"Three dollars."
As I'm handing her the three dollars plus tip, I feel someone slide up to the bar on my left. A quick assessment tells me it's not Rhett unless he's aged two decades and smells like a distillery. I'm about to grab my drink and walk away, when the guy's finger pokes my shoulder. His touch makes my beer slosh onto the floor, and I'm already annoyed before he speaks.
"Hey, pretty lady, I haven't seen you here before."
Drunk old guy. He always finds me. His eyes are squinty, his breath rank and his hope springs eternal.
"What are you drinking there?" He peers into my glass, like he can't tell it's a beer. "And can I buy you another?"
"Nope, I'm good." I scan the room to locate Rhett before this guy can engage me in a conversation.
He attempts to lean back against the bar and slips a little before he catches himself. I pretend not to notice because any attention I give him, good or bad, will be perceived as interest.
"Your hair is the color of an angel's," he slurs.
The bartender reappears behind him. "Why don't I call you an Uber, Frank?"
I turn around and gape at her. "You have Uber out here?"
"Well, there’s just one driver, Karl Whitman in his Chevy, but he's real reliable," she says.
"No need." Frank opens his eyes wider, as if he's going to convince us he's sober. "I'm going to finish this drink before I hit the road. I'll be fine."
His last word is accompanied by a burp that he doesn't acknowledge. The bartender and I roll our eyes at each other.
Frank addresses my chest like there are eyes on my nipples. "You're so lovely and ripe, like a delicious strawberry."
"I made a pact with an old crone in the forest." I pause to sip my beer, and Frank is hanging on my every word. "She gifted me with great beauty, but I have to bring her the severed heads of men if I want to stay young forever."
Frank squints at me for several seconds then smiles, like he's in on the joke.
"You're funny."
"You stay classy, Frank," I say over my shoulder as I wade into the sea of pub tables.
I don't find Rhett right away, but I do spot three pool tables at the back of the room. Suddenly, I don't hate Ricky's quite so much. A few years ago, my friend Cara made me take pool lessons with her so she could meet guys. I thought it was a stupid idea, but she ended up marrying our instructor, and I got ridiculously good at pool. I finally found a sport that I excelled at, especially after a beer or two.
I cruise around the room with my drink in hand and right when I'm about to give up, I locate Rhett and some of his friends sitting at one of the tall tables. He doesn't see me until I tap him on the shoulder, and a smile of recognition flashes across his face.
"Hey, you made it!"
"I'm kind of amazed I did." He raises his eyebrows, trying to guess my meaning. "This place is a hidden gem. I almost drove right by it."
Rhett and his friends laugh.
"There aren't too many people here who didn't grow up in this town or somewhere nearby," Rhett says. "Ricky's is an institution. He doesn't even need that sad sign outside."
Rhett introduces me to his friends, two girls and one guy. They all seem friendly and exude the same fresh-faced, youthful spirit as Rhett. Seth was right, he is young. They all are. How young is the question. Not that it matters because I was being honest when I said I didn't intend to hook up with Rhett. Of course, I didn't plan to kiss Dan, either.
"Do you want to play some pool?" he asks. "The tables are full right now, but I can put some coins down."
I follow his eyes to the pool area, which is indeed crowded, and my eyes zoom in on a muscular six-foot-three frame. Seth is bent over, aiming a ball toward the corner pocket. He's concentrating hard, his body still and his eyes fixed. He slides the pool stick firmly between his tented fingers and makes solid contact with the ball. I imagine that I hear the thud from across the room, but it's unlikely with all the voices and music drowning my ears. A slow smile slides over his face as the ball sinks out of sight. Suddenly, my mouth is dustbowl dry, and I need to take a long gulp of my beer.
I know I should look away and pretend I don't see him, but I can't, and when Seth straightens up, our eyes meet. I flush and turn away, wondering what the hell is going on. Seth knew I'd be here, and he made sure he was, too. He's spying on me.
* * *
Rhettand his friends carry the conversation, and I do my best to focus on what they're saying about the politics of organic farming. It's not a topic I know or care about though, and my mind keeps wandering back to the pool table area. Even though I can't see him at the moment, Seth's presence looms large in my mind, which is both distracting and irritating.
