"The next round is on me," Robbie screams loud and clear for the entire bar to hear, causing the growing crowd to cheer with excitement. Right on cue, some barrel toward us for autographs and photos, some cheer their glasses with ours, or put their phone numbers into our back pockets, while the rest admire us from a distance.
I like those people the best.
"I don’t think this week could get any better," Robbie mutters in my ear, two beautiful girls making themselves comfortable under each of his arms, while he holds onto a shot of vodka in his hands. Chuckling, I sip my beer and I sneak away from the drunk, rowdy crowd, heading to the pool table in the corner.
My face is plastered across every single television screen in this place. Even if I tried to be discreet, I doubt I’d be very successful. I guess that’s what happens when you go into asports bar the week after the biggest gaming event in American sporting history.
"Feel like a little competition?" a soft voice asks from behind me, instantly snatching my attention.
My eyes trail down, where a short, petite girl stands in front of me, a cocky smirk on her face, her right eyebrow raised.
Her blonde hair is short, tied half-up, half-down, with waves falling around her neck. She’s cute, and I can already tell she’s feisty. "Why not?" I reply, hiding my own smirk behind my beer glass, watching as she picks up a cue that’s nearly taller than her.
"You can break. It’ll give you a chance to, you know, sink a ball or two," she jokes, nodding her head toward the already racked table. “What are you doing alone in the corner?” the blonde asks. I can feel her brown eyes staring at the side of my face, probably trying to read my expression, but I know it’s blank, giving her nothing.
"Hoping to go unnoticed," I say, nodding toward my face on every screen.
"No offense." She watches as I break and sink two balls. "But even if you weren’t the man of the match, it’d be pretty hard to miss a six-foot-tall guy with broad shoulders and jaw that looks like it was sculpted by the genetic Gods." She laughs, leaning over the table, pushing her cleavage up directly in my line of sight.
"I’m six three, actually. And you’re cheating," I tease, and she snickers in response before shrugging her shoulders, pushing her body off the table. "What are you doing out on a Thursday night?" I ask, making my way around the table to get a better angle for my next shot.
"I own the place."
"Nice." I’m doing my best to concentrate, but I can feel her body brushing up against mine now, and I miss all the balls completely.
"My turn." Lifting her cue, she steadies it over the side of the table before making her first shot, sinking her target with ease.
"You don’t look like the type to own a sports bar," I say, hoping to distract her with conversation, but clearly, this isn’t her first rodeo.
"And what does a sports bar owner typically look like, Mr. Wingrove?" She doesn’t take her eyes off the ball while she talks, continuing to sink every ball she aims for.
Definitely not her first rodeo.
"Usually an old, sleazy guy with a beer belly." I sip my drink, knowing that’s not at all true. But at the rate she’s playing, the game is going to be over in a matter of seconds, and I’m liking the attention.
Sue me.
During football season, I never entertained the idea of dating or even hooking up with women. It’s how I got to be the best of the best.
Give it all of my attention, get all the results I want.
"Another game?" I ask while emptying the pockets to collect the balls, centering them in the triangle.
"Not scared to lose again to a girl?" She winks, helping me.
"Do I look that fragile?" I scoff, pretending to be offended. She barks out a laugh.
"I’ll break. You go get us drinks."
On my way to the bar, I bump into Robbie, who looks overly pleased with himself. “You scored yourself a little hottie,” Robbie shouts over the music into my ear as he stands beside me, waiting for his drink.
"And you look like you’ve bagged yourself two." I nudge his shoulder with mine.
Clinking our glasses together in cheers, we both head back in the directions we came from, and I can see that not only did this little blonde break, but she sunk all of her balls, leaving thetable covered with all of mine, the black ball and the white. “Ego bruised yet?” she says with her cue pressed up against the side of her.
It’s obvious she waited for me to come back so I could watch her sink the black ball right in front of me, and she does exactly that without taking her eyes off of mine.
Her arrogance might annoy some, but I find it endearing.
