“Guess we’re both good then.” I laugh. Turning to the table, I ask, “Who’s winning?”
“Way to back the shark’s play,” a guy answers me from across the table. He’s got a pool stick in his hand and is looking at Bobby expectantly. I guess he’s waiting on Bobby to shoot while he’s talking to me instead.
“Shark?” I repeat, confused. Looking to Bobby, I ask, “You any good?”
He shrugs modestly, and I know the answer is a resounding yes.
Somehow, that challenge turns into a chance for him to show off, and a casual and friendly tournament breaks out in the group. I even play a bit, though I’m usually behind the bar too much to be any good at games. It’s fun, and as we clear out, I can easily work my way back and forth from the bar to the table since I’ve done so much side work already, and people are slowing down on drinks now that the kitchen is closed and Ilene and Daniel are cleaning up back there.
After a bit, Olivia even plays a round, winning easily. “Take that, sucka,” she hollers to the guy she beat. While she waits for her next game, she comes over to the table where I’m perched, filling salt and pepper shakers. Another guy is helping out by wrapping silverware, telling us he used to be a waiter so he’s used to it and doesn’t mind a bit. The camaraderie is unexpected and sweet, and we get the front of the bar ready for tomorrow too as the games rage on.
Eventually, Bobby plays against a guy named Greg, and they’re both really good. Not trick shot good, but strong enough that it’s a close matchup.
“Were you stripes or solids again? I forgot,” Greg teases, knowing full well that Bobby is stripes and has one more ball on the table than he does.
“Keep talking, man. Fuck up your shot and give me an easy win,” Bobby retorts, but there’s no heat and everyone laughs.
I see Bobby in a new light, like he was on stage that first night, owning the crowd and them eating out of the palm of his hand. I like this side of him too, the charming guy everybody wants to be around. I especially like it because I know that after this game is over, they’ll leave and it’ll be just me and him again.
Greg doesn’t miss his shot, or the next one. But after he scratches on his third one, and Bobby takes the cue ball and lines up his shot. I watch him survey the table, planning out each one.
“You got this, Bobby,” I cheer, and the fiery look he shoots my way burns through me.
He comes over to stand beside me, hands on the pool cue and eyes on me. “Kiss for luck?”
It’s the first time he’s asked, usually more the type to take what he wants. I like it when he’s commanding, but this seems sweet and flirty. The kiss is over too fast, a quick press of his lips to mine before he returns to the table.
Quick as can be, he pockets one, then another, then another, and finally, the eight ball. Boom.
I clap, offering up a ‘woohoo’ that’s echoed by the rest of the group.
Greg and Bobby shake hands. “Good game, man,” Bobby tells him, a good sport.
“You too,” Greg replies in kind.
Bobby comes right back to me, crowding in between my knees this time. “Ready for my victory kiss,” he growls. There’s no question this time.
“What—”
I start to ask what he means since he just kissed me, but he takes advantage of my mouth being wide open by filling it with his tongue, kissing me thoroughly and deeply. The group offers up a round of ‘oohs’. I love that he doesn’t shy away from showing me affection. If he wants a kiss, he just kisses the hell out of me, right then and there, no matter who’s around or what’s going on. It’s refreshingly bold, and coupled with his bare-boned words, it leaves no doubt in my mind that he wants me.
He finishes the kiss with a sweet smack, smiling widely when he stands straight once again. When I can breathe freely again, I say, “Bar’s closed. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
Someone whines, “You didn’t say last call.”
“Yes, she did,” Bobby corrects. I actually did, but it doesn’t matter now. I can’t serve after two, and I want these people out as soon as possible so that it can be me and Bobby alone again.
The few stragglers gather up their things, leaving with waves and handshakes and promises to come hear Bobby sing next time he plays. Olivia locks the door behind them and we do a quick clean-up of the pool table area.
Ilene and Daniel show up asking if we’re ready. “Yeah,” Bobby answers for Olivia and me. I’m surprised, having figured we’d stay back like last night, but Bobby walks me out with my co-workers and to my car.