Page 24 of His Last Shot
He sneers at my outstretched hand with disgust for a beat or two before reluctantly offering me his.
“You as well.” He squints as recognition fills his expression, then points at me. “Didn’t I see you in here playing about a week ago with your cousin Scott? He was great to work with. Nice guy.”
“I tend to agree,” I answer, completely ignoring the question about him seeing me here last week. I’d rather not bring up the unsettling scene I witnessed; it’s best he’s not reminded.
“How come I never had time to talk to you during the reno?”
Because you’re an obvious narcissist, so I avoided you like the plague. But I don’t say that.
“Scott handles the contracts and blueprints. I just enjoy getting my hands dirty. Give me some two-by-fours with a tape measure, and I’m a happy guy. I guess I was just busy.”
“So, a simple man, then?” If he feels this insult is going to hit, he’s mistaken. I’ve heard it all before.
“Or just someone who knows his worth and what he’s capable of.”
He glances away, jaw tightening, obviously annoyed with me. “Well, sorry, I didn’t have time to talk to you when you were working here.”
I take a sip of my drink. “Yep, I never saw you around, come to think of it. You must be quite the busy guy.” Busy doing what? I have no idea. And it’s better that I don’t.
“What brings you by?” He tilts his chin up in order to make eye contact with me.
Rachel gives me a quick side eye before heading to the kitchen. Probably smart.
“I would like to join the BPA. The website said to show up, so here I am. Rachel mentioned auditioning?”
“You play?” he probes, ignoring my question as he pulls over a barstool, and with a grunt, he hoists himself onto the seat, huffing and puffing.
“Since I was a kid,” I answer as I sit with ease across from him.
“So you’re not just looking to get into my niece’s pants?” He raises an eyebrow.
Come again?
I grit my teeth, a vein throbbing in my temple, trying to stay calm. It’s taking every ounce of willpower I have in me to keep my cool. This guy is unbelievable, and I’ve only talked to him for five minutes. Which is five minutes too long. I wonder if he would have asked this crass question if she was here. Doubtful. This man has coward written all over him. “You wouldn’t be the first man to show his face here, hoping to hook up with her.”
Does he hear himself right now?
Would I love to see Rachel again outside of this place? Absolutely.
Am I hoping to get to know her better and use the pool league as an excuse to spend time with her? You bet.
Is this about sex? No.
I want to get to know Rachel as a person. Dig deep into who she is and what she can offer the world. Her uncle’s belief that men are only interested in her body is sickening.
And I get it; maybe he is just being protective. He raised her. It’s only natural to worry. But he could be more respectful about asking and not degrading his niece.
“I’m just here to play. And show you what you would gain by having me on your team.”
He clicks his tongue. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
I find myself unable to contain a snort of amusement. He has no idea the spectacle that is superior pool playing he is about to witness.
With a confident grip, I grab the handle of my case and face him. “What’s the next step?” This guy is testing my patience, and I’m one wrong word away from a regrettable outburst; I need to leave now.
“Head on over to that small desk in the corner. Irene will set you up.” I glance across the room, noting the newly installed pool tables gleaming under the lights, their felt surfaces smooth and inviting. A woman, who I assume is Irene, sits there. I noticed her earlier. An older lady with gray hair and reading glasses perched on top of her head, looking like she just stepped out of an episode ofThe Golden Girls. “There’s a fifty-dollar audition fee. Cash only.”
I sharply redirect my gaze towards Dexter. His eyes narrow, a sinister smirk playing on his lips as he taps his finger on the bar top. I know there isn’t an audition fee. Funny how the website neglected to mention the audition or the surprisingly hefty fee. And no one has paid Miss Irene a dime.
