A Mixup At The Pool Table Novels & Stories

The club manager asked, brows raised. “Yes, the girl is rude and mixed bullshit. Seems like she added water to the drink and extorted us,” he said, and I froze at once. “W-what…” I gasped. “I wasn't the one who mixed the drink. In fact, I saw her mix it; she never added a drop into their prescription.” “Are you saying we’re lying?” another asked. “Then drink it and see for yourself.” The men exchanged glances, silently communicating. Without thinking, I stepped toward the table and grabbed one of the glasses. I didn’t like beer, let alone one mixed with different alcohols.

Trevor says with a grin. Kimbra shrugs. “Speaking of which—” Before she can finish I hear a voice I never expected, one thick with a British accent. “Willis, we’re next in the pool-table queue. You’re about up.” “Max?” I say, turning his direction. Stunned doesn’t begin to describe my reaction. “Shana?” The good vibes I’ve been feeling since entering the bar disappear in a puff of smoke as Max Cantel’s beady, cheating stare comes my way.

Standing up, I took in the table. “What…are you a professional?” Charles was looking at me with a mix of awe and confusion. “Pool is all calculations. Sometimes, when I get stuck on an issue or I’m stressed, I play pool. Pool has no random factors, no emotional decisions. Everything can be planned, calculated, adjusted, and worked.” I didn’t look at him as I said it. Hitting the ball, I knew I wouldn’t have a shot but at the very least I could set up another shot and ruin one of his.

I chortle, then take the lead upstairs praying that Miranda hasn't fallen for some horny soccer player. **** "Miranda." I yelp, sighting her close to a pool table. Downstairs was just an open space where people could dance and then the kitchen for a beer, in here for something else. Another party entirely. Pool table. A normal table filled with drinks and cups, then an open space. "Camilla." She slurred, draping her hand over her shoulder. I cringe at her state wondering why I let her wander off. "Did you at least find Kelly?"

I informed him, crossing my legs at the knee, while sitting on the edge of the hot tub. William sprang up with his tablet in his hand giving me a 'don't fuck with me look, Reign.' I waited for him to return, but he took longer than I thought. It was a square hot tub with blue porcelain tiles, the other side of the porch is lined with lemon trees. The tub at this point was functional for what I wanted most 'relaxation.'

Kat seconded. “Crikey Moses!” Kat just burst out laughing. The knocking of balls excited me. I was not good like Brett, but I and Arella had a chance of winning. Brett agreed that I and my partner should start since he was a pool shark. I took two cues—one for me and one for her. She took it from me and muttered thank you, not meeting my gaze anymore. Everyone gathered around the table including Brett whose standing across us with Lorcan and Kat. Our drinks arrived, and I gave Denys a beer.

Is this a genuine offer or just an odd remark? "No, thanks. I have my bike," I reiterate, deciding to walk away from him. I had every intention of keeping my distance from him. I'm about to retrieve my phone when my steps come to an abrupt halt. I look up and see the scene before me—chairs overturned, scattered around the area. I'm not sure how many people entered the building to create such a mess in the swimming pool area. The spectator seats are in disarray, some even broken. I turn back to Grey, expecting him to have an explanation.

“Stilettos aren’t…pool friendly footwear, are they?” “I’d say not,” Victor murmurs, finally taking back his hands. Then, out of the blue, from behind Victor I hear Ian shout: “LET’S PLAY MARCO POLO!” and I spy a flash of him standing right behind Victor, hands up, ready to shove. Victor collides with me and we both topple, suddenly, helplessly, into the pool. I surface frantically, gasping for air, just in time to see the boys cannon ball into the water fully clothed.

The meeting unfolded like a scene from some grotesque play, visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master suite. Below on the pool terrace, crystal glasses caught the moonlight as they clinked together, the sound carrying up to me like broken wind chimes. I pressed my palms against the cool glass, watching the surreal tableau. Papa—who had arrived barely an hour ago bleeding and broken—now stood laughing with the infamous Black Mamba, their arms slung over each other's shoulders like frat brothers after a bender. The bloodstains on his chauffeur's uniform were the only evidence that the earlier horror hadn't been some fever dream.

I retort and walk past him, but he grabs my hand, I can see Maverick starts to get up from the table, but I spin around and grab his hand, twisting it behind his back all while holding the two beers in my other hand. “AAAHHH!!” The man cried out in pain. “I told you no, do you fuckers think that means yes? I hate men like you, thinking you can take what you want. Well, guess what asshole you fucked with the wrong bitch” I say in a low tone. “I’m sorry it won’t happen again.” The man apologized frantically. I roll my eyes shoving him over the pool table. The man lands on the other side and stumbles to get up quickly, running for the door. I turn back to Maverick and walk to the booth. I take