I can’t see what she’s got on the bottom half tonight. What I can see is she’s wearing some sort of T-shirt with a big flower on the front and the words “Bloom’s Floral Shop.” I remember her saying she did shit with flowers. I guess that must be the place. Tonight, she’s got her hair up in a ponytail. It looks as soft as before, and I can’t complain about the fact it’s up like that because I see more of her face and that neck this way. She’s got a beautiful neck.
Knock it off, Nate.
Why the fuck is she here? I see movement to her right and recognize Venom’s woman sliding into the seat next to her. I forgot they knew each other.
I’ve never actually met Venom’s old lady, but I’ve seen the two of them together a few times. I couldn’t help thinking how odd it was that a young guy like him would hook up with a woman who looks to be in her fifties. I shrug to myself. What the fuck do I care? She’s an attractive woman, so whatever floats Venom’s boat. It’s none of my fucking business.
Deciding to pretend Maggy isn’t here, I take a right and make my way to the back of the bar, to the pool tables. Maybe I’ll pick up a game, take my mind off the curvy woman at the bar. The same curvy woman I haven’t stopped thinking about since she was in my bed. And believe me, I’ve tried.
“Hey, man.” Venom’s standing next to one of two pool tables at EZ’s. He’s got a pool stick in one hand and a beer in the other.
“Hey.” I haven’t spent a lot of time talking to this guy, and I don’t really want to start now, especially since his woman is withher.“You wanna play?” I nod at the open pool table next to him.
“Sure.” One thing is certain, Venom is a man of very few words. At least in my experience. I watch as he sets the table up, racking the balls.
See what I mean?
“You want to break?” Venom asks, using more than one word this time.
“Sure.” Walking over to the rack that holds about twenty cue sticks, I select one that feels right. I don’t play a lot of pool, so knowing the weight and length of the stick that’s right for me isn’t something I’m well versed on. And honestly, it doesn’t matter. I sort of suck at the game, and I’m okay with that. This exercise is only meant as a distraction.
Stepping up to the end of the table, I bend, holding the stick between the fingers of my left hand. I practice pumping it with my right, trying to decide how hard I should hit the cue ball. Then, pulling it back slowly, I hold my breath, and just as I’m about to hit the hell out of the little white ball, I hear, “We need to talk.”
That’s when all hell breaks loose. In this case, it’s when about six balls, stripes and solids, fly into the air onto the floor and onto one table nearby. She surprised me, which is how and why my first strike at the cue ball ends up going haywire. I hear glass break as I turn to face the origin of that voice. The sight of her only a foot away sort of takes my breath away. God, she’s fucking beautiful. But I gather my wits about me and do my best cocky response. “What? No ‘hello, Nate’?”
She arches one pretty brow and places a hand on her hip. “Okay. How’s it hangin’, Nate?”
Well, funny she should ask because when she’s around, it doesn’t hang, it stands at attention. Leaning closer to her, I say, “You know the answer to that, don’t you, babe?” I was tempted to call her one of those other names, other than Maggy, but it doesn’t feel like the right time, so I leave off the name altogether and use a generic term of endearment—only I usually don’t mean it as such. With her, well, sheisa babe.
“Sure.” She doesn’t smile. “I know.”
We stare at each other for what seems like minutes but is probably only seconds. Finally, I break the silence with a bored sigh and ask, “What do you want?”
I see a flicker of something cross her face, and I don’t like it. It’s hurt. Not like the look she had on her face the morning after we slept together, because that shit is burned in my brain. Honestly, I hate being an asshole most of the time, but it’s necessary.
“Like I said. We need to talk.” She looks right, then left. “Alone.”
I lean down just an inch or so closer so I can lower my voice, but I also get a whiff of her. Goddamn, she still smells like fucking flowers and sunshine. “It’s not going to happen again, sweetheart.” I pull my head away and lean my hip on the pool table. Then I smirk like the prick I am.
“Jesus. You’re so arrogant.” She practically spits. “We need to talk. In private.”
I can’t imagine what she’s got to say to me. But my interest is definitely piqued. No matter, I continue with my usual. “Whatever you’ve got to say, you can say it in front of my friends.” I look left and right and realize I don’t actually have any friends here. Acquaintances, sure. Guys I ride with, definitely, but no friends. No matter. It’s already out there.
She’s glaring at me, but there’s still that little bit of hurt written on her face. It makes me wonder…
“Fine.” Now she’s got both hands on her hips. “For the record, I wanted to do this privately, but you asked for it.”
I’m holding my breath. I don’t know why.
“Okay, asshole. Here it is.”
Still holding my breath.
“I’m pregnant.”
I’m not sure how it happens, but I lose my balance. The cue stick slips out of my hand and falls forward, hitting Maggy right in the damn face. “Shit.” I reach out quickly in an attempt to stop it from doing any more damage, but she’s already gripping the stick with both hands. “Are you okay?” I reach out to touch her face but pull back before my fingers make contact her soft skin.
“That’s gonna leave a mark.”
