She tried to pay for her own mixed sashimi sampler, but politely accepted the gift when he protested.
“Wanna play a couple of games?” She gestured with her beer towards a table that had just come open.
“Sure. So you like pool?”
Sociable, amiable, not too bright. She picked up her plate in the other hand and walked over, setting it on the beer table and going through the cues on the rack looking for one that was basically straight.
“You want first break?” He set his own beer beside hers and picked one himself, setting it against the table as he racked up the balls.
“Sure.” At least he got the balls grouped nice and tight on the spot. She chalked her hands before accepting the cue ball from him — placed it, lined up her shot, and smacked the cue solidly, suppressing a smug grin as two stripes found a pocket.
“Guess I’m solids.” He toasted her with his beer. “Definitely not a girl break.”
“All bust, no balls,” she recited with him as he got up and started walking around the table to pick his shot.
“You’ve heard it.”
“I might have heard it a couple of times.” She grinned tightly. Ah, well, at my age how many new jokes are there, anyway. To run, or not to run, that is the question. Ah, hell, better behave… but he deserves it. Nah, gotta behave.
She picked out the fourteen ball and called it for the left corner pocket, lined up her shot and carefully hit it just a bit too hard. It hit the pocket square on and bounced back onto the felt, leaving the cue ball set up for a nice slightly off-straight shot at the one ball in the right side pocket. She winced convincingly and pursed her lips. “Well, at least I didn’t knock any of your balls in. Your turn.”
“Uh, yeah.” He looked at her for a second and shook his head, as if shaking off a thought.
“What?” She smirked at him and dipped a rice, blue fin, and nori roll into the ginger and wasabi sauce, delicately biting into it, watching him, her other hand cupped underneath the tidbit to catch any drips.
“No, I can’t say that,” he said, grinning broadly and shaking his head.
“Fine, be that way.” She tilted her head thoughtfully as he gestured at two corner pockets and dropped the one and the seven neatly. On his next shot the cue ball had a bit too much clockwise spin on a tricky bank shot and the four hit the felt and came to rest blocking the left side pocket.
She arched her back in a light stretch that kept her hands in close to her body, picked up her cue stick, and padded over to the opposite side of the table. Okay, do I lose artfully, take him outside, and trip him, or do I risk him being a sorehead and play a bit? She glanced around casually at the rest of the bar, which was filling up with nicely turned out uniforms and had a couple of guys wheeling largish speakers out onto the small stage. Fuck it. I hate losing. If he’s a dick about it, well, the place is hardly empty.
He was bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, obviously just itching to pace. Instead, he pulled up a chair and straddled it, taking a pull of his beer before resting his arms across the chair back. She gave him her best little-girl smile.
“I think I can drop the eleven and the fourteen in that pocket.” She gestured with a finger towards the corner pocket and pouted at him. “If I try it, you’re not going to be upset if I hit a couple of other little balls on the way, are you?”
He raised his eyebrows but waved one arm in a deliberately gallant gesture, “Of course not, my lady.”
He thinks he’s hunting me. How cute. The sweet smile twitched slightly as she bent over the cue and smacked it, hard, into the three, which sent the eleven neatly into the corner pocket while the cue ball banked off the felt on the opposite side, came back and nudged the fourteen, which dropped neatly, leaving the cue ball poised delicately on the edge of the hole.
“Wow! I made it!” She clapped her hands delightedly, eyes wide.
He choked slightly on his beer, but she had to give him credit on the recovery. “An excellent shot. You’re obviously as accomplished as you are beautiful.”
Poor puppy. He still lays it on just a bit too thick. Ah well, at least he’s likely to be enthusiastic. She gestured towards the stage that had now sprouted a drum set and a line of cable that was being trailed back to a mixer board at the back of the bar. One of the guys in jeans and T-shirt setting up the show was following behind the cabler carefully duct-taping it to the floor — presumably to protect the servers and the drunks. “Are they any good?”
“Oh yeah! They’re really good. The lead singer was in my unit at basic. They got special permission to wear civvies for their shows. It’s, like, a revival of classical heavy metal, but with all their own music. They never do more than one cover song in a show. So, do you like music?”
Yes, which is why I suspect this is going to be painful. Not to mention trashing my hearing before a mission when I’m not going to be able to have it fixed on the slab. So, call it a wash and go, or try to get laid? Damned midlife hormones. It’s as bad as being a seventeen-year-old boy. But most women would object if rejuv turned the clock back too far on their hormones. Damned idiots. “I love live music! Heavy metal, huh? Classical martial music is so cool.”
She absentmindedly sank the nine in the side pocket not blocked by the four.
“I’m glad I didn’t bet you money, milady.” He eyed the thirteen sitting behind the two and six, and the ten against the bumper.
“Yeah, I’m having some really good luck tonight. I was sure I wasn’t going to make that bank shot, and now I’ve got to bank again.” She waved a hand casually, walking around the table and settling her hip on it to get the cue at the necessary angle behind her back.
“Do you need the bridge?”
“I should, but I can’t use one worth a damn,” she lied, knocking the cue ball off the side so that it banked back towards the other balls, missing them by at least an inch each way before leaving him with a nice straight shot at the six. I deeply doubt he can drop five balls in one run, but, hell, he’s got a sporting chance. At this game, anyway. “Oops, air ball. Your turn.”
She curled around the cue and fluttered her eyelashes at him, making a little moue of sympathy as he tripped slightly on the way to the table. Yes, that was your tongue you tripped over. Good boy. She walked around the table to be almost next to him, but not in the way.
He licked his lips, hitting the cue ball just a bit too hard and watching it follow the six into the pocket. He grimaced and put the ball back on the table, placing the cue ball into her outstretched hand.
“Another bank shot,” she pouted. “I think I’m going to have to knock it off the two into the corner pocket.” She placed the ball and made her shot, catching the thirteen from behind and grazing the two with it just enough to correct the trajectory and sink it easily with a nice setup for the ten in the side pocket, which she sank easily. She gestured to the eight ball. “Side pocket.” Endgame.
“Play again?” He gave her a slightly pained good-sport grin.
“Sure.” She grabbed a bite of sashimi and started racking them up. Behind the stage a pair of young men in jeans and T-shirts, one of them shaved bald, were unrolling a banner that proclaimed the group to be “The Awesome God.” Cally suppressed a wince. Definitely painful, if that says anything about their originality…