His friends howled and she wriggled uncomfortably against the table. My fingers wrapped around the cue stick, my knuckles turning white. My shoulders bunched underneath my jacket, the jacket I wanted to take off and throw at her just to make sure she was warm enough to stay outside. Or maybe I should’ve wanted her to go back inside so I could finish the game of pool without thinking about pressing my own body to hers against the table. As unreasonable as it was, seeing him act that way with her was making my anger worse.
Much worse.
August lifted the cue ball and cocked a grin at her, his stained and yellowed teeth from all the cigarettes he smoked more noticeable against the white ball in his hand. “Blow. It’s for luck, Ro.”
“Oh.” The reluctance was heavy in her eyes that strayed to me as she blew on the ball. August set it down on the table and leaned into her body more, directing her to bend in a certain way that made his friends laugh from the sidelines as he fit a cue stick in her hand. Rose flashed them a violent look, and I smiled to myself as they all silenced.
What a little viper.
The rational side of me told me to stop being territorial over what wasn’t mine, but the irrational part justified she wasn’t August’s either. He’d string her along for the ride, as he had been doing for way too fucking long, but he’d never settle, not even if she did thinkthey were the best of friends. He was no friend of hers, and most likely never had the intention of being her friend. He just liked the way she gave in to him.
Maybe it was time to change that.
She awkwardly clutched the stick but still managed to break the rack of balls and send a few into the awaiting slots.
“Good shot.” I nodded at her, and she smiled back.
Yeah, he definitely can’t have her.
Chapter 6
Rose
“No one regards what is before his feet; we all gaze at the stars.” ? Quintus Ennius
“Do you want Rose to blow on your balls, too?” August’s laughter died almost as quickly as it started when he looked at Briggs. The size in muscle mass alone was enough to make a shiver run down my spine as I looked at the clear bicep bulgehis leather jacket failed to conceal. Briggs didn’t seem amused by August’s remark like all his friends were.
Not in the slightest.
“No,” he finally growled, sending another shiver through me.
August cleared his throat and pulled at the fabric of his ridiculous tropical button-up beneath his jacket. “Rose, can you get me a refill?” His voice squeaked on the last word and I stifled the nervous laugh that threatened to erupt from my throat.
“Aren’tyousupposed to be the one to gethera refill?“ Briggs shot back as he took his turn. For once, I was happy the music inside had become so loud you could barely hear someone, say, from across a pool table. August just shrugged it off and readied his stick, ignoring his nearly empty glass. Normally, I’d be okay with doing things like that for him. In some twisted way, it made me feel seen by him. But Briggs was right about August’s misstep in chivalry, and my empty glass was still being just as ignored as Briggs’ comment was. I pulled my hand back from his cup.
I believed every girl put up with crap like this in the beginning. Except it wasn’t the beginning of August and I’s relationship. We’d been friends for so long, I hadn’t noticed any cracks in the foundation. Maybe that was ignorance, or maybe I was just a really good friend.
The rest of their pool game was eerily quiet, the only noise coming from August as he huffed out in frustration whenever he missed or every time Briggs got a ball into one of the holes. Which happened more times than I could keep track of.
Right before what I assumed would've been a winning shot by Briggs took place, August threw his stick on the floor and downed the last sip of beer from his glass. When he turned and walked away, grumbling something about a thrown game, his friends followed behind him with their empty glasses, leaving Briggs and me alone. My attention snapped over to Briggs when I heard a stick crack against a ball, and I watched as the ball bounced off three different places before hitting the other ball he intended to hit, sending it straight into a hole for the winning shot August didn’t care to be there for.
“Impressive.” Like everything else about him seemed to be.
Briggs smirked as he put the stick down on the table with a level of control that made August appear more toddler than man when he stormed off and I giggled a little at the differences.
His brows pinched together. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s just…” I motioned my arm around the table, then flung it back down at my side, unable to explain exactly what had set off my laughter without saying something rude about my best friend. “Never mind.”
Briggs put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the edge of the table with so much confidence that it was hard to picture him as the same guy I sat behind in high school. He was so different back then. “Did you learn anything?”
“Hmm?”
His smile flashed brightly in the dark. “Pool. Did you understand what was happening?”
“You hit the balls with the stick and aim for the holes, right?”
He nodded. “Essentially. There are some rules, but they kept it simple because they knew it would go hand-in-hand with drinking. Hard to follow a lot of rules when you’re drunk.”
