I point my cue at him. “If I win, you’re coming with me to this wedding, and you’re sweeping Anika off her feet. And if you win…I’ll marry your sister.” I make exaggerated air quotes around the word sister.
Luka holds out his hand. “Shake on it.” He says.
So I do, reaching out my hand to take his.
He pulls me in closer, his eyes pinned on me. Those deep Russian eyes that make our opponents shake a little.
“She likes white tulips… don’t ever buy her roses.”
Wait… what the fuck? Is he serious right now?
Still completely unaware, he just hustled the hell out of me.
Those Kit Kats must be hitting harder than I thought tonight.
The second the game starts, I know I've been had.
Luka doesn't miss. Not once.
He moves around the table like a goddamn surgeon, sinking ball after ball with a precision that makes it very clear he's been holding back this entire time.
"Oh shit," JP mutters.
"East, I think you've been hustled," Wolf says, his voice somewhere between impressed and horrified.
Trey just sits in the corner nursing his beer with Vivi sitting on his lap, but I can see the smirk on his face as if he already knew I made a mistake ever making a bet with Luka at a pool table.
Thanks for not speaking up, Hart. Damn you.
I just stand there, beer halfway to my mouth, watching Luka clear the table in what feels like thirty seconds.
He lines up the eight ball, calls it in the side pocket, and sinks it clean.
The bar explodes—half the guys are laughing, the other half are losing their minds, and I'm just staring at Luka like he's sprouted a second head.
He straightens up, sets his cue on the table, and walks over to me with that cool, calm Russian demeanor… no way to read what he’s thinking.
Then he claps me on the shoulder.
"Good game," he says. "Brother-in-law."
I blink. "Hold on a second—"
"My sister. You're marrying her."
"You don't have a sister,” I argue.
"I do, actually."
The noise around us fades into white static as I try to process what the hell is happening.
"You—what?"
"Her name's Katerina," Luka continues, like he's discussing the weather. "She's a ballerina. Very talented. Doesn’t put up with any shit, so don’t fuck this up."
"Luka—" I try.
"She'll be here tomorrow."
