“Damn, Wes,” Connor said. “I haven’t seen you scratch like that since summer camp, eighth-grade.”
“Fuck off,” I muttered under my breath, and pulled another of our balls onto the table.
“It was my fault,” Autumn said. “My dad taught us to keep quiet while an opponent is taking a shot.” She smiled beautifully at me. Genuinely. “Forgive me?
Yes. Anything. Always.
Jesus fucking Christ, this girl had me wrapped around her goddamn pinky.
“I
t’s fine,” I muttered like an idiot and took a long pull off my beer.
“You two have known each other since eighth grade?” Autumn asked.
“Since middle school,” Connor said, studying the table.
“Oh that’s right. You told me in the library. And now you’re in college together. That’s sweet.”
“Hear that, Turner?” Connor bent over the table, his eyes intent on his shot. “The first and last time someone’s going to use the word sweet to describe you. Including your own mother.”
“Your mother called me sweet last night, Drake.”
“Boom.” Decker gave me a no-look fist bump.
“That hurts, my friend,” Connor said, taking aim over his stick. “Hurts so bad I might miss this shot…”
His stick lanced out, hit the ball with a crack that sent the eight ball streaking into a corner pocket. Game over.
He held out his hands, grinning triumphantly. “Or maybe not.”
Decker mumbled a curse. I didn’t give a shit about losing the game, except that now I had to watch Connor celebrate the victory with Autumn.
His palm slapped hers in a high five, and with another Signature Drake Move, he held onto her hand and pulled her in for a bear hug. There was nothing sexual about it—he put her down immediately and backed off—except I knew he was getting in as many platonic, friendly touches as possible.
I wouldn’t touch you so quickly, I thought. I’d wait. Draw it out. Build up the moment so that when it happens—when each of us feels the other’s skin for the first time—it’ll be something sublime. Something earned.
I took another long pull off my beer as if I could drown the frustration and mystery that was my infatuation with this girl. One library conversation, one round of pool, a few smiles and now she was lodged in my psyche and wouldn’t let go. Except that I felt like I knew more of her than that; a strange recognition or déjà vu that didn’t fucking make any sense.
Fuck this shit.
I slammed my empty bottle onto the bar, fished some money out of my pocket, and gave it to Decker for more alcohol.
“This round’s on me, for the scratch. Go.”
He smirked. “Sir, yes, sir.”
I went back to darts while Connor and Autumn racked up the pool balls again. Ruby and a few others joined them, and I tried to tune out the laughter and easy talk.
My foul mood made me a better dart player, and winning always made things better. Over the next twenty minutes, I beat my next two opponents easily; earning back the money I’d given Matt, and enough to come back to Yancy’s next weekend. My opponents skulked away and I shot solo.
I took aim, fired, hit the twenty.
“How did you get so good?” came Autumn’s soft voice from behind me.
I froze, another dart poised by my ear, and my eyes slowly swiveled over to her. She blinked back over the rim of her pint, her face flushed.
“I pretend the dartboard is the face of my enemy,” I said.