Yeah, too bad. Sean slid a few bills on the worn bar surface. “They’re my boos. Got to get back.” God, did I just say that? Fucking funny.
Sean set the bottle on the table and grabbed the pool stick. Eric was sitting in the booth, talking on his phone.
“You ready, man?” Ron tapped Sean on the shoulder. “The bastards won’t leave him alone, even on his night off. He’s in a partnership that owns the emergency room over at Mercy, and they call him for everything.”
“That’s got to be stressful.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m here. I can be a great distraction.” Eric looked up and winked at Ron. “See, the bastard loves me.”
Sean smiled. The guy really did light up when he looked at Ron. What would that feel like? He wasn’t jealous. Never had been, not when Christmas came around and he got the toys from the Marines while his foster siblings dug in their personalized stockings, or on his birthday that no one remembered while the brats got remote-control cars and video games. He had plenty of Legos now. Matter of fact, the Death Star on his coffee table was half done. That made his smile grow wider. He probably shouldn’t have splurged on the expensive set, but he couldn’t resist the cool design.
The fact that Ron moved closer to hold Eric’s hand while he argued on the phone… Well, maybe a bit jealous. Sean looked away to give the guys a piece of privacy in the crowded bar. As he slung back another drink, he almost choked on it.
Holy fuck, I’m in trouble.
The nervous little minx who just walked into the Drunken Pirate looked so out of place standing among the bleach-blondes and half-sloshed assholes. Abigail. Jesus Christ, what had she put on that luscious body? The dark jeans hugging her thighs and calves were tight. Skinny jeans—he’d heard women talk about them. Goddamn, they’d been created for the woman hovering next to the bar. Snug pink cotton stretched across the front of the most perfect pair of tits he’d ever seen. That was all natural, baby. Bet if he unsnapped the back of that bra, they’d bounce into a perfect teardrop. A big fucking teardrop. They sure as hell made him want to get on his knees and weep a damn river.
When her searching gaze met his stare, he could see her chest rise and fall. She didn’t smile. Fuck, he didn’t either. They were both in shock. Damn it, Ron. She was the first to look away. She turned around to say something to the bartender. He wasn’t as strong as she was. His eyes stayed glued to the gray sweater that had risen to rest above the two plump globes of her ass. The jeans lovingly hugged the precious flesh. His hands itched to grab it, massage it as she rode his dick.
“You ready?” Ron walked past him to the pool table they’d reserved. “I’m going to kick your ass, Drennan.”
Sean set his bottle next to Eric. It’s already been kicked.
Ron’s shot made a loud crack, sending balls scattering over the green felt. When he leaned over to take his shot, he was distracted by the pink top that jiggled as Abigail shimmied into the booth across from Eric. It’d have been easier to hit the fucking ball with his dick. It felt harder than the cue between his fingers.
“Stop staring at her tits, man, and take the shot.”
Sean looked up. “What? I wasn’t staring at her tits.”
Ron nudged Sean’s shoulder. “Yes, you were. It’s okay. She likes you.”
“Whatever.” Sean dismissed the words to Ron and planted them straight in his brain. She likes you. No one had ever liked him. They wanted to fuck him, kick his ass, yes…but like him? No. Sean pulled the stick back and took the shot. The red-striped ball landed in the corner pocket. “You were going to kick whose ass?”
They both laughed. “The game just started, dude.”
Sean hadn’t let the guys know he’d played pool years ago. It was to hustle for money, but they didn’t need to know that either. When they’d asked him out for a beer, he figured Ron was cool, and it wouldn’t hurt to start trying to socialize. He’d never really done that before and thought if he was going to be working on his MBA and have any shot at getting a real job, he should start making contacts. This was a good place to start learning how to do that.
Sean made it through the rounds. Ron wasn’t a bad player. A hustler would have a challenge taking him for his cash; at least a novice one would. Sean wasn’t a novice. “See, man!” Ron called out as he rounded the table. “I told you! Pay up, stud!” Sean grinned. He’d never lost a fight and never lost a game unintentionally.
“You got me, man. That last one was tricky.” Sean dug in his back pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “Here.” He slapped the paper in Ron’s open hand. It felt good to pay the other guy for a change, to have the money to be humble for once.