Libby Marshal leaned over the pool table lining up her shot, slender hips twitching to KC and the Sunshine Band. She hummed distractedly as she eyed the table. Bobby Menendez stood behind her enjoying the view. His hands moved forward, tingling to touch her.
"Touch me and die, Roberto Hermida Menendez."
"Man, how did you know?"
She made her shot, long distance across the felt top, snapping her pool cue, nearly nailing him when her arm came back.
"Shouldn't stand so close," Danny said across the table from her.
"Oh, man, the view!"
Bobby held his hands the width of her hips apart. He bit his lip as she faced him, a frown on her face. Her green eyes flashed at him. With a toss of her short, blonde, curly hair, she moved away from him with a glare. His dark brown eyes followed her, longing in his well tanned face.
"View's damn good over here, and safer," Danny grinned.
He'd been looking down her top as she bent over to shoot. He loved the fact that it was 1976 and even in this small, conservative, western Nebraska town, girls were liberated, freeing them from the confines of establishment undergarments. The no bra look was great! Bobby could have his dangerous ass view, Danny went for tits every time.
"Boys, behave," Toni's father said from his office behind them.
Funny thing how Toni's old man always had work to do when the boys came over. He would casually follow the four of them down to the pool room in the basement and sit in his work room fiddling with some electrical components while they played pool and listened to music. He didn't mind them coming over, but they weren't going to be unchaperoned either.
"Yes, sir," they chorused.
They stepped back, snapping to attention, not quite saluting. Each with military fathers, it was hard not to when he talked in that tone. Fifteen years as a Marine before a shell shattered his right leg, didn't go away. Everyone in town called him Captain Cristo. Only the very brave called him Grant.
"Girls, Mom's got dinner almost ready. Why don't you hustle up and help her set the table."
"Yes, sir," Libby replied, setting down her cue.
"Sure thing, Daddy," Toni leaned hers against the wall, leaving a blue streak of chalk.
The boys hesitated, unsure how to proceed. They hadn't been included in that request. Captain Cristo solved that for them by setting aside his work. He stood stiffly, old war wound tightening up on him. He motioned them into his work room, closing the door behind him.
"She may not be my daughter," he said without preamble. "But you ogle her like that again, or put a hand on her," he looked right at Bobby. "I'll break all three of your legs."
