Page 43 of His Last Shot
“It’s one of my better qualities, yes.”
Slick chuckles and wags his finger between us. “Now, that’s more like it, you two.”
There’s no doubt that these three fine gentlemen are rooting for us.
I knew I always liked them.
Just then, Rachel stands straighter, her shoulders becoming stiff as she glances up. “Great.”
“What?” I follow whatever it is that catches her attention.
“He’s coming over here.”
I slowly turn my head, taking in the sight of this pathetic loser.
It’s Drew Foster—yes, I Googled him when Rachel first mentioned him—in the flesh.
The All-American guy who was the star quarterback in high school and also a womanizing loser. He saunters over to us, his posse right behind him, taking his time surveying the bar and probably still waiting for the applause he always got back in the day.
He’ll be waiting a while.
Rachel said he’s ten years older than her, which makes him forty. I glance at his bald head, which he obviously shaves because he’s losing his hair. Relief washes over me; I’m suddenly thankful that gene skipped my family.
I run my fingers through my thick mop as he strides over, locking eyes with me, trying his best to be intimidating.
The OBGs pierce him three distinct glares of disgust, each one more pronounced than the last. Rachel keeps shifting her feet as she tries to decide what to do with her hands, her unease speaking volumes.
The OBGs all whip out their payment and hefty tips, slamming them on the wooden bar. With that, they make their exit, muttering goodbyes on their rushed exit out the door.
Apparently, they find him as repulsive as I do.
As for me? This guy hurt the amazing woman standing in front of me. Therefore, the only thing he will get from me is a small greeting and a beat down on the pool table.
This should be fun.
He stands next to me, his stare unwavering, concentrating completely on Rachel.
“Hey, Rach. You look amazing tonight.”
Rachel ignores the compliment and folds the rag she was holding with aggression. “What can I get you, Drew?”
“The usual, baby.”
“I’m not your baby.” She grabs a bottle of scotch from behind the bar, and the fact that she knows what his usual is spikes a surge of jealousy in me I don’t like.
This is a new emotion for me. I’ve never been serious enough about a woman to experience jealousy. And that includes Julie. Which only tells me how special Rachel is to me. And how much I wish I meant the same to her.
Without so much as a word or a smile, she places the drink in front of him, and he takes a sip. Slowly, he turns to me.
“So, you must be the legendary Johnny Givens.”
“Nice. Glad to know people have their facts straight.” I extend my hand. “You must be Drew.”
With an actual snarl on his lips, he glares at my hand but doesn’t offer his own. Shaking my head in disbelief, I retreat mine, then reach for my drink, my fingers brushing against the cool glass. “You ready to play?” I’m cutting right to the chase because there is no way I am exchanging pleasantries with this guy.
He doesn’t answer me. Only grabs his cue and speaks to Rachel. “You didn’t call me after the wedding.”
No wonder Dexter likes this dude. He’s manipulative, just like his mentor. I’m sure Dexter has told him about me. And not just my pool skills, but also that there is something brewing between Rachel and me. So, obviously, he’s peeing all over his territory.
