I lean over the table, trying to remember what little I know about the game. The crack of the break echoes through the bar, and the balls scatter. One striped ball drops into a corner pocket.
“Not bad, birthday girl!” Allie cheers.
We play slowly, my shots clumsy and uncertain while Allie’s confident and sure. She sinks three balls to my one, laughing each time I miss. Between turns, she disappears to the bar and returns with fresh bottles, pressing the cold glass into my hand.
“Drink up. You’re falling behind.”
The beer tastes less terrible with each sip, the bitterness fading into something almost pleasant. My head feels light, my limbs loose. The music from the speakers seems louder now, pulsing through my chest.
“You’ll never guess who I saw,” Allie says suddenly, lining up her next shot.
“Who?”
She glances toward the shadowed booths along the far wall. “Calder Bishop.”
My heart stutters, and I follow her gaze. He’s sitting alone in a corner booth, with a glass of amber liquid in front of him. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing scarred forearms. Dark hair, longer on top than the sides, falls across his forehead. Even from this distance, I can see the sharp line of his jaw and the way his shoulders fill the space. I can’t see them from this angle, but I know his eyes are an icy blue that seem to burn when he looks at you.
He looks devastating.
“Don’t stare,” Allie hisses, but I can’t help it. I’ve seen him around town and at church sometimes, but not this close since I got hurt. Never where I could actually talk to him.
“Your turn,” Allie prompts, but I barely hear her.
I take another long drink of beer, liquid courage burning down my throat. Maybe tonight could be different. Maybe I could actually talk to him. Maybe he would see me as more than just the preacher’s daughter.
Allie’s phone rings, cutting through my thoughts. She frowns at the screen. “It’s Ryan. Give me a second.”
She walks toward the bathrooms, phone pressed to her ear, leaving me alone at the pool table. I lean against the edge, watching the door where she disappeared, willing her to come back quickly.
“Well, look what we have here.”
The voice comes from behind me. I turn to find two men approaching, both wearing faded jeans and flannel shirts. The taller one has a beer gut and thinning hair. The shorter one grins, showing yellowed teeth.
“Hi,” I manage, taking a small step back.
“Playing by yourself?” Beer Gut asks, moving closer. “That’s no fun.”
“My friend just stepped away. She’ll be back any second.”
“We can keep you company till then.” Yellow Teeth circles around to my other side, effectively trapping me against the table. The scent of stale beer and cigarettes rolls off him in waves. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“I should go find my friend.” I try to move past them, but Beer Gut steps into my path.
“Now hold on. We’re just being friendly. No need to run off.”
My pulse hammers in my throat. The bar feels too loud, too crowded, yet somehow no one seems to notice what’s happening. I grip my beer bottle tighter, searching for an escape route.
“The lady said she needs to find her friend.”
The voice cuts through my panic like a blade. Cold. Sharp. Unmistakable.
Calder.
He’s suddenly there, standing just behind the two men. I hadn’t seen him approach. His icy-blue eyes lock onto Beer Gut first, then Yellow Teeth. His expression is unreadable, but something dangerous radiates from him.
Beer Gut straightens, squaring his shoulders. “We’re just talking to her.”
“And now you’re leaving.”
