Lex looked pained, as if I’d just stabbed him straight in the heart. He took another stumbling step backwards, glancing down at his open palms, and searched my eyes with a glance.
“Now, Lex.”
“No,” he murmured. “We can fix this. I know you have feelings for me.”
“Lex.”
I let my face darken as I took a step towards him. “You’ve betrayed my trust. I just want you out of my apartment and out of my life.”
“Please, Riley,” he whispered.
I’d had enough of his bullshit.
“You haven’t listened to a fucking word I’ve said, have you, Alexander Lambert?” I jeered. “You’re trespassing now. Get out.”
He realized then that I wasn’t backing down, and his eyes narrowed at me. He didn’t even bother to cast out one last, pathetic please.
All I knew was that I wanted him gone. He could come back later, maybe, after I’d cooled down and had some time to take in all of this new information – about his past, about his reputation, about everything.
But for right now? He had to go. I needed some space and some time.
With one last, withered look – a look that boiled into relentless anger – Lex Lambert slammed the front door behind him, disappearing into the night.
Lex
When I stormed out of her apartment, I wasn’t thinking straight. All that I knew was that I needed to get out of that place and away from her.
The painful, vicious things she’d said.
The buried memories she’d drudged up.
I needed to blow some steam, and fast.
While wandering along the French Quarter, surrounded by bar upon bar, I gave some serious consideration to popping into any one of them and drinking myself into a blinding stupor.
Luckily, I was thinking clearly enough to recognize how fucking awful an idea that would be. I could imagine Jess’s furious face, screaming obscenities at me:
What if you’re caught on camera?
What if they drag you out to the street?
What if you hurt somebody?
Grow the fuck up, Lex!
With a low growl and an absent-minded wave of my wrist, I banished the apparition from my thoughts. Sure, Jess was going to be pissed – both as my best friend and my publicist – but I couldn’t help but require some time to simmer down.
That was, even if I did keep her fears in mind. After all, if she knew where I was and what I was doing at the time… I was aware that her perceived thoughts on the matter weren’t exactly incorrect.
My eyes scanned the windows of another bar as I passed by. This one, however, caught my eye. Two words: billiards tables.
I allowed myself a sliver of a smile.
Now… there’s a thought.
My heel turned, and I found myself strolling into the bar. The bouncer at the front, some fat fuck picking his teeth, let his jaw slacken as he spotted me.
“Whoa, partner,” he shook his head. “Not sure this is exactly your kind of place… whatcha want from in here?”
“Pool table,” I grunted.
“Lots of places in town with a pool table,” he observed, lifting his chin to stare me down his fat, pudgy nose. “Places more suited to a man of yer, uh, refined tastes…”
“Where’s the closest one?”
“Dunno.”
“Well, then,” I smiled, “that’s just too far.”
He shook his head lightly. “Suit yerself.”
I gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement as I passed into the bar. I could see why he had tried to steer me elsewhere. This was a bit of a rougher place: darker, grittier, and with an obvious change in clientele. Black leather and cut, plaid jackets dominated the scene… a scene in which I stood out like a sore thumb.
But I was already committed to the course.
A few pairs of eyes wound up on me as I passed through the entrance, and those eyes belonged to men who elbowed those to their side. Within moments, like a great wave of attention, half the bar was staring at me.
None of them seemed to be making trouble. No one stepped into my way or brushed against my shoulder; nobody called me out or shouted for me.
See? I thought to myself. These gentlemen know how to be civilized.
I stepped towards the bar, pushing a bar stool aside and falling into place near a great, slovenly man and his equally fat wife. Dressed in comically undersized cowboy/girl attire, they studied me carefully and gnawed on what was either gum or, more likely, chewing tobacco.
“Bourbon, neat,” I requested.
“Well?” The bartender tried to clarify.
“Yeah. Sure.”
A bigger, grizzlier guy himself, the bartender nodded once. He dropped a few cubes into a tumbler and poured some whiskey over it, and I handed him some cash.
“Yer change, sir.”
“Eh,” I closed an eye at him, quickly gritting my teeth in thought. “Keep it.”
He looked dumbfounded for a moment. I might have accidentally handed him a twenty instead of a ten, not that it was particularly any skin off of my back. After all, I was still getting used to American currency, even with the big numbers in the corners.
I downed the drink and requested another, being certain to tip him a little more appropriately. This one, I carried over to the only free pool table around.
Digging around in the pockets, I withdrew the lost pool balls and racked them all up. Buffing the tip of a cuestick with the chalk, I dusted my hands, then broke the pyramid and began to play myself.
My residual frustration with the events of the night was throwing me off my game, but I managed to keep the cue ball from flying off the table.
Still, my playing was substantially less than ideal, and I was starting to think that I was embarrassing myself.
I lost a game or two with other players before I really started to finally hit my stride. Guiding my anger into careful precision strikes, I began dominating the corner. My resolve strengthening with each turn, I continued proving to myself that I was the reigning alpha on more green fields than one.
An hour passed as I downed another two, maybe three drinks. My playing continued improving, surprisingly enough. I was starting to draw some attention from the other tables, and players began watching me instead of their opponents during their games.
I was keeping an eye on some of them, too, and this particular kid caught my focus. He was a really sloppy player, scattering the balls poorly and accidentally ricocheting the cue ball off the table on more than one occasion. Some of us started to chuckle at his ineptitude, although I noticed the passion in his eyes for the sport.
Give it a few years, kid, I thought to myself. With dedication like yours, you’ll get good at this…
The cue ball sailed off the table again.
…Eventually.
It was after that game finished that I noticed him handing bills to the other player, a look of dejection and defeat across his face. He’s gambling? Is he hoping Lady Luck will kiss his cheek?
My opponent bought me a drink after I won, and the kid crossed my path. By now, he’d played just about everyone near the pool tables, and I was the single contender left.
“Want a round?” He asked.
I studied him for a moment.
“Nah, kid. I’m good.”
“You sure?” He asked. “I’ll bet ya a hundred bucks.”
“Hundred dollars, eh?” I asked, sizing him up with different eyes. “That’s more than you’ve been giving the others…”
“Dad’s rich. I just enjoy playing with his money, even if I’m not too great at this,” he shrugged. “I think I’m starting to get a hang for it.”
“You want some pointers?” I asked.
“Much obliged… but I’m one of those ‘learn as I go’ types,” he smiled toothily and scratched the back of his head. “I’ve gotta let my body figure it all out by itself, and then I just do whatever winds up working.”