| Author: | Bernard Fancher | ISBN: | 9781458055910 |
| Publisher: | Bernard Fancher | Publication: | March 31, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Bernard Fancher |
| ISBN: | 9781458055910 |
| Publisher: | Bernard Fancher |
| Publication: | March 31, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
excerpt:
“I got you a rum and coke,” he said, “without the rum.”
She smiled again as her fingers enclosed the glass and he noticed for the first time her nails, long and perfectly rounded, the color of dark twilight sparkling with starlets.
“Oh that’s okay,” she said, still smiling. “I don’t care as long as it’s cold and carbonated, and non-alcoholic.”
She lifted the glass and he lifted the bottle and for a moment they watched each other drinking. He noticed the curl of hair dropping down like a long and delicate spring brushing each cheek. And then he noticed her darkly kohled eyes.
“Would you like to play some pool?” He asked the question just to say something, and disengaged his eyes from her gaze to look over her left shoulder where the table stood. The triangle rack lay roughly centered upon a lit green velvet field next to the unmarked white ball.
“I don’t know,” she said. “How good are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Better than me, then; I’m not good at all.”
excerpt:
“I got you a rum and coke,” he said, “without the rum.”
She smiled again as her fingers enclosed the glass and he noticed for the first time her nails, long and perfectly rounded, the color of dark twilight sparkling with starlets.
“Oh that’s okay,” she said, still smiling. “I don’t care as long as it’s cold and carbonated, and non-alcoholic.”
She lifted the glass and he lifted the bottle and for a moment they watched each other drinking. He noticed the curl of hair dropping down like a long and delicate spring brushing each cheek. And then he noticed her darkly kohled eyes.
“Would you like to play some pool?” He asked the question just to say something, and disengaged his eyes from her gaze to look over her left shoulder where the table stood. The triangle rack lay roughly centered upon a lit green velvet field next to the unmarked white ball.
“I don’t know,” she said. “How good are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Better than me, then; I’m not good at all.”
