Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
GRAYSON
“Next time, I get to break,” Jamal says from my left as he attempts to get another solid into a corner pocket.
Watching how he’s placing his cue stick, I can tell he won’t make it in. Jamal pushes forward, and as I predicted, the ball bounces off the side and comes directly in front of the corner.
“If you think your sad attempt at trying to beat me is from me breaking, then by all means, you can do it in our next game.”
Jamal lets out a dramatic sigh, leaning against the table. “I’m bored.”
I rub my temples. “You only get bored when I’m winning, and you invited me here, not the other way around. So shut up and let me play.”
My friend looks at me, both brows raised, and scoffs. “Meow. What’s got your panties in a twist?”
Lining my stick with the solid red ball, I get it into a center pocket and line myself up to hit another. “It’s been a long week.” More like days filled with thoughts of a certain blonde.
I haven’t seen Emma and have no way to talk to her without getting caught.
I know where she lives and works, and I have her email, but the university is always watching it for anything suspicious or inappropriate.
I don’t plan on sending her a dick pic through email, but shit…
I’m not even allowed to ask to see her outside of class without it sounding suspicious.
What idiot forgets to ask for a girl’s number nowadays?
Jamal pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll get us a round of beers and shots.”
I shrug him off and straighten my back. “Dude, I could run into one of my students, and I would rather them not see me drinking. Besides, it’s only four in the afternoon.
” Jamal is my closest friend from this neck of the woods, and we’ve known each other since college.
He runs a restaurant in Poughkeepsie and is dating a grad student who goes to Driscoll.
She’s only two years older than Emma, but, unlike me, he isn’t a professor, so he won’t get any shit for dating someone who’s still in college.
His girlfriend’s also nice and has offered to set me up with some of her friends, only they’re students too. I just can’t seem to get away from them.
“You need to loosen up, Hayes,” he repeats Emma’s words to me. “You’re a young, successful, and good-looking guy who’s single and on the prowl.”
“Please don’t say on the prowl.” I give him a slight push, laughing and hitting another ball. “Just go get us some drinks.”
He points at me and walks backward. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
As soon as he leaves, I straighten up again then lean against the wooden beam behind me. My neck hurts like a bitch from grading all those papers last night.
That’s what I did on a Friday night. I graded papers, drank a glass of wine, and watched an action movie.
I scrub a hand down my face and groan. What has my life come to? I’m only thirty-one, and I’m already this boring? This lonely?
The thing I’m looking most forward to this weekend is the NYT Sunday crossword puzzle. How sad is that?
Jamal rounds the corner with our drinks, and I hold a finger up, moving to the jukebox in the corner.
This is one of the few spots where I can get away from the younger students.
The customers are usually grad students and townies.
The food is great, and the pool room with two dartboards is even better, offering a slight view of the bar and dining area.
Looking through the jukebox, I find a song that Jamal and I used to sing to in college that would bring out our inner child. It’s a feel-good song and something that could loosen me up.
That and the drinks.
“Life Is a Highway” by Rascal Flatts plays, and Jamal bumps his head, putting the tray of four tequila shots and two beers down.
“Man, it’s been years since I’ve heard this song.”
I nod, agreeing, and raise my shot to clink with his. “To letting loose,” I say before releasing a long breath.
“I’ll drink to that.”
We both down the clear liquid, and I cringe at the taste. “God, I forgot how disgusting that shit is.”
Jamal laughs and points to the salt and lime slices. “You also forgot how to do them properly.”
Riiight. Wow, I really did forget how to have fun.
My friend picks up the saltshaker, licks his hand, and pours some onto the spot, telling me to do the same. I follow his instructions, taking the shot like I did when I was nineteen years old.
Sucking on the lime, I shake my head. “Yeah, it still tastes like ass.”
“The song is coming to an end. Pick another one,” he tells me.
Heading to pick another song, I choose one that reminds me of our two and a half short college years. “Don’t” by Ed Sheeran plays, and I find Jamal spinning while drinking beer.
He’s going to throw up if he keeps doing that. Smiling, I take a step in his direction before a tall woman with black hair stops me.
“Hey, handsome. I was wondering if you and your friend want to join us for a game?” She points to the girl behind her, who looks to be about the same age as her friend.
Both look to be around my age, and they’re cute, although their smiles are a little creepy, but Jamal’s taken, and I’m just not fucking interested.
Emma and I may not be exclusive—at least, I don’t think we are—but until we have that conversation, I’m not touching another woman, and I don’t feel like doing so anyway.
I decide to be honest and straightforward. “You and your friend are very pretty, but my friend is taken, and I’m not interested. Thank you for asking, though.”
Giving her a polite smile, I try to sidestep her before she blocks me.
Fucking hell.
“Your friend’s girl doesn’t need to know, and come on…” She picks at the collar of my sweater. “You have to be interested in at least one of us.”
The sound of someone by the jukebox comes from behind me, and I mentally curse the woman for making me miss the song I chose for Jamal and me to dance to.
Letting out a deep breath to keep my composure, I repeat myself. “We’re good, thanks.”
She tries to intercept again, but this time, my patience is running thin as the alcohol reaches my head. I lift the woman by the waist, which makes her squeal, and I put her down in the spot where I was a second ago.
“Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” by ABBA plays as soon as I set her down and meet a pair of baby blue, narrowed eyes surrounded by golden hair.
I’m frozen to the spot as Emma gives the woman a dismissive look and raises an eyebrow at me before heading to the dining room while the song we danced to the night we met plays overhead.
The woman attempts to speak to me again, but I ignore her and follow Emma.
After a couple of steps, I stop when I see her sitting down with an older woman and a man across from her in the dining room.
She flashes them a wide smile, and although I can only see the back of their heads, the woman’s blonde hair matches Emma’s perfectly, making it clear that they’re either her parents or other family members.
I keep my head peeked around the corner, trying to catch her attention.
Her song choice ends, and another I haven’t heard in years plays. “Meet Me in the Bathroom” by The Strokes.
Jamal most definitely didn’t put this song on, he’s into mainstream pop. As the thought crosses my mind, Emma finally looks up from her menu, then at her dinner companions, and back to me. She mouths, After we finish.
She’s damn lucky I can read her lips and understand her message right away. After they finish eating, I should meet her in the bathroom, which just happens to be in the back room by the pool tables.
Smart girl. It isn’t something I would’ve thought of, and I forgot that queuing songs was possible with the jukebox.
Giving her the smirk I know drives her crazy, I mouth, Okay, and wink, but not before seeing her cheeks heat.
It’s been thirty minutes of drinking beers with Jamal and playing darts. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep him distracted, but the alcohol and songs I’m choosing seem to be doing the trick.
“Hey, I just hit the wall!” Jamal yells over the music. Looking up, I see a dart sitting next to the board rather than on it.
“All right, that’s enough beer.” I take the bottle out of his hand and move the tray of empty shots far, far away. He doesn’t have the tolerance he used to.
“Party pooper,” he spits in my face.
Jeez, he’s a lightweight, and that’s coming from someone who hasn’t done shots in years. I may be a bit tipsy, but the third shot and second beer must’ve done some serious damage if his eyes are any indication.
Thank fuck I skipped those extra drinks.
Jamal leans on my shoulder and puts all his weight on me, almost making me trip.
“Why don’t you stay here, and I’ll order some food and water to soak up those drinks?” I help him sit on a chair nearby.
“Oooo, get me some of those chicken tacos.”
“Will do.” Walking away, I head to the bar to place my order. As I pass the space between the game room and dining area, I spot Emma and her family standing. Our eyes meet for a moment before we both look away.
Fuck, I feel like I’m having an affair.
“Do you want some more drinks?” the bartender asks.
I shake my head. “I think we’ve had enough drinks.” He leans over the counter to look at Jamal and cringes. “Can I just get some food?”
Giving him my order, I see Emma’s family pass by me, but no Emma.
Shit, I need to hurry.
A small speck of blonde catches my attention, and in the midst of my order, I see Emma swiveling her hips as she reaches the jukebox.
She leans down, and my eyes go to her ass, which she’s sticking out by arching her back, and it is very much on purpose.
Every man in the pool room turns to her as her long hair hangs over one shoulder, her tight black leggings hugging her ass, as she taps her heeled foot.
Those damn fucking heels.
“Yeah, she’s hot,” the bartender says from beside me, and I feel my hands clench into fists.
“You got the order?” I ask shortly.
“Uh, yeah.” He notices the anger in my voice and takes a step back.