----- I sat on the stool watching him. The easy grace in which he moved warned me that he was a pool shark. The man knew how to move. The smooth even stroke as the cue slid between his fingers, the way he bent over to get a clear view of the shot. It seemed as if every move was calculated in a way to show off his muscular well trimmed form. And boy, did he ever. Tight, everything was firm and bulging. The room was stifling, so hot tonight, even with the rain falling just a few feet outside. Was there a breeze coming in? Probably not. Rubbing my hands on my jeans to mop away the sweat, I stood to go make my shot not really aware of anything but him. The man had a definate presence. "Your shot," he rumbled with a good chuckle as he looked me over. Too damned hot in here. -----