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“I am supposed to do that,” he said.
“I know but I am sure I would do a better job,” said Summer with a giggle.
“You want me to break,” asked Wilson frustratedly.
“No, I probably do a better job at that too,” she laughed.
“Okay then,” he said gruffly.
Summer passed him closely, like she was a moon orbiting his planet. He had the strangest, kind of disturbed look on his face as she did. She leaned over the table, aware that she need to be cautious, wearing jean cut offs and all. She aimed and fired. It was a meticulous break.
Summer sank a few shots. She just happened to catch a glimpse of him watching her. He was watching her not her game. She looked up from her shot. Their eyes locked on to one another. Looking at him made Summer feel drunk. She returned her focus back to her game -- or tried to -- and missed her shot in a ridiculous way. Wilson was kind enough to suppress his laugh.
“Oh well,” he said.
Summer had as much fun watching him play as he apparently took in her. The man made her insides funny. He was absolutely perfect. He should be on television or something. Summer wanted him bad. Handsome. Everyone in the bar seemed to look up to him, do what he said. He was the coolest guy at Rowdy’s.
Wilson sunk one ball after the other into the pockets, calling each one so casually. It was a quick and painless death. Summer lost the game. She lifted her head from the table and smiled at him. Wilson winked at her.
“We’re done,” he said. “Now it’s time to get you home.”
“What are you talking about?” Summer protested. “I just got here practically. And I don’t see anyone else leaving.”
“I will walk you to your car,” he said firmly. “Now.”
“I don’t have a car,” she smiled as though it were a triumph.
“You do not have a car?” he raised his eyebrows at her. “How did you get here?”
“I walked,” she tilted her head.
Summer watched his face change. He was not pleased with her answer.
“I will give you a ride home,” he announced. “Come.”
Wilson and Summer put away their cues. He was paid up his tab at the bar. He grabbed a helmet and they left. He led her around the back of Rowdy’s. There were rows of shiny bikes. The sight of a parking lot packed with motorcycles was exciting to her.
“Do you have a motorcycle?” she asked.
“Yes I do,” he replied.
He set his helmet on her head.
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me what?” he asked.
“Am I taking your helmet?” she asked.
“Yes but I am fine,” he said. “Have you ridden a motorcycle before?”
“No,” she replied.
He rolled his eyes. He shook his head like he was scolding her. Then he winked again. He straddled the bike.
“What is your address?” he asked.
“It’s just straight down the street, in towards the houses. It’s the white house on the left at the fork,” she said.
