“No,” Brent responds and rests his hand at my lower back. “She’s not bothering me at all, not in any way I don’t like.”
“Is that right?” I ask, brows lifted.
“It sure is.” His hand drifts south, cupping my ass.
“Well then…” I flirt a bit, bumping his knee with my palm. “I need to get back to work and take care of my last customers. Are you going to stick around?”
“Yeah, if it’s okay. I’ll just wait for you here.”
“I’m okay with that.” I turn my attention to Carl. “Be nice to my boyfriend.”
Carl shifts his eyes back and forth between Brent and me. “I didn’t know you two were dating.”
“Well, now, you do,” Brent replies. Then, he kisses me brazenly on the cheek to emphasize the point. “Go on. I’ll be here.”
“Okay. It’ll only be another half hour or so.”
“Not a problem.”
Leaving his side, I enter the dining room to check on my tables again. I clear the plates for one and then get the check for another while my third and last setting goes over the dessert menu. Since everything appears to be set for the moment, I carry myself into the kitchen to assist with the rest of the service. At the fountain machine, I fill a glass with water and take a drink.
“Table twenty in the window,” Luke calls into the open room.
There’s no one around, so I empty my glass and start to set up at the window.
“So?” Luke questions, adding another plate to the window.
“So, what?” I ask in return, filling the tray with the entrees.
“Where are those autographs?”
“Oh.” I smack my forehead. “I completely forgot. I’m sorry. I’ll get them for you later and bring them in tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure you will,” he says, teasing. “I knew you’d chicken out.”
“Chicken out?” I rise, balancing the tray on my shoulder. “I didn’t chicken out. I just forgot. I’ll ask him to do it tonight or tomorrow.”
“Wait,” Luke says, confused. “Did you talk to him, and he asked you out?”
“I talked to him, but—”
“I guess he really is a ladies’ man.”
“Huh?”
“They’re dating,” Eric pipes in from behind me. “Apparently, Ruby here is his girlfriend.”
“No shit?” Luke says, genuinely surprised. “You’re dating Brent Cromwell?”
“Uh…” I shrug. “Yes.”
TWENTY-SIX
Clocked out and ready to leave for the night, I scurry downstairs to the employee break room to grab my coat. It’s not too late by Chicago standards, and Brent and I plan to go out for a little bit because we’ve been spending a lot of time and evenings at my place since the New Year. He will be returning to L.A. shortly, and I want to spend as much time with him as possible. His departure is approaching, but neither one of us has brought it up. We will have to soon if we’re going to make anything work beyond this visit.
Carrying myself up the steps with my bag slung over my shoulder, I pause near the top when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I grab it from the wool interior, revealing a text from Mara. I haven’t heard from her in weeks, nor have I called her in some time. Since Brent’s arrival and the holidays, my mind has been preoccupied, and so has my time.
Mara: Been missing you. If you aren’t working, Kenzie and I are out, playing pool. Come join us.
Me: I’m just getting off work now, but I have plans.
Mara: Eating ice cream and watching a movie are not plans. Come join us.
Me: Brent is still in town.
She knew he was here. Mara and I did touch base briefly right before Christmas, but my relationship status wasn’t a huge topic of conversation. It was more just well wishes for the season.
A minute passes as I wait patiently for her reply. Finally, a new message arrives.
Mara: Tell the sperminator to come, too.
Me: Are you going to call him that all night?
Mara: Why? Does he not make sperm anymore?
Me: No comment.
Mara: No, I will not call him that all night. I promise. Just come meet us. I’ll be good.
Me: Let me go talk to him and get back to you.
Mara: Okay.
Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I hurry through the kitchen and into the bar where Pat and Carl have already begun to clean up for the night. A few patrons are still seated at the bar, Brent being one of them.
Squeezing between two stools, I lean against the granite counter and rub Brent’s back.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yep, all done.” I notice the empty glass in front of him. “Do you have a tab you need to settle?”
“Nope. Already did it.” He slides off the stool, grabs his jacket, and slips his arms through the sleeves in preparation for the cool January air. “See ya, Carl. Thanks again.”
“Later,” Carl replies. “You two have a good night.”
“Thanks,” I say. I lead Brent to the front of the restaurant to exit.
“So, what do you want to do?” Brent asks when we reach the doors. He fastens the top button to his warm leather coat.
“I was thinking we could just go for a drink.”
I place my hand on the handle, and Brent hastens his movement to open the door first. We stop in the small alcove.
“But I got a text from Mara when I was getting ready downstairs.”
“Oh, yeah?” He tucks his hands into his pockets. “And?”
I pull my hat over my ears. “She invited us to join her and Kenzie to play pool.”
“When?”
“Right now,” I say, opening the door to the windy evening. “Tonight.”
“So, are we going?”
“Do you want to?”
He gauges my expression and then pulls me to the edge of the sidewalk, hailing a cab from half a block down the street. Brent opens the door, and we slide into the warm interior of the yellow vehicle.
“Where to?” the cab driver asks.
“You know where we’re going, not me,” Brent says to me, hand on my thigh.
“Mara?”
“Why not?”
“All right.”
I communicate the name and cross streets of our destination to the driver. The place happens to be close to my apartment. The Friday evening traffic makes for a slow journey north. However, Chicago is a beautiful city to drive through at night, lit brightly from the signage at restaurants, bars, and other venues lining the streets. I text Mara on our way, letting her know that we’re coming, and then I lean my form into Brent’s. He wraps his arm around me for the rest of the trip. The cab stops a few doors down from our destination due to the line of cars. We pay the driver, exit onto the sidewalk, and continue toward the bustling pool hall.
Swinging open the door, I lead us through the crowd of people congregating around the pool tables and the bar. Music plays in the background under the muffled chatter of voices. In the back corner of the main room, I spot Mara’s dark curls springing to life when she takes a shot while her girlfriend, Kenzie, stands to the side, tucking a strand of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear. Brent and I squeeze through a group to join them.
“Hey, Kenzie,” I say in greeting as Mara rounds the table to take another shot. “Good to see you again.”
“Hey there! You, too.” She shifts her pool cue to offer her hand to Brent. “You must be…Brent? Is that right?”
“It is.” He shakes her hand once and then helps me out of my jacket. “And you must be Kenzie?”
“The one and only.”
Mara misses her shot.
“Looks like I’m up,” Kenzie adds.
Setting her stick against the wall, Mara picks up her beer, takes a drink, and then joins Brent and me by the high table where we’re hanging our coats.
“Hi, Mar.” I hug her, my closest friend. “Good to see you again.”
“You, too, Rubes.”
She pats my back, steps out of my embrace, and then faces Brent. “Well…my, my, Mr. Cromwell.” Her eyes shift up and down his physique more than twice. “Time surely has been good to you. No wonder Rubes has been all over you like butter on a biscuit.”
“Butter on a biscuit, Mar?” I raise my brows.
“Whatever.” She turns her hands up. “Would you rather I say like a cat in heat?”
“Uh…no. Butter on a biscuit is definitely better.”
“It’s good to see you again, Mara,” Brent interjects. “You look good, too.”
“Thanks, Cromwell.”
“You’re up, Mara,” Kenzie says from the other side of the pool table.
“Okay,” she half-shouts over her shoulder.
“I’m going to get a drink,” Brent announces. “Can I get you anything?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“How about you?” Brent asks Mara and Kenzie as they join us. “Either of you need a refill?”
“I can get it,” Mara says, acknowledging her almost empty glass.
“On me,” Brent insists. “I got it.”
“All right, I’ll let you buy me a drink.”
Mara conveys to Brent what she and Kenzie are drinking, and then he heads to the bar to place our order, leaving just us girls.
“So, Rubes,” Mara says from the end of the table, lining up her shot, “what’s new with you?”
Kenzie coyly lifts her brows. She knows Mara well, and so do I.
“What are you really asking me, Mar?” I say. “About the weather, school, work, or whether or not I’ve gotten a good pounding lately from the guy who’s buying our drinks?”
She takes the shot and then rests her stick on the floor, leaning with sassy posturing. We have a silent standoff, her formulating her reply and me waiting for it. Mara shakes her head and lets out a cackle, taking a few steps to line up her next shot.
“Nothing to say, huh?” I taunt.
“Shit,” Kenzie quietly says to me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her speechless before.”
“I can hear you,” Mara states, sliding the pool stick back and forth between her fingers. She taps the white cue ball and knocks the last of the solids into a side pocket. “And if you must know, I was just curious about how you’re doing, but it’s good to know you’ve been getting laid—even though that’s a visual I was hoping to avoid.”
“Oh, Mar.” I laugh. “You’re so full of shit.”
She bends at the waist, lining up what will likely be her final shot. “This is true. There has never been a truer statement than that. I’m full of shit, all the way up to my eyebrows.” She takes the shot, sinking the black eight ball and winning the game. Then, she straightens to face Kenzie and me.
Brent approaches her with two beers in his hand. “Here you go,” he says, handing a beer into Mara’s hand. Then, he gives the other one to Kenzie. “I’ll be right back,” he directs his words to me. “Our drinks are still at the bar.”
Kenzie takes a sip of her beer. “Doubles next?”
“Sounds good to me,” I say, pushing my sleeves upward.
“Here you go,” Brent says, appearing almost out of nowhere and handing me my drink.
We clink our drinks together, Kenzie joining in. Brent raises his glass to Mara, welcoming her in on the toast. She smiles, easily won over by Brent’s humble decorum, and taps her glass with his, mine, and Kenzie’s.
“It’s good to see you again,” Brent states, charismatic.
“You, too, Cromwell,” Mara concedes and then sips her beer. “Let’s play. Get a stick, so we can tap some balls.”
“Yes,” he says, smiling like a fool, “let’s tap some balls.”
We pair up, Kenzie and Mara versus Brent and me. It’s a silent game for the most part, each person talking only to his or her partner and concentrating on the game. Mara is really good and sinks almost every shot she attempts. Kenzie, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as good, but she’s not bad either. I match Mara the best, hitting almost every shot. It’s a side effect from hanging out with servers and other restaurant staff for the last four years of my life. We tend to play pool a lot after work because many of those establishments are open late, even on weekdays. Brent isn’t too bad either, but it’s apparent that he hasn’t played as much as Mara and me. The teams are evenly matched, making for a tight game.
Between each of our shots, Brent takes a moment to touch my hand, run a palm down my arm, kiss my cheek, or place his hands on my waist. His affection is obvious and catches Mara’s attention.
The game is going smoothly, and we’re two shots away from the win. Kenzie misses her shot, and it’s Brent’s turn. All he has to do is sink the green striped ball and then the final eight ball. He lines up the shot for the side pocket and taps the target easily into the intended spot.
“Good one,” I encourage and then take a sip of my beer.
“Thanks,” he says, focused on the table, scheming the next shot.
“I don’t know, Rubes,” Mara says, inching up next to me. “You think he’ll choke under the pressure? This one’s for the win.”
“I doubt it,” I say, watching Brent bend and line up his shot. “Plus, with an ass like that, I really don’t care.”
“Did you just make a hot-ass comment?”
“Did I say that out loud?”
“Uh…yeah,” she enunciates. “You did.”
“Well—”
“But,” she interrupts. “And I don’t mean his butt when I say but, but it is interesting. There’s a certain mystery to it. Looks really firm, like a freaking rock.” She inclines her head toward me. “Is it? I’m curious. Like, can you bounce quarters on it? Or is it hard enough to break glass? Concrete? Brick? It’s certainly not Jell-O. That thing has absolutely no wiggle to it at all.”
“Mara,” Kenzie chides, “how much have you had to drink?”
“Apparently enough if I’m philosophizing over a guy’s ass.”
“Pipe down, ladies,” Brent calmly interjects. “Look if you like but quietly. I’m a piece of art to be observed, not harassed.”
“Can we touch it?” Mara calls over.
Brent comes out of his stance, rising to face us. “I’ll tell you what—if I miss the shot you can touch my ass.”
“Brent,” I gasp.
“Hey,” he says with sarcasm, “I’m up for a bet.”
“Go on,” Mara encourages. “And what if you make the shot?”
“Then, you have to buy us all a round of shots.”
“Done.”
“And,” he continues, “you’re on my team for the next round.”
She hems and haws, making an exaggerated show. We all know she’s kidding around.
“Fine,” Mara huffs. “Take the shot.”
Brent approaches us with his arm outstretched. “It’s not official unless we shake on it.”
“Always one for protocol,” Mara remarks, shaking his hand. “But I hope you choke.”
Brent releases her hand and backs away.
“Don’t hold your breath. I’m much better under pressure than I used to be.” He bends over the table. “Oh, and Mara? I forgot to tell you. Your boobs look really good in that shirt.” He winks at me. “Yours, too, Ruby.”
Mara crosses her arms over her chest, miffed.
Brent focuses back on the table and takes the shot with a steady hand, seeming to get back into a zone within a split second, as he turns off the playful humor. The white cue banks off the side bumper near the pocket, ricocheting toward the solid black eight ball, and the cue ball hits the eight ball’s side. The black ball spins in the direction of the corner pocket and touches the bumper before dropping in for the win.
Playfully, I skitter over to his side, and we exchange a high five. Brent holds my hand, lowering it to his chest, and brazenly kisses me on the mouth in front of everyone. His other hand curls behind my lower back, and he dips me across the pool table with our mouths st
ill locked.
“Nice shot,” I compliment against his lips.
“Were you worried?” He stands us upright.
“No, not in the least.” I step away and back toward our claimed table with Brent on my heels.
“Looks like we’re a team,” Kenzie says to me, racking up the balls on the green felt. “You ready to kick some butt?”
“I sure am.” I pat Brent’s ass.
“Sure,” Mara drawls and then sticks out her tongue. “Rub it in. You can touch his ass, and I can’t.”
“Aw, poor Mara. I guess you’re stuck with me now,” Brent says, waggling his brows. “And you owe us all a round of shots.”
“It would appear that I do.” She crosses her arms. “Well played, Cromwell. I hope you keep that up while you’re on my team.”
“I don’t think you need to worry.”
“Who’s breaking?” Kenzie asks.
“You guys can,” Mara states. “I need to put in an order.”
“Excuse me,” Brent calls to a passing server. “We need a few drinks.”
“Sure.” The blonde woman in a team jersey uniform tucks the small drink tray under her arm. “What can I get for you guys?”
“Mara?” Brent says in a presumptuously teasing tone.
“We need a few shots.” Mara gestures toward Brent. “He wants a blow job.”
“Don’t they all?” the server says without missing a beat.
“Tell me about it. Men!” Mara huffs. “So predictable.”
The blonde smirks. “What else can I get for you?”
“I need a screaming orgasm.” Mara inclines her head toward me. “You still like those, right, Rubes?”
“Oh, she does,” Brent interrupts.
I elbow him in the ribs.
“Well, she doesn’t seem to complain about them,” Brent adds.
“I thought so,” Mara says, satisfied. “And I also need two—”
“Slippery nipples,” Brent interjects, staring right at Mara. “They both like slippery nipples.”
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