Page 36 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“Did you get that from Kiwi’s?” I demand.
Dean shrugs. “He was out of pie.” He grabs a napkin and covers the pie.
“Fuck. Brilliant,” I mutter, about to remind him of Bucky’s bar rules when I catch Levi smirking in a way that silently calls me bossy.
“You’ve got some serious balls, Kid, bringing that into my bar.” Bucky limps closer, that uneven step, thump, scrape, giving the old man’s bad knee away.
“Bucky might smash that pie before you get a chance to eat it.” Wheeler reaches across the table, flicks the napkin with his fork, and dives straight into the pie.
Dean flashes a grin. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen a pie totally smashed.”
“Dude. Seriously?” Levi groans. “Can you not sexualize the dessert one time?”
The sound of a pool ball snapping against the floor breaks the chatter in both bars. Every local freezes at the familiar sound, knowing what’s coming next.
Bucky halts and rotates toward the thunk.
The pool ball rolls with a hollow rattle across the boards, straight toward the hole in the wall.
“Son of a bitch.” Bucky’s crooked stride picks up speed, boots thudding down like war drums.
He’s not fast enough.
Kiwi plucks the rogue ball off her polished floor.
“That’s mine, dammit Kiwi!”
“Finder keepers, crustbucket.” Kiwi turns slowly, holding up the eight ball with a mock-inspecting eye. “Mm. This one’s got a nice scuff. Adds character.”
“Get your hands off my balls.”
Dean chokes on his mouthful of pie. “Balls,” he says with a full mouth.
I’d whack him upside the head if he weren’t leaning so close against my side.
Kiwi strolls to a glass vase on the floor, as tall as the counter behind. It already holds a colorful mix of pool balls. They’re all Bucky’s, stolen one way or another over a shit load of years.
She slowly lowers onto the top of the pile. “Wouldn’t want it to feel lonely.”
Bucky jabs a finger in the air. “You’re going to regret that.”
“Doubt it.”
He grumbles about barbed wire and new drywall, limping back behind the counter, and forgetting about Dean’s contraband. And for perfect timing, the front door swings open, and the crowd from the town hall meeting comes rushing in, loud and restless, flooding the bar with noise, smoke, and small-town politics—aka gossip.
Dean slides the pie to the center of the table. “You’re welcome. And no happy birthday, ‘cause we all know you stopped celebratin’ it when you blew out your knee and your dreams limped off the field with you.”
“Asshole.” Wheeler kicks Dean under the table loud enough that it vibrates.
“You’re just in time, ‘cause Hart’s about to tell us why he never made a move on Jade.” Levi digs out a piece of pie and places it in his wings basket. The thick syrup slides out from under the crust over the wings.
“Oh, he’s made the move.” Dean offers me pie.
“No.”
“To the pie or the move?”
“Both.”
