, then another miss. Billiards wasn't my game, but I liked the bar and I liked the people in it, particularly this person.
         He seemed to giggle, covering his mouth as I sighed and stood from the table. He swayed his way back to the table, leaned over slowly in front of me as he lined up his new eight ball shot, barely tapped it, as if to prevent the rail out from happening again, and it stopped right outside of the pocket. I stared, he licked his lip as he stood, biting his tongue in concentration perhaps. He nodded toward me, smiled, and returned to his drink. It was a gorgeous smile.
         I took the next two shots smoothly, leaving only the eight ball. He grinned as I took the final shot pocketing the eight ball. We went back around to the edge of the table. He shook my hand. Congratulated me on my victory. Then took the two twenties out of the crevice around the pocket. I smirked as he pocketed the money, I had gotten just what I paid for.