Continuation of the woman playing pool and the twerp she dissed.
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He was just drunk enough to still be angry, so started to get to his feet.
She jammed the cue between his legs, not quite touching his crotch, and said, “Touch me, again, and I’ll rip what you think are your fuckin’ balls off and shove up your fuckin’ ass, you fuckin’ piece of shit. And if you think I can’t -- .” She hissed and clawed a set of red nails with pointed tips at him.
People in the bar laughed. He skulked off to snarl at his mouse of a girlfriend.
She turned back to find Grady Barnes leaning on the table. Big and fleshy, he gave off the idea of a running back going to seed but still good-looking enough for it not to matter. He wore a black t-shirt that hugged his pecs, shoulders and belly, and jeans that hugged his butt and legs. A black Mohawk topped a pug-Irish face, and the tattoo of a half-woman-half-lion covered one beefy forearm before it broke into what looked like brown and red branches of a leafless tree. Broken fingers gripped a beer in one hand and a joint in the other, and his smile was anything but nice.
“Now you’ve done it,” he said, joking. “You got Spit all pissed.”
“That his name?” she asked.
“What we call him.”
“Fits.”
“What do you call you?”
She looked him over, like a jackal eyes its meat. “Bartender didn’t tell you?”
He smirked. “Okay, so what do you call me?”
“Playtoy?”
Grady froze for an instant, not sure he’d heard right, then he fought back a smirk and held up his hand. “I’m not so good with pool.”
She looked him over from head to toe then whispered, “I’ll spot you a couple balls.”
Grady shrugged, picked out a cue and set his beer beside hers. “Stripes or solids?”
“You tell me.”
He looked the table over. Saw she’d dropped two of each. “Solids.”
She motioned for him to go first. He dropped the five and six but missed the three. She dropped the nine and motioned for him to go, again.
“It’s your turn,” he said.
“Not if I don’t want it.”
He shrugged and dropped the two and three, but missed the eight.
“Go again,” she said.
“Thought you wanted to play pool.”
“I like watching you play.” Then she took a slow sip of her beer.
Grady chuckled then sank the eight. “I win.”
She just smiled. “What happened to your hands?”
“Too many fights.”
“Not enough fun.” She finished her beer then took a sip from his. “I’m heading out. You planning to stick around?”
Grady didn’t say a word, just let her lead him across the bar, his eyes locked on the swing of her hips. But the second she was out the door, he swung around, cast two exhilarated thumbs up to the patrons and spun outside, with her.
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He was just drunk enough to still be angry, so started to get to his feet.
She jammed the cue between his legs, not quite touching his crotch, and said, “Touch me, again, and I’ll rip what you think are your fuckin’ balls off and shove up your fuckin’ ass, you fuckin’ piece of shit. And if you think I can’t -- .” She hissed and clawed a set of red nails with pointed tips at him.
People in the bar laughed. He skulked off to snarl at his mouse of a girlfriend.
She turned back to find Grady Barnes leaning on the table. Big and fleshy, he gave off the idea of a running back going to seed but still good-looking enough for it not to matter. He wore a black t-shirt that hugged his pecs, shoulders and belly, and jeans that hugged his butt and legs. A black Mohawk topped a pug-Irish face, and the tattoo of a half-woman-half-lion covered one beefy forearm before it broke into what looked like brown and red branches of a leafless tree. Broken fingers gripped a beer in one hand and a joint in the other, and his smile was anything but nice.
“Now you’ve done it,” he said, joking. “You got Spit all pissed.”
“That his name?” she asked.
“What we call him.”
“Fits.”
“What do you call you?”
She looked him over, like a jackal eyes its meat. “Bartender didn’t tell you?”
He smirked. “Okay, so what do you call me?”
“Playtoy?”
Grady froze for an instant, not sure he’d heard right, then he fought back a smirk and held up his hand. “I’m not so good with pool.”
She looked him over from head to toe then whispered, “I’ll spot you a couple balls.”
Grady shrugged, picked out a cue and set his beer beside hers. “Stripes or solids?”
“You tell me.”
He looked the table over. Saw she’d dropped two of each. “Solids.”
She motioned for him to go first. He dropped the five and six but missed the three. She dropped the nine and motioned for him to go, again.
“It’s your turn,” he said.
“Not if I don’t want it.”
He shrugged and dropped the two and three, but missed the eight.
“Go again,” she said.
“Thought you wanted to play pool.”
“I like watching you play.” Then she took a slow sip of her beer.
Grady chuckled then sank the eight. “I win.”
She just smiled. “What happened to your hands?”
“Too many fights.”
“Not enough fun.” She finished her beer then took a sip from his. “I’m heading out. You planning to stick around?”
Grady didn’t say a word, just let her lead him across the bar, his eyes locked on the swing of her hips. But the second she was out the door, he swung around, cast two exhilarated thumbs up to the patrons and spun outside, with her.
2 comments:
This is great!
Thanks! I'm going to have a weird kind of fun with it.
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