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“They any good?” I ask as I bend over and knock one of my balls into the corner pocket.
“They’re all decent except for the older man. He’s really good.”
I continue knocking each of my balls into the pockets and miss the last one so Gemma will have another chance to shoot.
“You did that on purpose,” she says with a pout.
“Don’t complain when I give you a chance to catch up.”
More people enter through the front door of the pool hall. One couple, dressed way too nice for the likes of this place, catches my eye.
Navy-blue dress.
Blond hair.
Woman of my dreams.
I’m vaguely aware of Gemma missing her shot, but my attention is on Sloane. Seeing her here, of all places when she’s supposed to be on a date, is an interesting turn of events. The date in question is someone around Callum’s or Jude’s age, but he dresses like Hugo. I hate him already whether he deserves it or not.
Sloane’s eyes meet mine and relief shines in them. Relief to see me here? The thought is a warm and cozy one that settles in the pit of my belly. I flash her a wicked smile before taking a risky shot that quickly ends the game with my sister.
Sloane makes her way over to me, her goober date trailing behind.
“What are you guys up to?” she asks, taking in the four of us as we loom near the pool table.
“Just trying to see who wants to give me all their money,” I say with a devilish smirk.
Her date grunts at that. “You two must be Jamie’s twins.”
The hairs on my neck prickle. Sloane did say Mom forced her into this date, but it still doesn’t sit right that this dude knows who we are.
While Sloane introduces us, I ignore the guy to rack the balls. It’s then I see one of the big guys—one with a bright red beard—from the corner sauntering my way. He gestures for me to come back over to his table. Leaving my group, I make my way over to him, chin high and shoulders relaxed. Every damn one of these men with their leather cuts and inked flesh is intimidating, but I’m not going to let them know that.
“Sup?”
“Prez thinks we should play a game with you and the princess.”
I follow his stare to our group that’s watching us with interest. “My sister kind of sucks. Are you sure you—”
Red Beard snorts. “No. The other princess. The one who can play based on how he watches everyone. That is, if his guard dog will let him.”
Tate.
He thinks Tate is a princess?
I almost burst into laughter. Tate’s an annoying shark when it comes to pool—with teeth, talent, and some serious shit-talking skills.
“What are we playing for?” I ask, leveling Red Beard with an apathetic look. “Your bike?”
His eyes narrow and anger flickers in them. “You even touch—”
“Of course we’ll play for the bike,” the older man, aka Prez, rumbles as he pulls out a cigarette from his pack. “But if we win…” He trails off as he fiddles with his lighter. Once he’s lit the cherry, he takes a second to inhale the smoke. Then he exhales, a wolfish grin curling his lips up. “If we win, I get to take the kitty cat for a ride on my bike.”
He wants to take Gemma for a ride?
Over my dead body. Fury gushes through my veins like hot lava and I’m seconds from telling this fucker where to shove it. Before I get the chance, Prez points two fingers at me, his cigarette held between the two.
“We’re not exactly asking. You’ll play for those terms.” He takes another drag, watching me like a cat with a canary trapped under his paw.
