other reasons.
“Probably because our boy Landon here wants to get laid, and he can’t do that hanging out at your place all night.”
Landon shoots me a glare for calling him out. Now, if we can just figure out who he’s trying to seal the deal with tonight.
“How about you fuck off, yeah? You’ve been buying the same chick flowers for what, the past ten days, and she still keeps saying no. Don’t give me shit. You guys should be giving End shit.”
I roll my eyes.
“He’s not the one that dragged us here tonight, asshole,” Griffin retorts.
“Thank you!” Bishop slams a meaty hand down on the bar top, happy one of us has some sense.
“What the hell are y’all even complaining about? The game is on right here!” Landon points at the TV with frustration.
We all shoot him a glower.
“Bert hasn’t upgraded this TV in years. So, yeah, excuse me if I’m pissed off that I have to watch the game on this shit box instead of on a flat screen like a normal person. I mean, Christ, who doesn’t own a flat screen? It’s fucking 2020!”
I can’t really argue with that.
Bert, the owner of Bert’s Pub, has owned this place since what feels like the dawn of time. His father, Bert Sr., opened the pub years ago, and Bert took over for his father when he passed. I’m not kidding when I say everything is the same as it was years ago. There have been minor changes we’ve done for Bert, but for the most part, this place is like stepping back into the 80s sprinkled with a dash of 70s flavor.
It’s a goddamn time machine.
It has character, I’ll give it that. It’s a staple here, just like so many other places. A part of this town’s history, a core place where the locals flock for good conversation and a fun night out. I glance around, taking in everyone crowded at the bar and the surrounding tables. There are about five pool tables in total, each one in use, including the one we’re using. The bar is made up of worn oak that gives it character, telling the story of just how long Bert’s has been around. The stools are black and red, the red cushions are a bit worn, but they’re still comfortable, nonetheless.
The décor is much as you’d expect—local sports teams’ banners hanging, a Bud Light neon sign hangs in the front window right next to the open sign, and the TVs are all these old, pieces of shit that no one hardly looks at. Do the people in this generation even know what it’s like to go most of your childhood watching something in SD? Before HD was even a thing? Probably not.
Music floats from the speakers, and I’m just glad it isn’t country. That’s where I draw the line in this fucking town.
Bishop cues the balls on the table, before taking the first shot. The loud crack reverberates between us, scattering the balls along the velvet surface.
“So, who is she? Might as well tell us now. We’re going to find out eventually,” Bishop demands with a bit of an attitude. If there was a surefire way to piss off Bishop, it would be ruining baseball for him, and tonight, Landon has committed a cardinal sin in his world.
Landon sighs. Picking up his pool stick, he angles himself over the table and takes his shot. Just as the white ball connects with his intended solid color, he mumbles a name under his breath. We all pause, our eyes widening. I share a look with the rest of the guys, and they burst into laughter. Bishop clutches his stomach, howling with hysterics, and Griffin damn near has tears rolling down his cheeks. I hide my laughter behind my hand, thinking about the other night with Selene and the bags of dildos she got from Beth-Ann’s party. I guess Landon’s in for a treat with her.
“Well, tonight just got interesting,” Griffin mumbles aloud, gaze pinned to the entrance. When I follow the trajectory, I see why.
Beth-Ann, her sister Julia, and Selene, of all people, step over the threshold. Something weaves its way through the air, a static electricity I can feel swimming through my veins. I straighten on the stool, my gaze glued to Selene. Her hair is down, hanging around her back in a soft curtain of waves that I’m itching to drag my hand through. Her creamy skin is on display in the dress she’s wearing. Heat