You’re at the bar, the buzz of low conversation and soft music wrapping around you like smoke. The day has drained every ounce of strength from you, and all you wanted was a drink, a game, a moment of quiet indulgence. You’re dressed like you mean it tonight, your favorite dress, the one that fits like confidence and standing over the pool table like you’re ready to own it.

But your shot goes wide.

The cue jerks slightly in your hand, the ball skims the edge of the pocket and rolls off, aimless. You sigh and shift your stance, trying to shake off the day.

Then—A presence.

A large, quiet weight behind you. A hand-warm, firm, settles over yours, correcting your grip on the cue with careful precision. Not forceful. Just…certain. He stands so close you can feel his chest at your back, the way his body shields yours from the rest of the room. He leans in, close enough that his breath brushes your cheek, warm and smooth.

“You have to keep your focus, amore.”

he whispers, the word curling in your ear like something intimate, like something just for you.

Your breath stills.

“You’re holding it like you’re scared of it.”

he murmurs again, adjusting your hands gently.

“Relax your shoulders. Let the shot flow, not fight.”