Nicholas Sparks - A Bend in the Road

“Almost…” He moved closer, and as soon as he reached toward her hand, gently leaning against her as he did so, she felt something jump inside, a light shock that started in her belly and radiated outward. His hands were warm as he adjusted her fingers. Despite the smoke and the stale air, she could smell his aftershave, a clean, masculine odor.

“No-hold your finger a little tighter. You don’t want too much room or you lose control of your shot,” he said.

“How’s that?” she said, thinking how much she liked the feel of him close to her.

“Better,” he said seriously, oblivious to what she was going through. He gave her a little room. “Now when you draw back, go slowly and try to keep the cue straight and steady as you hit the ball. And remember, you don’t have to hit it that hard. The ball is right on the edge and you don’t want to scratch.” Sarah did as she was told. The shot was straight, and as Miles predicted, the nine fell in. The cue ball rolled to a stop toward the center of the table. “That’s great,” he said, motioning toward it. “You’ve got a good shot with the fourteen now.”

“Really?” she said.

“Yeah, right there. Just line it up and do the same thing again…” She did, taking her time. After the fourteen fell into the pocket, the cue ball seemed to set itself up perfectly for the next shot as well. Miles’s eyes widened in surprise. Sarah looked up at him, knowing she wanted him close again. “That one didn’t feel as smooth as the first one,” she said. “Would you mind showing me one more time?”

“No, not at all,” he said quickly. Again he leaned against her and adjusted her hand on the table; again she smelled the aftershave. Again the moment seemed charged, but this time Miles seemed to sense it as well, lingering unnecessarily as he stood against her. There was something heady and daring about the way they were touching, something…wonderful. Miles drew a deep breath. “Okay, now try it,” he said, pulling back from her as if needing a bit of space.

With a steady stroke, the eleven went in.

“I think you’ve got it now,” Miles said, reaching for his beer. Sarah moved around the table for the next shot.

As she did, he watched her. He took it all in-the graceful way she walked, the gentle curves of her body as she set up again, skin so smooth it seemed almost unreal. When Sarah ran a hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear, he took a drink, wondering why on earth her ex-husband had let her get away. He was probably blind or an idiot, maybe both. A moment later, the twelve dropped into the pocket. Nice rhythm there, he thought, trying to focus on the game again. For the next couple of minutes, Sarah made it look easy. She sank the ten, the ball hugging the side all the way to the pocket.

Leaning against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, Miles twirled his cue stick in his hands and waited.

The thirteen ball dropped into the side pocket on an easy tap in.

With that, he frowned slightly.Strange that she hasn’t missed a shot yet… The fifteen, on what can only be described as a lucky bank shot, followed the thirteen a moment later, and he had to fight the urge to reach for the pack of cigarettes in his jacket.

Only the eight ball was left, and Sarah stood from the table and reached for the chalk. “I go for the eight, right?” she asked.

Miles shifted slightly. “Yeah, but you’ve got to call the pocket.” “Okay,” she said. She moved around the table until her back was toward him. She pointed with her cue stick. “I guess I’ll go for the corner pocket, then.” A long shot, with a bit of an angle needed to get there. Makeable, but tough.

Sarah leaned over the table.

“Be careful you don’t scratch,” Miles added. “If you do, I win.”

“I won’t,” she whispered to herself.

Sarah took the shot. A moment later the eight dropped in, and Sarah stood and turned around, a big grin on her face. “Wow-can you believe that?” Miles was still looking at the corner pocket. “Nice shot,” he said almost in disbelief.

“Beginner’s luck,” she said dismissively. “Do you want to rack them again?” “Yeah… I suppose so,” he said uncertainly. “You made a few really good ones there.”

“Thanks,” she said.

Miles finished his beer before racking the balls again. He broke, sinking a ball, but he missed his second shot.

With a sympathetic shrug before she began, Sarah proceeded to run the table without a miss. By the time she’d finished, Miles was simply staring at her from his spot along the wall. He’d set aside the cue stick halfway through the game and had ordered two more beers from a passing waitress. “I think that I’ve been hustled,” he said knowingly.

“I think you’re right,” she said, moving toward him. “But at least we weren’t betting. If we were, I wouldn’t have made it look so easy.” Miles shook his head in amazement. “Where did you learn to play?” “My dad. We always had a pool table in the house. He and I used to play all the time.”

“So why didn’t you stop me from showing you how to shoot before I made a fool of myself?”

“Well… you seemed so intent on helping me that I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Gee, I appreciate that.” He handed her a beer, and as she took it, their fingers brushed lightly. Miles swallowed.

Damn, she was pretty. Up close, even more so.

Before he could think about it any further, there was a slight commotion behind him. Miles turned at the sound.

“So how are you two doing, Deputy Ryan?”

He tensed automatically at Otis Timson’s question. Otis’s brother was standing just behind him, holding a beer, his eyes glassy. Otis gave Sarah a mock salute, and she took a small step away from Otis, toward Miles. “And how areyou doing? Nice to see you again.”

Miles followed Otis’s eyes toward Sarah.

“He was the guy I told you about earlier,” she whispered.

Otis raised his eyebrows at that but said nothing.

“What the hell do you want, Otis?” Miles said warily, remembering what Charlie had told him.

“I don’t want anything,” Otis answered. “I just wanted to say hello.”

Miles turned away. “Do you want to go to the bar?” he asked Sarah.

“Sure,” she agreed.

“Yeah, go ahead. I don’t want to keep you from your date,” Otis said. “You got a nice gal, there,” he said. “Looks like you’ve found someone new.” Miles flinched, and Sarah saw how much the comment stung. Miles opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His hands balled into fists, but instead he took a deep breath and turned to Sarah.

“Let’s go,” he said. His tone reflected a rage she’d never heard before. “Oh, by the way,” Otis added. “The whole thing with Harvey? Don’t worry too much about it. I asked him to go easy on you.”

A crowd, sensing trouble, was beginning to gather. Miles stared hard at Otis, who returned the gaze without moving. Otis’s brother had moved off to the side, as if getting ready to jump in if he needed to.

“Let’s just go,” Sarah said a little more forcefully, doing her best to keep this from getting any more out of hand. She took Miles by the arm and tugged. “Come on… please, Miles,” she pleaded.

It was enough to get his attention. Sarah grabbed both their jackets, stowing them under her arm as she pulled him through the crowd. People parted before them, and a minute later they were outside. Miles shook her hand from his arm, angry at Otis, angry at himself for almost losing control, and stalked down the alley, out toward the street. Sarah followed a few steps behind, pausing to put her jacket on.

“Miles… wait…”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and Miles finally stopped, looking toward the ground. When she approached, holding out his jacket, Miles didn’t seem to notice.