17
Ryan
Jamie and I go downstairs into the bar. He decided very democratically this evening that I had to come along, too. I don’t really mind being with the guys, and it’s about time I started to bond with the rest of the team – especially with the coach, who’s decided to take my side. I know some of them already, the veterans, the ones who started at the same time as me, but most of the guys are young, fresh from the first division. I still haven’t found a way of getting completely involved in the team yet.
We order two beers at the bar then head over to the snooker table, where John and Scott are arguing about who knows their way better around a cue.
I shake my head and sit myself down on one of the stools.
“No way, O’Connor,” Jamie says right away. “You’re not getting out of it that easily.”
“I don’t want to play.”
“You afraid of my stick?” Scott asks, waving the cue at me.
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to handle losing.”
“I could beat you at anything, O’Connor.”
“Sounds like a challenge.” I get off my stool.
“You’re just a little boy,” he says, provoking me. “I could snap you in half with my left hand.”
“Go on, then,” I step closer to him.
“So you can run crying back to your big brother?”
“You piece of—”
“Oh, come on!” Jamie steps between us. “Less chat, more play. Beat each other on the field – or, in this case, on the table. Doubles. Me and you against John and Scott.”
“Mmmm…”
“Let’s show him how it’s done.”
I put my beer down on the side of the table, while Jamie hands me a cue.
He has no idea what he’s up against. Me and my brothers have been playing snooker since we were tall enough to see over the table. He’s got no chance.
We play three matches. They win the first one, but only because Jamie and I wanted to see them gloat before we destroyed them. And in the next two, we do destroy them, much to Scott’s irritation, who can’t stand losing, on the field or away from it.
I walk away to get another beer, with Scott still talking behind me about how he’ll break my leg. I sit right at the bar – sure, I’m here to bond with the guys, but I also need a moment to myself.
I take a few sips, eating handfuls of cashews, when a hand appears in the bowl. I jerk around to see two red lips smiling at me.
“I saw you,” she says, nodding towards the snooker table. “You’re good,” she continues, slipping two cashews into her mouth.
I roll my eyes and turn around to stare at the bar.
“Would you mind teaching me?”
“Mmm?” I look over at her.
“You could teach me how to handle a stick.”
“I’m sure you already know full well how to handle one,” I comment, irritated.
She laughs, unfazed.
