Page 44 of Consummation

Theresa grimaces.

“Yeah. So now I’ve got my work cut out for me to get myself out of the doghouse.”

“Ooph. I think we’d better add a cellist. Sounds like an emergency.”

My smile broadens. “Thanks, T.”

“You’re very welcome, Josh.”

“I mean, you know, thanks for everything.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Hey, how about we make that raise thirty percent? Sound good?”

Theresa makes a “meh” face. “Well, thirty percent is certainlygood.Nothing to sneeze at—believe me, I’m grateful for your generosity. But you only live once, right? Why not ‘go big or go home,’ I always say?”

“Ah, you want ‘the whole nine yards,’ huh, T?”

Theresa laughs. “You’ve rubbed off on me, I guess.”

“Okay. Forty percent. But that’s my final offer.”

Theresa nods. “I think that sounds about right.” She winks.

I laugh. “Okay. Forty it is—until the next time you squeeze me, that is.” With that, I turn around and waltz out my front door, a spring in my step and a gleam in my eye for the first time in an entire fucking week.

Sixteen

Josh

“Six-ball in the side pocket,” I say. I bend over the pool table and sink my shot with a loud clack.

“Kat turned youdown?” Jonas says, incredulous.

“Third worst day of my entire life,” I say. “She hit me with a mean left cross followed by a crushing right hook.Bam! Right on the chin.”

“I can only imagine. Sounds horrible, Josh.”

“Four-ball off the bumper, ricochet off the seven-ball into the corner pocket,“ I say. I line up my shot carefully, whack the white cue ball with confidence, and sink the four, exactly as described. “Damn, I’m good,” I say.

“Pretty impressive.”

“My life may be falling down around my ears, but I can still sink a goddamned billiard ball, motherfucker.”

“Sorry I wasn’t here for you when all this shit was happening. Sounds like you took it pretty hard.”

“No worries, bro. ’Twas merely a flesh wound. I’m over it now—back in the saddle. Two-ball in the far corner—straight shot.” I bend down over the table and take my shot, but I’ve miscalculated the angle by a hair and the ball rebounds off the bumper. “Shit,” I say. “Goddammit. I always miss the easy ones.” I motion to Jonas. “Okay, go ahead and run the table now, bro. I’ll just sit down for the rest of the game.”

“You never know,” Jonas says, rubbing chalk on the end of his stick. “I haven’t played in months—I might be rusty.”

“Mmm hmm,” I say, leaning against the wall. “You’ve never been rusty at anything in your life.”

Jonas walks around the table, surveying his first shot. “I’mthinking the seven-ball off the bumper right here and then off your two-ball into the side pocket,” Jonas says.

“Pfft. Good luck with that—tough angle, bro. Just do the three. The three’s a clean shot.”

“No, the three’s a red herring. If I sink the seven first, then I’ll have my whole table set up for me like clockwork.”

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