Page 42 of His Last Shot
I missher.
But there is still this magnetic pull when we are together. Somehow, we always find ourselves making contact. A shoulder brush here or a finger graze there. We mutter our apologies to each other awkwardly. But somehow it happens again, and the electricity that courses through us has nowhere to go. Eventually, though, this current will ignite.
She’s insecure and scared, for good reason. I could tell after our conversation and mind-blowing kiss in the kitchen that she was lying about Drew. Because there is no way she would kiss me like that if she were dating him. Rachel is too good of a person to cross that line. Period.
But also, I want her to trust me with this deeply personal part of her life. I pray that day will come sooner rather than later.
With that thought hanging in the air, I hit the nine ball into the corner pocket, giving our team the win.
Everyone celebrates with whoops and hollers, followed by high fives all around. We all make our way over to the bar to get a quick drink before the next team arrives. My teammates are already making small talk with the other bartenders. Rachel notices me approaching and quickly fills a glass with club soda and plops a lime wedge inside. She places it in front of me, the tension thick between us.
The OBGs observe us with their wise, knowing scrutiny.
“Thank you,” I say as she gives me a small, pursed smile. I take a quick sip.
“Welcome.” Her monotone response is like a knife to the heart.
A long silence follows.
“Brrrr,” Tiny says through a pretend shiver. Slick elbows him in the side. “What?” he asks. “These two went from sizzling-Miami-hot to Iceland-cold in just weeks.” He turns to address us. “What happened to you two?”
Randy chimes in next. “Tiny, leave them alone.” He leans over the bar to get a better view of us. “Unless you want to tell us what happened. Then we are all ears.” All three of them nod in agreement.
With a dramatic eye roll, Rachel turns her attention back to me, ignoring them.
“How’s play going tonight?” she inquires as she tidies her work station. I stare at her for a beat, blinking, because she’s attempting to make conversation. It’s a start, I guess.
“You know me … mopping the floor with these losers.” She chuckles, which sounds like a song as she rests her forearms on the bar, leaning in low, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Look, Johnny, there’s something you need to know about the next team coming in.”
“Uh-oh,” Tiny murmurs as he focuses on his drink.
My attention flashes to him momentarily, then back to the subject of all my dreams. “Oh, yeah? What’s going on?”
Just as she opens her mouth to enlighten me, the bar door opens, and a group of men walk in like they own the place. A skinny bald guy, his shiny head held high as he leads the pack, surveys the tables and dance floor until his watchful eyes land immediately on the bar. It only takes him a few seconds to locate her, finding Rachel amidst the crowd, and he grins warmly, followed by a silent ‘Hi.’
My stomach bottoms out.
“Who’s that?” I ask, my usual confidence betraying me. Did she meet someone else? Is that why she has been distant?
“That’s what I was going to tell you. The new team coming to play. Drew is on the team.”
Fantastic.
“I didn’t know he played.” My words are tight with uncontrolled irritation.
Scattered empty glasses litter the bar. She gathers them up, placing them in the sink behind her, crashing and clanking. She continues. “He does casually. But this is his first time playing in a league.”
I give Rachel a pointed look. “Come on. You can’t tell me the timing is a coincidence. I’m sure Dexter persuaded him. His pockets will be padded by the time everything is said and done.”
“Got that right—No doubt—For sure,” Tiny, Slick and Randy all proclaim in unison.
She lets out a deep sigh, surrendering to my line of reasoning and the OBGs confirmation. We are right, and she knows it. “Drew always loved fancy things, and if my uncle offered him a cut of the dirty money that comes through these doors, then I am sure he jumped at the opportunity. So, you’re probably right.”
A sly smirk, hinting at mischief, plays on my lips. “I’m always right.”
She throws her rag at me, which I catch. “Oh, my God.” She snickers. I laugh, thrilled she’s joking with me again. A sure sign that things are getting back on track. “You’re so humble, aren’t you?”
