Let's Play 8 Ball Novels & Stories

“Go ahead and try it on.” “You’re just trying to see her tits,” Alexi snorted. “Shut up,” Darren pushed Alexi’s shoulder. “It might be our only chance.” “She still has the eight ball,” Boyd looked from the table, then at me. “Not an easy shot. There’s still a chance.” It’s not an easy shot, but there is no chance for him. I can get it.

I was already eight months pregnant, and at the stage where I needed help to do everything because my stomach was huge. They helped me done the stairs slowly, and when we finally got to the bottom, they led me to a door in a part of the room that I hadn't been in before. We stood in front of the door, and I looked at them questioningly. “What's this about?” I asked. “You'll find out when we get in. Now, close your eyes,” alpha Leo said and looked at them, skeptical about that request. “There's actually no need for that, you know. You can just show me what's behind the door. What if I fall when I close my eyes?”

"Deserved it, honestly. They've been insufferable all night." Red Lip Gloss rolls her eyes. "Nobody asked you." "And yet here I am." I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling. She looks at me. "Rack them." I glance at the table. "You play?" "Better than them." That earns a laugh from me. We play together, and the women who were so eager to test me drift away one shot at a time. I sink the eight ball on the final turn, the cue ball rolling to a stop near the rail.

A British-style billiards table was set up, with the balls already arranged in a triangle on a tripod. A wooden board was placed on top of the arranged balls. Ronald clapped his hands, and Beau eagerly stepped forward to explain the night's game rules. He pointed to the board lying on the pool table. "Stand on it. Whoever can pocket all the balls in the shortest time, without falling off, wins." Emily inwardly cursed. She sized up the height of the pool table. Not only would falling be embarrassing but it would also likely result in injury. Damn, these spoiled rich kids. Besides playing with women, what else are they good at?

Kat seconded. “Crikey Moses!” Kat just burst out laughing. The knocking of balls excited me. I was not good like Brett, but I and Arella had a chance of winning. Brett agreed that I and my partner should start since he was a pool shark. I took two cues—one for me and one for her. She took it from me and muttered thank you, not meeting my gaze anymore. Everyone gathered around the table including Brett whose standing across us with Lorcan and Kat. Our drinks arrived, and I gave Denys a beer.

"Nice!" said Gavin, unable to contain his enthusiasm. Max pivoted and looked at Felicia. Her eyes were cold and impenetrable as she turned to face him. "It's your turn." Max moved to the other side of the table without saying anything. Everything would be decided by this following shot. He lined it up with calm hands and sunk the eight-ball and his selected ball into the pocket with a single, fluid move. Gavin protested. Evelynn would have prevailed if you hadn't broken first. Without a doubt.

he grabs the bards and with half-closed eyes throws the first one, I think he's imagining my face in target. "Yeah, I'm not even going to try to guess the culprit of your bitterness." He throws me the other pool stick. Get up lazy, I'm not going to win if I play alone. I'm going to play, but only because I want to. We have things to plan, however a little gaming is not going to slow us down. Jason arranges the balls in the triangle while I clean the end of my club. “How are we doing with Singapore?” Jason asks when he's about to start the game, but then he stops and smirks at me. Ah, the minors first.

But I stay focused, watching his every move while waiting for my turn. Finally, he misses, and it’s my chance. I step up to the table, my heart pounding, but my hands steady. I line up my shot, taking a deep breath. The cue ball strikes the striped ball perfectly, sending it into the pocket with a satisfying clink. The crowd murmurs in surprise. I continue, sinking ball after ball, my confidence growing with each successful shot. Jake’s smirk fades, replaced by a look of frustration. He tries to distract me with more taunts, but I focus only on the game.

Two glasses of strawberry milkshake were also added to the menu. “Ajua”, she said while munching a chunk of the steak, her teeth crashing into the soft meat. She gasped quickly because of the hotness of the victual, “a certain game played in the old days. You drop marbles in a certain direction in holes against your opponent. The one who remains with marbles to play wins the round. The holes are eight, parallel to each other making sixteen, and two large at each end. The one at your left is your home as a player. Oh, each player starts with forty-eight marbles”

I’m just a woman playing a game with a man who looks entirely too lethal to be holding a wooden stick. I walk around the table, positioning myself for the final shot. The black eight-ball sits near the far corner pocket. I lean over the green felt, bending at the waist, my dress tightening against my hips as I line up the cue. I let out a soft chuckle, keeping my eyes fixed on the target. “Well, look at that. I’m about to win. Any last words, Morozov?” “Pocket to the left,” Konstantin says, behind me.