The semi-pro snooker tournament had been a great success. Players from all around had come to support the charities and meet some of the famous snooker players who had agreed to visit.
30 tables across 3 snooker clubs in the town of Barston had hosted matches and 120 players had played on the Friday and Saturday to try and get to the ultimate prize. Quite an impressively sized, if rather gaudy, trophy, £500 in cash and a £1,000 donation to the charity of the winner's choice.
"Harry's Cue Club", in the centre of Barston, was going to host the quarters, semis and final. Jeff had been running around all the venues since Thursday, in his role as tournament manager. With the exception of an entire missing set of snooker balls on day 1, and a sudden hunt for a cue for a player whose own cue didn't make it to the tournament in one piece, he'd been central to making it a significant success.
By 11pm on Saturday night, he was standing in an empty snooker hall, where those last 8 players would be back by 10am on the Sunday to play out the tournament to the end. It had been a great couple of days. The professional tour "giving back" to the next tier of snooker players, who either didn't quite make the pro tour or didn't have the funds. Everyone had enjoyed it so far. Jeff's role as a tournament director on the pro tour made organising something like this possible.
He thought he was alone, musing on how the day had gone while finishing brushing the baize on a snooker table, but...
"Hello, Jeff. Thinking?"
"Oh, me? No chance." He chuckled. "The other venues sorted, Becca?"
"Yes, they were packed out but all locked up now. What are you doing?"
"Oh, just finished prepping the tables for the morning." He spoke while moving a handheld brush between his hands. Jeff had been doing everything from player guidance to cleaning, doing anything that needed it to make it as good a tournament as possible for the players.
In his late forties, it had been three piece suits each day for him, looking immaculate, not dissimilar to his role on the pro tour. Saturday's was a dark blue number with a pink shirt and deep maroon coloured tie. Now, he was alone, only now was the jacket discarded, the waistcoat undone and the tie loosened. Tall and well built without being overtly fit, his suits always sat well on him, His dark brown hair, collar length, was still full but had been giving way to the grey for a while.
Becca had been his willing no.2 ever since he came up with the idea. It was she who was the snooker player, having made good inroads into trying to make a career in the women's side of the game which, while it brought good tournament finishes, medals and trophies, didn't get the money that the men's side did. As a result, Becca had excelled at player relations on the men's professional tour to earn cash. She was well liked by everyone and it was her influence and pull that got three big pros to come along and meet the players. Her behind the scenes work made a lot of things tick at this event. They were a good team.
Tonight was to be the first chance Becca had to lift a cue and knock a few balls around. That's why she turned up now, hoping to get some quiet time so she could play in peace before the final day on Sunday.
"Fancy a drink, Becca. I could murder a brandy."
"You bet. Vodka, lime, soda on the rocks, please."
Jeff switched one light on at the bar and made the drinks while Becca took a seat.
Becca had also been dressed up all weekend. Her red blazer covered a fair part of her white silk blouse beneath. A mid-thigh skirt to match the jacket atop her naturally bronzed bare legs from a recent week's flit to Lanzarote after the Snooker World Championships, where she'd been flat out for nearly a month.
Becca was tall so her shoes were trainers, partially because they were comfortable to be in for the 17 hours she's been in them that day and, also, because she was a little conscious that her height made her stand out a little. At 5'11", she always felt like she might be a little imposing sometimes, even though she didn't want to be and her welcoming personality meant everyone was happy to see her and helpful to her.
Her height though was an advantage in the game, not having to resort to the rests when most of her competitors would. She was broad across the shoulders but athletically trim, coming from occasional occupation of various hotel gyms over the years just to keep herself active when she got time. Tall enough to be called statuesque, her breasts were in proportion to the rest of her lithe body. She would admire her body sometimes, holding her breasts as she stared at herself nude in the mirror sometimes. She had looked after herself, despite the schedules she kept.
"Here, Bec. Slug away on that."
Becca took a sip as she undid the decorative clip that had kept her long, wavy, brownish red hair from getting in the way while she'd been doing her work. Her hair was necessarily coloured, in her view, as she wasn't keen on how, at 41, the strands of grey always seemed to stand out like silver cables in her hair -- at least in her view, anyway.
Becca sipped more and sat at the bar, head supported by hand, reflecting on what they'd done as a team. She'd mused on her life lately and had come to the conclusion a while ago that, to keep doing the same job, she needed to be with somebody doing a similar thing. She always liked working with Jeff and they'd been good, close mates for years, the success of this event being a product of that.
"Jeff?"
"Yes, my partner in crime?" he said, with a laugh in his voice. Jeff and Becca had been around each other, professionally, for the last 10 years. Neither had ever been married. In their own ways, wedded to the sport.
"When was the last time you got any?"
"Any wha...oh...that!"
"Yes, that."
"I couldn't honestly tell you. Why?"
"Because..." Becca extended her hand through her hair. "I think it's time we got some...together."
Jeff looked at Becca.
"Bec, have you been drinking all day."
"Absolutely not. It's just that...we keep on working really closely together. There's no-one on the horizon for me. Is there for you?"
"Nah, this job doesn't lend itself to meeting someone...let alone getting anywhere near sex so...it's OK."
"Well, Jeff..." Becca paused, waiting for Jeff to face her in anticipation of what she would say next. "I want you."
"Becca, you might well be a mindreader."
"Oh, why is that?"
"Because..." Jeff made his way round to Becca from behind the bar, eventually standing in front of her. "I've been feeling the same about you."
Jeff took her hands, motioning her to stand.
That moment, when one can feel...hear the breath of the person in front of them. A sense of their scent. So close that you have to look from eye to eye because you're too close to see that person's face in its entirety. That moment of sheer passionate anticipation.
No words said. There didn't need to be. Becca's wide mouth broke into a smile just before Jeff moved in to kiss her. In all the time they'd known each other, nothing like this had been even hinted at on the surface...but it had been brewing.
