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“Hey guys,” he said tightly cursing his luck because they had just interrupted when he made his move.
“Come on, Spanish. You said you had game. Show us,” they yanked him out of his seat and began to push him towards the table.
“We’ll bring him back,” Keith called out as he made his way to the other side of the table.
“You’re Spanish?” she called out, a strange look in her eye.
He nodded sheepishly as he pointed towards the tattoo she hadn’t noticed earlier. She frowned as she watched him intently as if she was looking for something.
He shook his head and grabbed one of the beers the guys offered and took a swing.
“Venga,” he said in Spanish. He gestured that they should come forward. For the first time instead of mocking him, the guys hooted and hollered as they slapped him on the back.
He leaned down and aimed his stick. He managed to sink quite a few balls on his first try, and he felt a flush go through him at the look of awe in Keith’s eyes.
He looked up to see if he could show off to the brunette, but she was gone. His eyes quickly scanned the place, but she was nowhere in sight. He stood on the tips of his toes to see if maybe she had moved, but he couldn’t find her face anywhere.
A flash of disappointment flooded through him as he dragged his attention back to the game.
***
Lucas squinted as he tried to focus on the table in front of him. All those beers he had were making it extremely difficult to concentrate, but he was determined not to quit.
He was, against all odds, beating Keith.
He had no idea what stroke of good luck had befallen him, but he wasn’t able to throw it away just because he felt like stopping.
No, first he would win this round then he would find a woman and take her home for the night.
He began to chew on his lip as he debated which side of the table to approach from, and which balls he should try to knock into the hole. He moved back and forth before he finally settled and stuck his tongue out of his mouth.
He bit his bottom lip in concentration and got his pool stick ready. He leaned over the table, tried his best to make out the balls through his blurry vision then he shrugged and figured he’d give it his best shot.
He was able to knock down most of the balls on the table, and he grinned as he tried to pretend that he did it on purpose.
Luckily for him, Keith was even more drunk then he was.
He stumbled to the table. “Wait till you get a load of me,” he squinted as he tried not to slur and he jutted his stick out nearly hitting one of the guys on the head.
“Watch it, or you’ll gut someone with that,” one of their teammates yelled out crossly.
Keith chuckled. “You worry too much, you pansies. Let the master show you how it’s done.”
Keith puffed up his chest and tried to swagger over the table. He leaned over, took a deep breath and ended up overshooting, so his pool stick went up in the air instead of hitting the ball.
Everyone snickered as Keith’s ears reddened in anger. “Bloody ball keeps moving.”
“Oh, look when he’s drunk and angry, he turns bloody English,” one of the guys mocked as the rest of the team roared in laughter.
Lucas shook his head in amusement as he sighed in exasperation. “Right, are you pansies ready to see a real man play?”
“Ooooooh!” they all went.
Keith stiffened as he stared at Lucas with an unreadable expression. Lucas wondered if maybe he had taken the joke too far and was prepared to apologize because he didn’t want to jeopardize this newly found truce when Keith’s mouth erupted into a grin.
“Think you got game, eh, Spanish?” Keith gestured to the pool table and held out his hand in a sweeping gesture. “If Barcelona here would do us all the honor.”
“I’d be bloody glad to governor,” he pretended to tip his hat at Keith who began to shake, Next thing he knew, Keith was roaring with laughter, the tears streaming down his face.
