Chapter 5
Bailey
I bent over the pool table in the student rec center and lined up the perfect shot. Then I adjusted my hold, making it a little loose and sloppy. Tilted the cue tip up just the tiniest bit so that it wouldn’t make good contact and jerked my arm forward.
The ball lurched drunkenly over the felt and missed the corner pocket by a wide margin.
I grinned, satisfied, as the two fratholes seated behind me talked shit.
“Do you try to fuck your mother with that shaky pole?” one asked with a raspy laugh.
“Sad when a dude can’t get it in the hole,” his friend agreed.
I smirked to myself. This was going to be easy. Half turning, I said, “Put your money where your mouth is if you think I’m so bad.”
Frathole 1 snorted. “That’d be like taking candy from a baby.”
I circled the table and lined up another terrible shot. The two fratholes went back to their conversation. That was okay. Patience was part of the game.
“Goddamn, it pisses me off that Christian won again last week,” Frathole 1 said. “I swear I had him, but he’s always got this last boost of speed.”
“He’s not a better driver,” Frathole 2 said. “He’s just rich. You know he’s got unlimited funds to soup up his car.”
“I just need to get my hands on more of those cheap parts Jace told me about. If I could add a cold air intake and a nitrous oxide injection system…”
I lined up my next shot while he rambled on about mods to improve his car’s power and handling. Dude probably wouldn’t know where to start with installing half those parts, and cheap parts? That was a red flag too.
But not my problem.
In fact, it all worked to my advantage tonight.
I missed another shot. The frat bros jeered, eager to aim their frustration somewhere else.
I half turned, ready to make my move, when Seb came over. Damn. He was supposed to be at one of those terrible frat parties.
“Dude, that shot was awful,” he said loudly as he arrived. “I thought you were better at this.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “It’s taken a lot of effort to play this badly.”
I wasn’t even lying. Ensuring I missed every shot—but made it look believable—when my muscle memory and experience wanted to do the opposite? Not easy.
Seb laughed. “The party was a bust. I was gonna grab a pizza and go wallow in the room. You wanna come?”
I hesitated, glancing over at the fratholes. I lowered my voice. “Can you play along with me? Just say you have no money and refuse to play me for it.”
“Huh?”
“Just do it,” I murmured before raising my voice.
“I can’t buy the pizza, man,” I said. “I know I owe you already, but this twenty-five bucks has to last me all week.”
“Okay…” Seb wasn’t playing the part of angry friend very well. I raised my eyebrows, and he tacked on, “Well, that’s a dick move.”
“I could play you for it,” I suggested.
“You want to play me for money you already owe me? That’s bullshit. Even if I win, it would be my money. Thanks, but no thanks.”
I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Good. Stalk off in a huff.”
Seb’s forehead creased. He didn’t get what this whole production was about yet. But like a good friend, he followed my lead anyway. He spun on his heel and stomped over to a collection of squashy armchairs by the window.
One of the fratholes came over. “You really are a sad sack, huh?”
“Something like that,” I muttered. “What’s it to you? I asked you to play me. If you had, I might have had the money for him.”
He scoffed. “Or you’d be even deeper in the hole.”
“My luck has to change sometime.”
He laughed and slapped my back. “Goddamn, you’re a glutton for punishment.” He looked over at Frathole 2. “What do you think, man? Should we take him up on it?”
“We could use a few bucks for those parts,” Frathole 2 agreed.
Frathole 1 turned back to me, giving me the smarmy smile of the smugly confident everywhere. “I’ll play, but put your cash on the table. I’m not playing for any IOUs.”
I pulled out two twenties and laid them on the edge of the pool table. “Here.”
He considered the bills. “That won’t pay for much, will it?”
“It’s all I’ve got.” I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t decide it wasn’t worth the trouble. If he did, this would all be for nothing.
“It’s easy money, Owen,” Frathole 2 said. “Just play him already so we can move on.”
Owen checked his pockets. “No cash.”
“Are you kidding me?” I grumbled.
He turned to his friend. “You know where an ATM is?”
“All the way across campus. Fuck it.” Frathole 2 dug through his wallet and came up with two twenties. “You can pay me back after you win.”
Pool hustling was a dance. Often, I let guys win the first game—let them see how easy and unremarkable I was, then begged for a chance to win my money back—but not tonight. They thought I was crap, and all the cash I had was on the table.
Time to go in for the kill.
Besides, these guys had been assholes all night.
They’d been rudely judging every girl who walked by, keeping some disgusting rating system, and trash-talking me.
Fortunately, I didn’t give a shit what they thought.
In fact, I wanted them to notice me, to assume I was an idiot, and to take the bait.
It would be nice to take them down a peg or two.
“You can rack them up,” Owen told me. “Want you to have at least one shot at getting a ball in the pocket.”
“What a good sport you are.” I collected the balls and arranged them in a pyramid shape inside the rack. Then I grabbed the chalk and twisted it over my pool cue tip.
I removed the rack, lined up my shot, and broke.
Three striped balls went into pockets.
“What the—” Owen said, startled.
“Lucky break,” I said with a grin.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said darkly.
“Oh, I will.” I moved around the table, sizing up which shot would be the easiest to make. This was going to be fun.
“Eleven in the left corner pocket.” I steadied my bridge hand, held the pool cue level, and let muscle memory take over.
I’d spent months perfecting each individual shot. I’d set up every shot scenario I could think of and drilled those shots until I hit them with near-perfect accuracy.
The bank shot hit the side of the table across from me, rebounded toward the left corner, and knocked in the ball with the red stripe. The eleven that I’d called.
“Motherfucker,” Owen growled under his breath.
I had to make this fast. Before Owen got smart and called off the bet. I systematically sank shots one after the other until only the eight ball was left.
Luckily, the guys were too stunned to make a run for it.
They watched the massacre playing out, unable to look away.
Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones.
We’d gained a small crowd. This was a crappy way to keep my pool skills on the down-low.
I should have worked the table slowly, let Owen think he was going to win, then pulled the rug out from under him.
I’d let my desire to show up these guys get the better of me. I wouldn’t be hustling anyone on campus after this.
Well, whatever. There were always other places to play pool. Not like college kids had a lot of cash on them most days, anyway.
I sank the last shot and picked up the bills.
“You asshole,” Owen snarled. “That wasn’t a fair bet.”
I stuffed the bills into my back pocket. “You bet on me being bad at pool. You were wrong. You lost.”
He glowered. “You played me.”
I smirked. “Like a fiddle.”
He took a threatening step forward, but there were too many people watching for him to take a swing. Owen wasn’t the first guy I’d enraged over a pool table. That was half the fun for me.
So many people underestimated me. They saw me as young and na?ve. Poor. Powerless.
But I was only one of those things, and wiping the floor with them was the quickest way to prove it.
I saw it in Owen’s eyes, right alongside the fury. I’d humiliated him, taken his money, and done it with style. Hard not to respect that, even when you’re at its mercy.
Seb pushed through the crowd. “Dude, that was amazing. How did you get so damn good at pool?”
I shrugged. “Lots of practice. My brothers and I hang out at a pool hall close to our house. Well, we used to, anyway.”
Before they’d started coupling up—before Gray returned home—Axel and I had gone over there damn near every night of the week.
The regulars quickly learned not to lay any bets against me in pool, but they got a kick out of watching me school newcomers.
I’d won my first game at thirteen, and I’d been hooked ever since.
“Shit, man,” Seb said. “That was awesome. But did you see those guys’ faces? I’d watch your back.”
I laughed. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
Seb and I went to the pizza kiosk and ordered two pies—Owen’s treat—then headed out to Sebastian’s car.
“I don’t know why you drive on campus,” I said. “It’s faster to walk.”
“I went downtown and bought a bunch of junk food to wallow properly,” he said as he opened the trunk of his black Mazda Miata. Grocery sacks filled the entire space, bulging with bags of chips, cupcakes, and soda.
“Oh, dude,” I said. “This isn’t healthy.”
He shrugged. “Gotta keep up this fine figure somehow.” He traced his hands along his body as if he had a sexy silhouette and waggled his eyebrows. “Frankly, I don’t know how you keep your hands off me.”
“It’s a daily struggle,” I said dryly as I set the pizza in the trunk.
Seb shut the trunk, laughing, and I started around to the passenger side.
Frathole 2 loomed out of the darkness, a bat in his hands. I jerked back, slamming into the side of the car.
He swung the bat into the passenger window beside my head with a crack, making me flinch. “You made us look like jackasses in there.”
“Sorry? You kind of made it easy.” He lifted the bat as if he’d swing it at my head this time. “Sorry, man! It was forty bucks. Chill.”
A thump and scuffle behind us reminded me that there were two assholes pissed at me. I spun to see Seb bent over the trunk of his car, Owen pinning him in place.
Shit.
“Give us our money,” Owen said when my eyes met his. “All eighty bucks.”
“Eighty? You only lost forty.”
“Pain and suffering costs extra.” He smirked. “Right, Petie?”
“That’s right. You owe me interest since I loaned Owen that cash. All eighty.”
I hesitated. “I already spent most of it. On pizza. You saw me do it.”
Petie clucked and moved to the front of Seb’s car. He lifted the bat over his shoulder. “That’s a shame. You know, I used to play baseball in high school. Should I go for a grand slam?”
Seb whimpered. “My car…”
“Wait!” I rushed toward the front grill and the seriously hacked-off man with a bat. “Don’t hurt the car!”
He gave me a look like I was crazy as I stepped between him and the headlight he’d been aiming for. I saw the thought cross his mind to hit me instead. Luckily for me, he was pissed, not homicidal.
I held up my hands. “I can make it up to you guys another way. Work off that eighty bucks.”
“I don’t believe in IOUs. Step aside before I break your fucking kneecap.”
“Not an IOU!” I said quickly. “You guys are into street racing, right? I heard you talking about mods for your cars.”
“So the fuck what?” he said.
“So I’m a mechanic. I can give you free labor.”
He scoffed. “We’re supposed to fall for another one of your cons?”
“It’s not a con! I can install that cold-air intake or nitrous injection system for you. That’s worth more than eighty bucks, right? You’ll be making out like bandits.”
“Why should we believe you?”
Well, that was the drawback of playing a couple of guys for fools. I didn’t know what the hell to say to convince them.
Behind me, Seb called out, “It’s true. His brothers run an auto shop.”
“Keep talking,” Owen said.
“Bailey was their best mechanic,” he said. “He’s a mechanical engineering major, man. He can back up what he’s saying.”
“He lied before,” Petie said.
“Yeah, to convince you he wasn’t worth shit,” Seb said, eyes bright with loyalty. “Obviously, he’s a badass with skills.”
Owen and Petie exchanged a look. I knew beating the shit out of this car would soothe their aggravation more than some free labor. I was just banking on their desire to win even more.
“Don’t you want to show that rich douche Christian who’s the better driver?” I said. “I can help you do that.”
“Fine,” Owen said, releasing Seb and backing up a step. “It’s a deal. But if you even think of fucking with us—”
“I know, I know. I’ll fucking find out.”
He smiled grimly. “You sure as hell will. And it won’t just be your car taking the beating next time.”
“I got it,” I said. “How do you want to do this?”
He held out his hand. “Give me your phone. I’ll text you the address where you can meet us. If you ditch us, we’ll be back. We got your buddy’s plate number now. You can’t ghost us.”
I nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Truth was, I didn’t even want to ghost them. Owen and Petie were assholes and sore losers, but they also had the one thing that I’d been craving ever since I left home—other than Flynn, that is.
Cars that needed me. Finally, I could get my hands dirty without driving all the way home.
And without my brothers looking over my shoulder, suggesting that I should go relax or study or hang out with friends—anything but the one thing that brought me the most satisfaction.
Finding a problem. Working it out.
And solving it with my own two hands.