Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
But that doesn’t seem to concern Hazel as she positions herself again, her hair falling over her shoulders and down her side like a dark, silky veil as she stretches her body out over the pool table, angling her cue to line up her shot.
Despite his frustration, Hazel’s opponent runs his eyes over her body appreciatively before returning his attention to the balls on the table, and I have to remind myself that it’s just a game.
Pop!
Hazel hits the bottom of the cue ball, and it jumps over her opponent’s balls, tapping the eight ball into the pocket before safely caroming off and coming to a rest.
“Whooo!” Hazel cheers loudly, waving her pink pool cue above her head. “That’a girl, Joannie!”
Who’s Joannie?
Strutting, Hazel walks over to the blond guy and sticks out her palm expectantly. “Alright, Roddy. Pay up.”
Roddy looks like he’s on the verge of explosion, his face red and his lip curled in a snarl. I’m paying close attention, but even if I weren’t, I’d be able to hear his rebuttal. “I’m not paying you shit. You’re a fucking cheater, Hazel Sullivan.”
Hazel’s grin melts into a sneer of her own. “One, you owe me for that eye fuck you just gave my ass. And two, I am not a cheater. You’re just salty that I beat you fair and square.”
Roddy laughs bitterly. “Fair? Your aunt owns this place, so who knows what kind of booby traps you got under these damn tables to help you win. There’s probably magnets and shit.”
“Booby traps and magnets? Really?” Hazel rolls her eyes. “Do you know how incredibly stupid you sound right now?”
“I dunno, I sound pretty smart to me, because I’m keeping my two hundred in my pocket.” He pats his chest pocket as he looks over his shoulder at two guys perched on nearby stools. They grin at Roddy like that comeback was actually a solid burn.
Hazel licks her lips slowly, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind. After what she said to Charlene, I almost can’t wait. Part of me wants to get involved . . . but not quite yet. We’re still at the talking stage, and Hazel doesn’t seem to need or want any help in that department.
Loud and clear, she says, “I get it, Roddy. You’ve been talking shit for weeks about how you were gonna wipe the floor with me, only to find out that not only is my dick—oh, I mean, stick—bigger than yours, but I’ve got better skills with it too. So your choices are to hold up your end of the bet, pay up, and live to play another day, or . . .”
Hazel doesn’t threaten him out loud, but she does hold her pink pool cue in front of her, tapping the thicker end against her palm. The intention is pretty fucking clear.
“Fuck off. You’re not gonna hit me with that stick of yours. We all know what it means to you.” Roddy eyes the pool cue in question as he takes a small step toward Hazel, who holds her ground.
The move alone is aggressive, but partnered with the threat, it’s crossing a line. I’ve seen and heard enough. I’m out of my seat before Winston can stop me, heading straight for Roddy. And Hazel.
Chapter 3
HAZEL
Holy fuckballs! Is Roddy actually gonna make me smack him around?
I don’t want to. He’s right—it would probably fuck up Joannie. But that doesn’t mean I won’t give him a swift kick in the ass if I have to. I’m a waitress in a place that serves Fat Pussy burgers, so I have thick skin by default and a mouth that would shock a sailor. My spine and smack talk are usually enough to get me through almost any situation.
But Roddy is in an extra-pissy mood, not that I blame him after losing so epically. He should just suck it up like the buttercup he is and move along. If he weren’t making such a big deal out of this, his buddies wouldn’t either. But they smell blood in the water . . . Roddy’s. And he’s deflecting big-time, hoping to sic them on me instead.
I bend my knees slightly, getting my weight centered, and flick an angry scowl Roddy’s way. He’s so close, I can smell the cheap beer on his breath and the sweat from a day’s work on his skin. I tighten my grip on Joan of Arc, a.k.a. Joannie, my pink pool cue that I saved up to buy. This maple cue has seen me through some tough games over the years. She’s my baby, and if Roddy ends up making me defend myself with her, I will make him pay for a proper funeral service for my best girl, and a replacement Joan of Arc 2.0 that’s bigger and better. Or at least lighter, my personal preference.