Wendy makes a face. “He probably can,” she says. “I’m sorry, Bailey, but you both signed a lease, didn’t you?”
I nod. “One year.” I empty the glass, and Gabby helpfully refills it for me. That’s my girl. Rum is exactly what I need right now.
“And you’ve lived together for five months? So technically, you owe seven months’ rent. A court will see the ninety days that Trevor’s suggesting as a reasonable offer.” She grimaces. “I’m sorry, Bailey. But you are probably best off paying him and moving on. I’ll loan you the money, if you need.”
“Hang on,” Gabby says slowly. “He earned almost a half a million dollars every year, and you made a teacher’s salary, and he still wants you to pay rent?” She glares at Wendy. “And you are agreeing with this?”
“I’m not agreeing,” Wendy protests. “I’m just telling you that if Bailey goes to court, she’ll probably lose. She’s best off cutting her losses.”
“Motherfucker,” Piper grits out. “I want to put Trevor’s balls in my pasta machine and roll them out, bit by painful bit.”
I toss back my second rum and coke, but the sour taste in my mouth isn’t from the drink. I’m furious. In that moment, fueled by Gabby’s rum and fortified by her egg-salad sandwiches, I want to get even. I want Trevor to feel as stupid as I felt right now. “Fine,” I look at Wendy. “I’ll pay. But I want revenge.”
“Whatever you are planning to do, if it’s illegal, don’t tell me,” she says hastily. “I can’t hear about it.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not illegal, I’m not stupid.” A plan is forming in my befuddled brain. There’s one place that I can hit Trevor where it would really hurt. “Guys,” I hear myself ask. “Does anyone know how I can get really good at pool quickly?”
“Tell us more…” Piper says. Her tone suggests she thinks I’ve lost my mind, but she’s wrong. For the first time in a really long time, the way forward is clear. I want Trevor to hurt.
The words tumble from my mouth in a rush. “I want to beat him. Every year, his pool league plays in a tournament. There’s a stupid trophy that they compete for, and the winners get to fly to Las Vegas and play in yet another tournament. Trevor lives to compete in Vegas.” I take a deep breath. “I want to play on the opposing team, and I want to take that away from him. I want to beat him.”
“A pool league?” Gabby’s voice is thoughtful. “I might know someone.” She shoots me a look. “It would be a lot easier to just throw a lot of dishes against the wall in anger. If you want to get good at pool, it’ll take time and effort.”
“I want this.” There’s no doubt in my voice.
Gabby already has her phone out and is scrolling through her contacts. “A coworker of mine plays in a league. Let me see if his team needs another player.” She stands up and takes her drink on to Piper’s rickety balcony. “Hey Clark, it’s Gabriella,” I hear her say before she shuts the door. “Listen, a friend of mine wants to play pool. Didn’t you say you needed more players?”
I sip my third drink and ponder what I’ve set in motion. I’m crazy busy at work. I have two papers to publish and one of my graduate students is planning on defending his PhD soon. In addition, I’m in the tenure window at NYU, which means my teaching load is heavy. I’m teaching four undergraduate classes this semester. Spending an evening every week playing pool feels like a luxury I cannot afford.
But the Department of Anthropology isn’t well-funded, and my chances for tenure are quite slim. Besides, the need for revenge burns hot in my blood.
Gabby opens the door and comes back in. “You are in,” she announces. “The team meets Wednesday nights at the Maxwell Club. Get there at seven and ask for Clark. He’s expecting you.” She reaches for a sandwich and munches it before speaking her next words. “Clark can be annoying,” she says. “But he tells me their team is very, very good.”
“They know I’m not, right?” I want this to be clear. If they are expecting some kind of pool shark, they are going to be sorely disappointed. I’ve never been sporty. I was the kid that always had her nose buried in a book. When I bend over the table, my breasts knock the balls out of place.
Maybe Trevor was right. Maybe I am hopeless. Maybe wanting to beat him is just some kind of pipe dream. Then the advice from my dad sounds once again in my head. Don’t you want to know what lies ahead? If you stay right here, how will you find out?
He’s right, and Piper’s right as well. I probably am never going to be any good at pool, but I owe it to myself to find out.
Gabby nods. “He said they need some players that aren’t experts. It has to do with some kind of handicapping system.”
I know what she’s talking about. Having lived with Trevor for five months, I’ve learned much more about the mechanics of pool leagues than I ever wanted to know. If there’s a finite amount of memory in my head, knowing about the equalizer system that the American Poolplayers Association uses has probably replaced something more important in my brain. If you find me walking around gibbering like an idiot, blame Trevor.
Gabby’s grinning to herself, a secret little smile that means that something’s afoot. “What?” I ask her, pointing my finger at her. “I know that look. What aren’t you telling me?”
Her reply is airy. “I was at the Maxwell Club one night when Clark’s team was playing,” she says. “Let’s just say that your teammates are very easy on the eye. I predict a rebound fling.”
I normally keep the details of my sex life private, but I’m also on my third drink, and the rum has loosened my tongue. “A rebound fling sounds really good,” I sigh. “Trevor was… underwhelming.”
Everyone leans forward for more dirt. The last time we giggled and spilled the beans about our sex lives was two months ago, when Gabby regaled us with the story of her ménage à trois with two guys she met in a bar. Ménage à trois. It even sounds exotic. “What do you mean, underwhelming?” Wendy asks.
“Missionary with the lights turned out, precisely twice a week.” I make a face as I remember my lamentable sex life. “Once in a while, if he was being adventurous, I was allowed to get on top and do all the work.”
Shrieks of horror greet my answer. “Seriously?” Katie sounds astonished. “Not even doggie?”
I snort inelegantly. “Doggie? Trevor preferred to pretend I didn’t have a butt. He called it the ‘out hole.’”
Gabby almost chokes on her rum and coke, she’s laughing so hard. “I’m assuming anal was out of the question, then?” she quips. “So tell me again, why were you with him?”
“I thought there should be more to a relationship than sex.” I gulp back the rest of my drink. “Stupid me. Instead, I got a shitty relationship and a lackluster sex life. That’ll teach me. A rebound fling is exactly what I need. Wild crazy sex? I’m in.”
They all giggle and the talk turns to Wendy’s last blind date from the internet. I laugh and make conversation, but underneath all of it, my resolve hardens. Trevor was a mistake - a bad one. I was ready to move on until he sent me that stupid bill. Now, I want to kick his ass in front of all his friends. A rebound fling does sound nice, but if that doesn’t happen, I’m not going to get too worried. I am going to Argentina in September, and I have my career to worry about. Guys are a distraction, and anything more serious than casual sex isn’t what I need right now. I’m too busy for love.
5
Daniel
Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
It seems ridiculous to come to a private, members-only club in Manhattan to play pool, but there we are. That’s the kind of insanity that’s to be expected in my life. Still, at the Maxwell Club, absolutely no-one calls me Mr. Hartman in the deferential tone of voice that drives me crazy. People even disagree with me from time to time. It’s very refreshing.
“Good of you to show up.”
I grimace. Clark Ellis’ tone drips with passi
ve-aggressiveness. If he’s going to chew me out for missing the opening three weeks of this season, then I wish he’d just man up and yell at me. Instead, I’m going to have to endure not-so-subtle digs about the importance of showing up all night long. Sebastian, my best friend and instigator of this pool league idea, owes me big-time.
“Do you want me to quit the team, Clark?” I look straight into his eyes, and there’s steel in my voice. “If you’ve found a replacement, I’m happy to withdraw.”
I’m being a dick. Right now, there’s only four of us and the league’s rules require five players in each team. Clark’s getting desperate. He’s managed to annoy most of last season’s players and three of them have flat out refused to come back. If he can’t get a fifth person to show up tonight, we’ll forfeit a game all season long.
I don’t care a shit about the pool league. I’m here strictly for relaxation purposes. My father died from heart disease and hypertension when he was only fifty-five, brought on by many years of stressful work heading up the family firm. The family firm is now listed on the Dow Jones, and I’m the CEO. The pressure is constant and unrelenting and to mitigate its effects, my doctor has mandated recreational activity. So I make it a point to hang out with Sebastian at least once a week, and we shoot some pool and drink some beer.
But I’d be damned if I’m going to listen to Clark’s bitching and moaning all night long, especially after listening to Uncle Cyrus all day long. Life is far too short for that.
“I found a fifth player,” he says smugly, ignoring my threat. “There’s this hot piece of ass that works with me, and she said one of her friends wants to play. One of her girlfriends.” He smirks. “I can’t wait.”
Seriously, who talks like this? This guy sounds like a dickwad that reads The Game and boasts about his imaginary conquests. Before I give in to my urge to punch him, Sebastian walks over. “I was going to the bar to grab a beer, Daniel,” he says with an amused grin. “Then I remembered you’re buying today.”
I laugh. “Of course,” I agree. “We cannot expect Manhattan’s newest star chef to pay for his own drink, can we?”
We walk away from Clark. “Thanks for the rescue,” I tell him. “Was it that obvious I wanted to hit him?”
“Not to everyone. What was Clark being a dick about tonight?”
“Some woman who’s joining our team.” I grimace in distaste. “He’s hoping she is, and I’m using his words, a hot piece of ass.”
Sebastian shakes his head. “Classy guy, Clark. Still, punching him isn’t going to do either of us any favors.”
“Sad but true.” I turn around to look at Ellis, who is shaking the hand of some young guy, his chest thrown out. No doubt he’s now introducing himself as the team captain. Good for him.
The bartender brings us a couple of bottles of beer without being prompted. We take a seat at the bar as Juliette steps forward to play the first match. “I'm glad you came out tonight,” Sebastian says. “For the last three weeks, I've just had Clark and Juliette for company. It’s been rough.”
I laugh. Sebastian has a very conflicted relationship with his business adviser. She’s relentless about making sure he’s in the public eye, and at heart, Sebastian’s a low-key guy. “Juliette's not that bad.”
“She's really gung-ho about this franchise idea,” he says. “What about you? How's the takeover going?”
I frown. “If they weren’t strategically important to us, I’d be tempted to just walk away. They’ve been consuming all my time in the last month. Each conference call produces some bullshit objection. Now, it looks like their board is going to fight.” I pour half the bottle of beer down my throat. “And do you know why? Because they don’t want to be exposed to New York values. Those were their actual words.”
“What are New York values? Paying too much money for real estate? Ordering takeout more than five times a week?” Sebastian asks dryly. “Is Cyrus riding your ass, then? Telling you to stay out of the tabloids?”
Sebastian knows my family dynamics well. I’m about to confirm his guess when I’m distracted by the sight of a woman walking toward Clark.
She’s not Clark’s type, that’s for sure. Her figure’s more generous than Clark typically prefers, and her black dress wouldn’t be out of place at a nunnery. She’s wearing sensible flats and her red hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
Though she’s sending out absolutely no signals, there’s something about her. I can’t tear my eyes away. The primness of her dress can’t hide her body’s curves. Her breasts are round and lush, and I can’t wait to see her ass as she bends over a table.
At that image, my cock stirs. Pavlov would have been proud of me. Bend a woman over a table, and I either want to spank her or fuck her, or both.
“That’s the woman Clark was talking about?” Sebastian’s eyes are glued on her as well. “She is a hot piece of ass. Let’s go over and say hello.”
When we reach them, Sebastian sticks out his hand. “Hi,” he says smoothly. “I’m Sebastian.”
“This is our newest teammate,” Clark interjects. “Bailey Moore, meet Sebastian and Daniel.”
“Welcome to the team.” I smile at her. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Thank you, but it’s probably not a good idea before I play.” Her voice is soft. Pretty. She makes a face. “I’m already terrible at pool.” She looks at Clark. “Gabby warned you, right? But I’d really like to learn.”
The sincere, fervent need in her voice startles me. She wants this. Though she’s doing a good job hiding it, she’s nervous. I can feel the tension emanate in waves from her, and I wonder why. It’s just a stupid pool game.
Clark nods ungraciously. “Juliette’s almost done,” he says. “Why don’t you go up next so I can see what you can do?”
“Okay.” She bites her lip, and desire clenches through my groin as I see her straight white teeth indent her tender pink flesh. A sideways look at Sebastian reveals that she’s having the same effect on him. Clark’s the only one who is immune. Fool.
She’s as dreadful as she said she’d be.
Clark’s set her up to play a game opposite a woman on the other team. Pool players are ranked based on skill level. Bailey’s been marked as a three - the default skill level assigned to a new woman player until the league figures out how to rank her. Her opponent is a two. Technically, less skilled. It’s still slaughter.
Clark shakes his head next to me as he watches. “Great.” He sounds pissed. “She’s a dog, and she can’t play. Fucking perfect.”
“Come on, man,” I say, a little shocked. Seriously, that crosses a line. I guess no one ever told him that women exist for more reasons than to look pretty for him. “Don’t be a prick. Besides, we need newbies on our team. Aren’t we skating close to twenty-three right now?”
The league mandates that the total skill level of the entire team is less than or equal to twenty-three. I’m a seven. Sebastian’s a six. Juliette’s a solid three, and Clark is a wobbly four. This week, Bailey’s playing as a three, though she’ll drop a level for next week after today’s scores have been tabulated.
Long story short, Clark shouldn’t be bitching. We need Bailey to be terrible.
“What’s going on?” Sebastian’s at my side again. He’s got a great nose for trouble, and my clenched expression must have given me away. I’m not going to hit Clark. That’ll make the headlines of every tabloid in the city. But it doesn’t mean I’m not tempted.
“What do you think?” Clark points to Bailey. “Hot or not?”
Sebastian shakes his head. “She’s not a piece of meat, jackass,” he says in disgust. “She’s a person.”
“Hot or not?” Clark repeats. There’s a note of rancor in his voice. I’m really hoping he’s had too much to drink tonight, not that alcohol is any justification for acting like a douchebag. “You guys. You want to act like you are above it all, don’t you? Daniel with his billions, Sebastian and the bad boy chef routine. You can’t stand admit
ting that you look at women and think, I’d tap that.”
Sebastian stiffens next to me. I might not be willing to get into a fight, but I know Sebastian, and if Clark doesn’t stop talking, he’s going to get hit. I’m about to say something to try and diffuse the tension, when Bailey bends over to make a shot, and her breasts graze the table.
Fuck yes, I’d tap that in a heartbeat.
“Oh, she’s hot, alright,” Sebastian says next to me. His voice sounds hoarse. It’s not just me that’s feeling the effect of her curves. “She just doesn’t know it.”
Clark grits his teeth when Bailey misses an easy shot. She has absolutely no confidence in herself, her hands shake when they grip the cue stick, and she takes each shot in some kind of weird hunch over the table, but she doesn’t give up, and she doesn’t leave.
When her opponent wins her final game, Clark goes up to Bailey. “Well,” he says, his voice patronizing, “you have plenty of room for improvement.”
Her face whitens, and she whirls on her heel, looking for the closest exit. When she spots it, she makes a beeline for it. I want to follow her, and I will, in a moment. But Clark needs to be dealt with. I walk up to him, murder in my eyes. “Did you just make her cry?”
“Fuck off, Hartman,” he snaps. “You saw her. She’s terrible and she’s inconsistent. I want a two who can win a game or two, not just act as a sacrifice.”
Clark’s obsessed with winning the tournament and going to Vegas, and he’s forgotten to be kind. “She’ll win more than a game or two,” I tell him. “I guarantee it.”
“She’s dreadful and she’s ugly,” he says viciously.
Next to me, Sebastian’s temper is one thread away from snapping. “Listen to me, asshole,” he growls, his voice thick with menace. “I will get her good enough that she’ll win at the end of the season.”
“Bullshit,” Clark says. “She’ll be a two next week, and in July, I’ll sacrifice her to draw out a seven. She doesn’t have a chance. In fact, I might not even play her. It’ll be easier to take a forfeit.”
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