Page 27 of Bad Attitude
“Shot,” Genesis calls, with a note of respect.
That’s all the inspiration I need to sink that ball, then the black too. I grin up at her. “Your turn to rack.”
“Let the lady win, dude!” someone shouts.
“That’s not cool.”
“She’s better than him anyway,” someone else says, and there’s a murmur of agreement.
“I’ll let you handle my balls, honey!” a man hollers, loud enough for half the bar to hear. A few of the others laugh and agree, but there’s still no reaction from Genesis.
She’s doing the right thing, ignoring them. Ishould be doing the same, but either she’s had more practice, or they’re not affecting her as much.
My break. All my frustration goes into that shot, the white slamming into the rack, balls flying all over, three finding pockets.
No one’s watching the game anymore—as if they ever were. The comments are coming faster, getting more ribald.
“Tight leather jeans on that ass.”
“Look at that flat stomach. Want me to lick it baby? Lick on down?”
“Bend over for us again. Bend right over that table.”
I clench my jaw, leaning in for my next shot.
“Show us your tits, bitch. You know you want to.”
And that does it. Fuck those guys.
I straighten, whirling to face the last man to make that comment. “Trying to play, here,” I growl. “Back the fuck off.”
He mockingly raises his hands in placation.
Genesis catches my eye, uncertainty in her expression. She knows this is getting out of control, and it’s not just them, it’s me.
But two of the men have walked over, flanking her. She ignores them, watching me, even though they’re awfully close.
I hesitate, wondering if we should call this now. It’s the third game, we’re even, and this one is the decider. Everything is riding on this, and we both know it.
We should’ve gone somewherequieter.
Like that was an option on a Friday night.
“Leave this asshole,” one of the guys says. He leans in far too damn close. “Come home with us.”
“We’ll show you a good time,” his friend adds, and his hand slides onto her hip, fingers brushing beneath her crop top, over her stomach. Trailing the tattoo that I haven’t got to touch yet.
She twists away. “Not happening, boys.”
It doesn’t dissuade them. They come in again, one of them making a grab for her. She backs up, right into the man whose foot she rammed the cue into. Both his hands land on her waist this time, pulling her against him, grinding his hips into her ass.
The table is between me and them. Some of the men are cheering them on, only a couple looking uncomfortable. It’s mob mentality, fueled by alcohol, and I’ve seen it more times than I want to consider. They’ve been pushing each other for the whole time we’ve been here, and we’ve stayed too long.
I’m half way around the table in a second, pulse thudding in my ears, but Genesis doesn’t hesitate. Her head jerks back, catching the guy full in his face. His nose crunches. Then her elbow slams into his solar plexus.
“Fuck!” His hand flies to his face, blood gushing from his nose. Then his eyes narrow. “Bitch!”
And he backhands her.
