Seb laughed. “The party was a bust. I was gonna grab a pizza and go wallow in the room. You wanna come?”
I hesitated, glancing over at the fratholes. I lowered my voice. “Can you play along with me? Just say you have no money and refuse to play me for it.”
“Huh?”
“Just do it,” I murmured before raising my voice.
“I can’t buy the pizza, man,” I said. “I know I owe you already, but this twenty-five bucks has to last me all week.”
“Okay…” Seb wasn’t playing the part of angry friend very well. I raised my eyebrows, and he tacked on, “Well, that’s a dick move.”
“I could play you for it,” I suggested.
“You want to play me for money you already owe me? That’s bullshit. Even if I win, it would be my money. Thanks, but no thanks.”
I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Good. Stalk off in a huff.”
Seb’s forehead creased. He didn’t get what this whole production was about yet. But like a good friend, he followed my lead anyway. He spun on his heel and stomped over to a collection of squashy armchairs by the window.
One of the fratholes came over. “You really are a sad sack, huh?”
“Something like that,” I muttered. “What’s it to you? I asked you to play me. If you had, I might have had the money for him.”
He scoffed. “Or you’d be even deeper in the hole.”
“My luck has to change sometime.”
He laughed and slapped my back. “Goddamn, you’re a glutton for punishment.” He looked over at Frathole 2. “What do you think, man? Should we take him up on it?”
“We could use a few bucks for those parts,” Frathole 2 agreed.
Frathole 1 turned back to me, giving me the smarmy smile of the smugly confident everywhere. “I’ll play, but put your cash on the table. I’m not playing for any IOUs.”
I pulled out two twenties and laid them on the edge of the pool table. “Here.”
He considered the bills. “That won’t pay for much, will it?”
“It’s all I’ve got.” I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t decide it wasn’t worth the trouble. If he did, this would all be for nothing.
“It’s easy money, Owen,” Frathole 2 said. “Just play him already so we can move on.”
Owen checked his pockets. “No cash.”
“Are you kidding me?” I grumbled.
He turned to his friend. “You know where an ATM is?”
“All the way across campus. Fuck it.” Frathole 2 dug through his wallet and came up with two twenties. “You can pay me back after you win.”
Pool hustling was a dance. Often, I let guys win the first game—let them see how easy and unremarkable I was, then begged for a chance to win my money back—but not tonight. They thought I was crap, and all the cash I had was on the table.
Time to go in for the kill.
Besides, these guys had been assholes all night. They’d been rudely judging every girl who walked by, keeping some disgusting rating system, and trash-talking me. Fortunately, I didn’t give a shit what they thought. In fact, I wanted them to notice me, to assume I was an idiot, and to take the bait.
It would be nice to take them down a peg or two.
“You can rack them up,” Owen told me. “Want you to have at least one shot at getting a ball in the pocket.”
