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“Better remember that,” said the man from the bar.
“Well if I can’t write your name on the board,” said Summer. “At least let me know what it is.”
The man from the bar eyed her with wickedness.
“Better remember yourself as well, little girl. You don’t belong here. I am letting you play one game and then it’s back to where you came from. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he said darkly.
Summer didn’t hear much after he called her ‘little girl’ again.
“My name is Wilson,” he said. “And what might your name be?”
She was actually pouting and she didn’t want to answer but that would only make his point. She forced herself to reply.
“It’s Summer,” she said.
“Purty,” said the man she challenged.
As the challenger, Summer racked the balls. It was a perfect rack. Tidy, tight. She lifted the triangle off the triad of balls, coolly. She could tell from the look in Wilson’s eye that he was impressed with her style. Her opponent got into position to break when Summer interrupted him.
“Wait,” she said. “Do we bet?”
Wilson sat up straighter obviously concerned for her question. Her opponent smiled slyly.
“Of course we can,” he said.
“No we cannot,” said Wilson.
“You stay out of this. She’s old enough to be here. She’s old enough to make that decision,” said the opponent.
Summer stood silently, looking at the two men with wide eyes till the decision to bet was confirmed.
“Go ahead,” said Wilson with a wave reluctantly.
“Twenty bucks each be okay with you?” asked Summer. “Winner take all?”
The opponent shrugged. “Fine.”
She stepped back from the table and let her opponent take his shot. It was weak.
Wilson cut his eyes to her. Somehow she read a glint of faith in her, in them. It was her turn. She leaned over the pool table, sliding the cue in her fingers. She aimed and shot. It was beautiful. She took another. And another. The opponent was a little disgruntled.
“That’s enough,” he said randomly after she sunk her third shot in a row.
“What’s enough?” asked Wilson coolly. “She’s beating you, Duran.”
Summer’s opponent’s name was Duran. Wilson. Duran. She liked that not too long before Rowdy’s was a foreign universe to her and it was fast becoming familiar. She felt like she would fit right in a place like this.
“I’m letting her,” winked Duran.
Summer had played enough pool, with her parents’ guests mostly, to know that this was not the case. She was winning because she was really good. She felt like Wilson knew this too.
She was trying to figure out how old Wilson was. He might even be old, like thirty. He was so handsome, she thought. His dark hair and nicely groomed beard. Sumer thought he looked like knight sort of. He had the muscles for it. His biceps were as big around as her waist practically. His pecs strained against his T shirt. If they weren’t so hard and powerful looking, they might look like breasts, she thought. He was definitely built. And his legs were long. She spied on him, through stolen glances, is crisp black jeans. Summer thought Wilson was hot.
She was due to take her next shot but with her sense of Duran’s displeasure that she was winning, she paused. She didn’t want to cause trouble by winning. Wilson recognized her hesitation.
“Oh no you don’t,” he said. “Don’t let this guy have his way. Just because he’s a poor sport. Go on. Finish.”
That was all the encouragement she needed. Summer ran the table. She had called every one and when she sank the eight ball, Wilson grinned from ear to ear, flashing perfect white teeth, the sight of which made Summer melt.
