Page 19 of Pretend to be Mine
“What can I get yuh?”
“A pitcher of beer and two glasses for now, thank you,” I tell her.
She nods and turns to leave.
“What’s good here?” Ben asks, flipping through the menu.
“Everything,” I laugh out.
Our beer is back within minutes and I pour us both a full glass while he orders a steak, baked potato, and a side of veggies. The waitress writes down his order before looking at me.
“I’ll have the bourbon chicken and shrimp with mashed potatoes.”
She nods and goes to put our order in.
“How about a game of pool?” Ben asks, noticing a couple of people who are walking away from it.
“Sure, but I’m no good.”
He smiles. “Even better.”
I watch as he stands up and goes to rack the balls. I take a sip of beer before getting up and going to find a pool cue. I chalk the end and then get the cue ball to break. I line up my shot, bend over, and shoot. The cue ball hits the rack, and they scatter. I make two on the break.
I stand up overly happy and with a proud smile. “Looks like I’m stripes.”
He stands back. “Thought you said you weren’t any good.”
I laugh. “Lucky shot,” I tell him, shooting again and missing horribly.
Ben lines up his shot and he shoots the cue ball directly into the ball he aimed for. It falls nicely into its pocket. He lines up his next shot, then his next, then his next, before missing. He’s already made four solids and I’m still at only two.
Now that it’s my turn again, I walk around the table slowly, inspecting all the balls and trying to figure out which will be the best ones to hit. I bend down and close one eye, trying my hardest to line it up correctly. I don’t know what happens, but I hit the ball and it jumps off the table and flies through the air. Luckily, Ben catches it with a laugh.
“I’m clearly dangerous with a stick in my hands.”
He smirks and I imagine the dirty line that could’ve been said, but he keeps his mouth shut. I shouldn’t be thinking of his stick anyway. God, what’s wrong with me?
Ben places the ball on the table and before I know it, he banks the eight and wins the game.
“Now that’s a game we should bet on,” he says as we both fall back into our seats.
The waitress is back, and she’s sliding a plate of wings in front of us. “On the house. We’re packed and you guys have waited long enough.”
I smile. “Thank you.” I don’t need permission to dig in.
“Are they good?” he asks, lifting a brow and shooting me a grin. His blue eyes are sparkling with the overhead lights.
I laugh at myself and nod. “Dig in,” I say around my chewing.
He shakes his head but grabs a wing and tears into it. After chewing a few moments, he nods. “Damn, that is good.”
Our wings are gone long before the food arrives. He digs in immediately while I’m left pushing my food around my plate.
He frowns. “What’s wrong? I’ve never seen you not shove food in your mouth, especially when it’s right in front of you.” He grins around his mouthful.
“I’m full,” I pout, annoyed with myself. The garlic butter on my chicken and shrimp wafts up my nose and has my mouth watering but my stomach is saying no. I already filled it with beer, a hot dog, and wings. I can’t fit another bite.
The waitress comes back, and Ben’s plate is clean.
