A loud whoop cuts through the bar. The kind of sound someone makes when they’ve just sunk an impossible shot.
“Pay up, Professor. That’s three in a row.”
I know that voice.
My whole body goes cold.
“Double or nothing,” another voice responds. Quieter. Familiar in a way that makes my stomach drop through the floor. “I’ve calculated the trajectory. The felt has a slight warp to the left that I didn’t account for, but now that I’ve adjusted?—”
No.
No, no, no.
I know the cadence of it. The way he turns everything into a calculation. The specific frequency that still makes something in my chest twist, even when I’m furious with him.
“You’re not going to math your way out of losing, my guy. Just accept defeat gracefully.”
Serena’s eyes go wide. Layla is already twisting in the booth, craning to see around the partition that separates us from the billiard area.
“Is that—” Serena starts.
“It can’t be,” Layla whispers, fully in denial.
Dominic rounds the corner first, pool cue in one hand, empty glass in the other, heading for the bar. He’s mid-laugh, looking back over his shoulder at someone behind him.
“Face it, you’re buying the next round. Those were the terms and I?—”
He sees us.
The laugh dies. His feet stop moving. For one frozen second, his face cycles through about six different expressions—surprise, confusion, a flash of something that might be amusement, and then a careful, calculated neutrality.
“Well,” he says slowly. “This is...”
Logan appears behind him.
He’s holding his own pool cue, sleeves pushed up to his elbows in that way that shows off corded forearms. He looks more relaxed than he did in the lab—or he did until he follows Dominic’s gaze and sees me.
The color drains from his face.
For a long, horrible moment, nobody moves. Nobody speaks. My hand tightens around my whiskey glass so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. Bon Jovi keeps playing from the shitty Bluetooth speaker, completely oblivious to the fact that my entire chest has collapsed in on itself.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Serena breathes.
Layla looks like she’s about to commit murder. “What are the fucking chances? Of all the bars in the city.”
“Right?” Dominic places one hand on his hip. “Of all the bars in the city, you three have to come and crashmyspot.”
“Your spot?” Serena gasps.
“Yes. Mine. I’ve been coming here for years.” He gestures vaguely at the billiard table. “They let me run a tab.”
Layla shakes her head like she doesn’t trust her ability to process what’s in front of her. “You have a regular dive bar and you never mentioned it?”
“Why would I?” Dominic shrugs. “I’m sure you have some favorite little hole in the wall spot I don’t know about. I like it here. Reminds me of home.”
“You’re from Greenwich, Connecticut,” Logan says flatly. “Your childhood home has a tennis court.”
“Fine.” Dominic waves a hand. “It reminds me of my broke college days.”
