23. Noah
Noah
Iwish Charlie would stop checking her phone for five minutes.
She’s slouched on the couch, hair falling over one eye, legs curled under her, nursing her fourth White Claw like it’s oxygen. Every time that damn phone vibrates against the cushion, it’s like someone’s jamming a funnel down my throat and pouring bleach straight into my stomach.
She doesn’t even notice what it does to me.
When she types a message, her face flushes red, her jaw tightens, and that vein in her neck pulses. Her chest rises and falls a little faster, and her thumbs fly over the screen like she’s stabbing it. Whoever’s on the other end is pissing her off.
And I have one good guess who it is.
Brady, Brian, Brody or whatever the fuck his name is.
I shake off the thought and refocus on the pool table like that’s going to help. Omen lines up his shot, tongue out, grinning. He hits the cue ball, and it smacks into the purple one, sending it rolling clean into a pocket.
“Yes!” he shouts, pumping a fist.
I wish I could care. The cue stick feels heavy in my hands, like I’m holding a crowbar instead of a stick of wood. I grab the chalk, rub it on the tip even though I already did, pretending I’m focused, pretending my pulse isn’t beating through my teeth.
Her phone lights up again. She picks it up instantly.
Charlie flips it upside down on the couch and exhales sharply, chugging the rest of her drink. It has to be him.
I’m not the jealous type. I’ve never been. I could hook up with a girl backstage and not remember her name by the time I got off stage. I didn’t care who she belonged to or what her boyfriend looked like. That stuff never got to me.
But with Charlie, it’s different. It’s like something’s clawing under my skin, whispering she’s gonna break my heart, but I don't have a choice other than to endure it. This is why I flake and don’t text her, because it’s there. I know I’m feeling something for her.
“Hell yeah!” Omen takes his beer, dipping it back, winning the game. I had one ball left too, and I’m usually competitive, but I’m not feeling it. “Wanna go again?” he asks.
“Yeah, can you rack the balls real quick?”
Omen salutes me, pulling out all the balls from the table, setting up a new game. I lean the cue against the wall and plop onto the couch next to Charlie. She’s running her fingers down the condensation on the can, her eyes fixed on the stream of droplets sliding down the metal.
“Hey, you could come play with us. We can grab Tony or Vince and team up.” I lean into her shoulder, but she only gives me a brittle smile. Her eyelids appear heavy, as if something is draining the life out of her.
“I’m okay with watching,” she half shrugs one of her shoulders.
“What are you doing sitting here all glum? You were fine at the movies. Did something happen?”
“It’s nothing,” she shakes her head, but instantly curls her lip under her front teeth and doesn’t hesitate to take another swig.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m fine... I’m going to grab another one.
” She rattles her empty can and stands up, but before she can take two steps forward, I grasp the tips of her fingers.
The fading memory of those hot pink nails around my dick lingers, and my head is spinning that I’m going to be left with a haunting memory she’ll disappear.
Just like every other person I fucking gave a shit about.
“Is this about the other night...”
“No, I just want another drink.”
“Slow down. It’s barely been an hour, and you’re going downtown on those things. I’m not going to let you drive home if you keep it up.”
“It’s okay.” She tugs, but my grip tightens a bit, and she has to turn on her heel as I tug her in between my legs and rest my forehead against her belly.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, absorbing the strawberry fragrance on her warm skin. She runs a hand through her hair, combing it behind her head.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she says, and every part of me turns into a pathetic puddle as she snatches the phone from the couch and walks down the dull hallway to the bathroom. The door clicked behind her as it shut.
“Hey, break the run.” Omen comes over with my cue stick.
I press a hand on my knee and stand up, hitting all the balls with one solid smack.
I land on stripes again as one of them slides into a center pocket.
I manage to knock two others in before I mess up, letting Omen do geometry in his head as he’s The GOAT whenever it comes to playing a game of pool.
The balls click and clack into pockets like nothing.
Thuds fill the air, and I haven’t heard the toilet flush or seen Charlie come out of the bathroom.
It’s just the dull orange light underneath the door.
I’m hoping she’s taking a dump and panicking because she’s out of Frebreze. Or that there isn’t any toilet paper left besides a skimpy piece left on the paper tube. The silence is deafening, and each second is another round of bullets hitting me in the chest.
Omen smacks a few balls in before signaling me with his head to go.
I pace around the table checking out the positions of my balls, groaning because his balls are too close to mine, and I’m bound to knock one of his into one of the pockets.
I line up my shot, the crack filling the room as I only manage to break up my balls from his.
“She’s been in there awhile,” Omen says as he chalks up his cue and he wipes off the blue residue on his pants.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’s texting her ex.”
Omen lines up his shot, but once he hits his desired ball, it bounces off the wall, knocking into mine with enough strength to pocket one of mine. “Oh fuck me...” He tilts his head back, and it’s my turn now. “I mean, you don’t plan on getting serious with her do you?”
“I’m not sure what I want.”
“You’re shitting me. Are you actually considering it?”
“Her ex cheated on her, and I don’t want to be some rebound, not to mention she thinks every guy just wants to sleep with her.
I’m the idiot who is trying to prove it’s not all I want.
I swear she just teases and taunts me to get me to cave in.
What if I do sleep with her? Then she might just throw it in my face and tell me I used her.
This is insane, and I feel fucking something. ”
“Dude, you have it bad.”
I stroll around the pool table, using my cue as a walking stick until I find a ball worthy of my attention.
“I told myself not to catch feelings, but they’re creeping up on me.”
“I’d rather you fuck five groupies at once than jump into the love bullshit.”
There’s that word. I don’t use it. I don’t breathe it.
I won't even look up the definition. The remark caused me to hit the white ball too hard, knocking it off the table. Damn it, I scratched it. I can’t breathe as I lean against the wall, snatching the chalk going downtown on my cue.
Might as well face it. She’s been cheering since she’s had baby teeth.
She’s a good girl. And good girls like her don’t fall for guys like me.
I kind of wish she would though and that thought scares me too.
“I really like her.”
Omen places the cue under his chin, staring at me with dark eyes. “Shit dude. No.”
“She’ll come out. Just give her a few minutes.”
“It’s been thirty. I’ll go talk to her.” Omen leans his cue against the wall and walks off.