The neon lights of the Pool Hall flickered as the regular Friday night crowd buzzed with energy. Laughter, clinking glasses, and the crack of pool balls echoed around the room.

It was me versus Violet.

Violet stood beside the pool table chalking her cue slowly and with a sly smile playing on her lips. She had dressed for attention — and got it. Her outfit was pure mischief: a short black leather skirt hugging her waist just right. Black stockings and a tight fitting top and every move she made turned heads. But Violet wasn’t just there to look good.

She was there to win.

"You sure you're ready for this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at you as she circled the table. Her eyes sparkled with confidence.

"You've been talking trash all day," you grinned. "Time to back it up."

A group of friends gathered around — some from your usual crowd at the bar, a few strangers intrigued by the electric energy between the two of us. A few whispered bets started circulating, mostly in Violet’s favour. Not surprising. She had swagger — and she’d hustled a few of them before.

She racked the balls with flair, bending slightly, just enough to draw a few whistles and chuckles. She didn't seem to notice — or maybe she did. Either way, she owned the moment.

"Loser owes the winner a dare," she said, tossing the coin and catching it mid-air. “Heads, I break.”

I nodded. “And what kind of dare are we talking about?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” she said with a wink.

She flipped the coin. Heads.

Violet lined up the break shot, her fingers steady, her form precise — and boom — the cue cracked against the white ball, scattering solids and stripes across the green felt. A striped ball dropped into the side pocket. She just straightened up and looked at you with that calm, wicked grin and took the next shot, which bounced off the corner cushion.

"Your turn, handsome," she said, sauntering past you.

The game was on.

I made a few solid shots, keeping my cool, but Violet matched me step for step. The two of us circled the table like dancers, every turn a performance, every glance a challenge. The room was eating it up — laughing, clapping, cheering for both sides.

At one point, Violet bent over for a tricky corner shot, balancing on her toes, skirt riding up  revealing her bare thigh above the stockings. The crowd audibly gasped — and she nailed the shot without flinching.

"That was definitely planned," I muttered, half impressed, half flustered.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?" she teased.

The game came down to the black ball. I had one shot, one chance to win otherwise I lost and had to ante’ up to the dare.

I took my time, lining it up carefully. The whole room hushed.

Crack.

The black rolled slowly… slowly… and plunk — right into the corner pocket.

Cheers erupted around the table. I turned to Violet and raised my cue in mock victory.

"And that," I said, "is how you finish a game."

She pouted — dramatically — then folded her arms.

"A dare’s a dare," she said with a sigh.

“Oh, I remember,” I said, walking up to her. “Now, let’s see…”

She leaned in close, whispering, “Make it good.”

I smirked and whispered your idea in her ear. Her eyes widened slightly, then she burst into laughter.

"You’re terrible," she said. But she didn’t say no.

With all eyes on her, she reached under the edge of her skirt, and after a few teasing moments — purely theatrical — she produced her little black G-string, balled it up, and laid them right on top of the pool table with a flourish.

The room howled with laughter, a few people clapping, others turning red. Violet curtsied like a performer taking her bow.

“All yours, champ,” she said, handing me her cue and strutting off to the bar, hips swaying just enough to keep the room’s attention firmly locked in.

I picked up the G-string “I think I won twice tonight,” I said to the room as I sauntered to the bar placing the prize G-String in my pocket.