“Nope!” Owen replies brightly, grinning at me. “When I’m too weak to go to class, I study Romanian. I’m getting pretty good at it, actually.” He slides off his barstool. “I’ll go get us some rooms.”
I steal his barstool to sit closer to Bennett and Piers. “He seems to be doing better.”
“He’s happier,” Bennett agrees.
“Getting strong again, too,” Piers reminds him. “Throttled me in PW the other day.”
“Swords just aren’t your weapon.” Bennett grins.
I snort into my beer. “Neither is the staff.”
I smile as they start bickering as Owen walks up again. “Florin said they only have one room left, so I just booked that one for tonight. Guess we’ll have to share a bed.” He hops onto the stool I just vacated and snatches his beer from in front of me.
“We were gonna play a game of pool, but we didn’t want to start until we had even teams,” Piers says, giving me a meaningful look as he passes me a beer.
I grin at him. “I’m down to beat your ass in pool.”
“Well, then you should prepare to be disappointed, because I’m amazing at pool.” He pulls some coins from his pocket as he heads toward the pool table, which is luckily empty for once. Everyone seems to be occupied with the reports of the blizzard blasting from the TV.
“I’m on Avery’s team,” Owen announces, grabbing my elbow.
Bennett raises his eyebrows. “Guess I’m with Piers, then.” He heads toward the pool table, and Owen turns to me, grinning.
“I’m way better than Piers at pool,” he confides in me. “We’ll beat them for sure.”
Piers puts some coins into the pool table, and as we walk up, the balls come rolling out. He racks them up, making a big show of knowing which ones fit where.
“Eight-ball sound good to you?”
“Sounds great,” I reply, scrutinizing the bar’s pool sticks. I take one that seems to be in good shape.
“We’ll let them break,” Piers tells Bennett, who nods. I glance at Owen.
“By all means,” he says, gesturing to the table.
I grab the little square of chalk off the side of the table and rub it onto the top of my pool stick before grabbing the cue ball and lining it up. I feel my competitive edge kick in as I lean over the table. That’s really an understatement. Every bone in my body is steeped in competition. I don’t need an edge to wake it up.
I glance up at Piers. Already, I know he’s going to be the type to try to distract me right before my stick hits the ball. I draw my stick smoothly back, aim, and—
“BAH!” Piers yells, stomping his foot near me. I grin as my stick hits the cue ball perfectly. I was right about him.
The cue ball smacks into the little triangle he’s set up, sending them flying in all directions. A solid-color ball drops into the corner pocket.
“Looks like we’re solids,” I tell Owen, and he holds up his hand for a high-five. I eye the table. “Two-ball, left side pocket.”
“Sure,” Piers grumbles as I line up my shot.
He tries to scare me again, but I sink the ball and call my next shot, which I miss. Bennett moves to take his turn, but Piers jumps in front of him and Bennett steps back with a grin. He sidles up next to me instead.
“Piers gets competitive,” he says apologetically.
“Thirteen-ball, right corner pocket!” Piers cries from the table, aiming his pool stick.
“You don’t say,” I say with a grin as the ball ricochets off the side of the table, coming to land nowhere near any pockets.
Owen’s as good as he says he is. He sinks two balls in a row before it’s Bennett’s turn. Bennett, to his credit, gets one ball in.
“Only three solids left,” I say to Piers as he watches grumpily from the sidelines. “Then I get to go for the eight-ball.”