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)
Roddy doesn’t seem the least bit frightened by my stance or scowl, though, probably too hyped on liquid courage and testosterone-fueled desperation. His balls are on the line, at least in his mind. He doesn’t make a move to reach for the cash I know he has stashed in his chest pocket.
As shitty as his refusal to pay is, it’s not the first time this has happened to me. In fact, it’s why I try to not play strangers on my home turf. They see the cute waitress, flirt a little, and think they’re going to “teach” me to play. By the time I’ve wiped the table with them, their wounded pride rears up, and more than once, I’ve had to get a bit tough with them. But they always pay up . . . eventually.
I thought I was safe playing Roddy, though. He’s a regular, after all, drinking and having a good time with his buddies here at least once a week. He damn well knows I’m good. Hell, he’s been watching me play, studying my moves for weeks. He should’ve known this would be the outcome.
“Pay up, Roddy,” I grit through clenched teeth, only loud enough for him to hear, though we’ve gotten quite an audience now. He doesn’t acknowledge it, but it’s not only two hundred bucks at risk here. Both our reputations are on the line.
For fuck’s sake, man, just do it. Reach in your pocket, take out the money, and hand it over. I’ll even let you make a few comments to salvage yourself, let you play it off if you want to save face with your buddies. I’ll save my rebuttal for after you stomp out the door like a pissed-off pit bull.
His hand moves toward his chest, and though I’m tempted to let out a sigh of relief, I hold my breath steady, staying ready. It’s a wise decision, because while Roddy is giving in, it’s on his own terms.
“Fucking take it, bitch.” He pulls out the wad of cash he flashed when we bet and throws it at me. The green bills smack me in the chest and then flutter to the floor. In a different environment, people might scurry to grab up the money like squirrels gobbling nuts.
Ha, nut-loving critters! The phrasing makes me laugh even at a time like this, but only on the inside.
But not here. Not right now.
Nobody rushes to grab a single bill because they’re mine and everyone knows it. Especially Roddy. There’s saving his rep . . . and then there’s this.
I don’t move, don’t drop a single inch toward picking up the cash, because I won’t tolerate this kind of disrespect. Pool is a game of rules, and even in a barroom match, I won’t be disrespected. And I for damn sure am not getting my head anywhere near his dick level. “Pick it up. You don’t have to hand it to me if it hurts your wittle feewings, but at least put it on the table so everyone can see you’re a man of your word.”
Okay, so maybe poking the drunk, angry bear isn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s definitely not the dumbest, either, despite what happens next.
Roddy knocks Joan of Arc out of my hands, and she clatters to the floor. “Pick it up yourself. It’d do you some good to spend a few minutes on your knees. I’m out of here.”
Oh, hell to the nah nah nah.
He spins, already throwing a hand up at his buddies to signal it’s time to leave. His arrogance gives me the perfect opportunity. With a primal scream that draws from an ancestry of women who don’t put up with anyone’s shit, I jump onto Roddy’s back like the worst piggy ever, gripping him with my knees and clawing at his wide shoulders.
“Pick it up!” I shout over and over. “Pick it up, pick it up!”
Roddy pitches forward but catches himself, thankfully not throwing me ass over his head. “Get offa me, you crazy bitch!”
We tussle, him trying to get me off his back and me using my weight to get him closer to the ground so he’ll pick up the money. Around us, cheers and shouts ring out, mostly on my side.
“You show him, Hazel!”
“Ride that bastard, cowgirl!”
“That ain’t no way to treat a lady!”
“You call that a lady?”
Okay, so that last one might not’ve been in my favor, but if defending myself makes me unladylike, then un-fucking-ladylike I’ll be.
I’m making progress, or at least I think I am, when a booming voice orders, “Enough!”
Viselike arms wrap around my waist, pulling me from Roddy. Thinking one of Roddy’s friends has suddenly grown a pair and intervened, I flail and fight back.
I drive back with an elbow, but the contact is weak, glancing off the thick shoulder behind me. I kick my feet, aiming for shins, and connect with a knee, judging by the grunt behind me.