Page 35 of Of Grief And Gratitude

“I think we’re good enough to play professionally now,” I boasted.

“You think so, huh?” Bryce teased.

I nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. At least good enough to beat you guys.”

Grigory, the tallest of the men, laughed loudly. “Care to bet on it?”

“Care to lose?” Sloane teased, batting her eyelashes at him playfully.

“Oh, honey, I don’t lose.” He leaned close and breathed in Sloane’s fragrance. “But if you want to lose the money Daddy gives you to spend, I’ll happily lighten your wallet.”

They’d taken the bait and assumed we were just spoiled rich girls who’d imbibed a little too much. I didn’t feel any regret as Sloane slurred her way through the terms of the bet, nodding when she looked at me to agree.

“That settles it, then,” Grigory declared, pulling another cue from the wall. “You can even break if you want.”

“Are you going to help me?” Sloane picked up her cue as Bryce racked the balls. The third wheel, Todd, sat at the tall table with our drinks.

Grigory shook his head. “You’re on your own now, gorgeous. But if you play well, I might reward you after.”

I pretended to sneeze and covered my grimace with my elbow. He wasn’t nearly as good at the dirty talk as Romeo had been. I closed my eyes, realizing I’d automatically compared them to Romeo throughout the evening. That was more disturbing than Grigory’s subpar flirting. The men were in finance and likely used to landing whichever women they wanted based on their income alone. They would regret entering O’Connor’s by the end of the night.

Sloane let them win the first game, and I didn’t even have to try to win the second game because Bryce sucked at pool. The three friends laughed off his loss and offered to keep a running tally instead of immediately putting the money on the table.

I caught Sean taking a seat at the end of the bar and keeping an eye on us while he did some paperwork and sipped on a beer. To his credit, he didn’t ruin our fun.

While Sloane played Grigory again, I did a lot of leaning against the wall and the chair, finally stumbling until I sprawled into the chair and closed my eyes, pretending to be drunk enough to fall asleep. It was all a ruse. Kiera had watered our whiskey, so I barely had a buzz going and certainly didn’t have blood alcohol high enough to impair my decision-making.

Grigory let out a long groan when Sloane’s breast nearly fell out of her bra as she leaned over to watch his shot at the eight ball. He missed, scratching the felt and swearing under his breath.

“Hey, Ri.” Bryce shook my shoulder. “Wake up. Our turn.”

“Hmm?” I pretended to be faded. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

I stretched, sticking my chest out and letting Bryce help me up. He racked the balls and didn’t bother offering to let me break this time. They were all tipsy but not drunk enough that they didn’t care about the money they stood to lose if they didn’t win the last game. Bryce sank two solids and kept playing until he finally missed two shots later.

He left me with some catching up to do, so I took my time squinting at the balls on the table. I lined up my shot, managed to sink a stripe in the corner pocket, and barely made another into the side. Close enough to missing that it looked like an accident.

“Oh, wow!” I stood wide-eyed and looked at Sloane. “Did’ja see that?”

“Keep playing,” Grigory demanded impatiently as he nursed a beer.

I kept my face neutral as I looked for another shot, sinking that one, then the next to even up. Only, I didn’t bother to stop there. It was our last game; no need to be modest.

“What the fuck?” I heard Bryce swear as I sank every ball but the eight ball.

“Luck be a lady, I guess,” I joked, leaning over the table to get in position. The balls cracked together, and the black ball sailed across the table, bouncing off the side and angling into the side pocket.

The three men covered their faces in shame at their loss while I did a little hip shimmy in celebration.

“The Fuck!” Sean’s yell traveled across the room, and I turned to see my living nightmare striding confidently into the pub, wearing a black suit and shoes shinier than the glasses the bartender was polishing.

“Romeo,” I breathed.

As if he’d heard me, his head snapped in my direction, and a lazy smile crossed his face. He ignored Sean and came to stand in front of me. “Mia fiamma. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Who the hell is this?” Bryce asked, sensing competition.

Sean stomped over, standing toe-to-toe with Romeo. “A pain in my ass, that’s what.”

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