He hurries over to the bar, returning with a shaker and a slice of lime, making me remember the time that Cliff and I snuck out into the audience during a show and stole an entire serving tray from one of the waitresses. We took so many shots that night that it’s a damn good thing we didn’t have to perform.
I grab the offerings and shake some salt onto the back of my hand. “Cheers,” I say before licking it up and then downing the tequila. With a face, I stick the lime in my mouth and suck.
“Motherfuck,” I cringe, slamming the glass down in front of me. “I forgot I hate tequila.”
The man looks at me expectantly. Oh, right. Show time.
I close my eyes, like I’m suddenly having the spins, and make a groaning noise like it all just hit me. Everyone in the bar is watching me, like I’m the boxer who just stepped into the ring and they want to see if I’m going to get knocked out or not.
Opening my eyes, I put on my best drunk-girl face and get to my feet—unsteadily of course. I stumble a little for good measure. After all, I have a pizza to earn, and I know how to put on an act.
Looking around like I’m surprised I managed to stay upright, I smirk at the barflies and raise both hands in the air. “Fuck yeah!” I yell.
Simultaneously, the rest of them immediately cheer, like me acting drunk was what they’d been waiting for all damn night. I even get applause as some of them raise their glasses in the air and pass money to each other.
“Fucking tequila, man!” One of pizza man’s buddies shouts.
Pizza shrugs. “What can I say, I chose right.” With a wink at me, he turns and heads back to the bar.
Blowing out a breath, I realize that I actually am tipsier than I realized. Standing up is way harder than sitting down. But now that I’ve moved positions, I realize I have to pee. Badly. I make my way toward the back of the bar and quickly relieve myself, surprised when the toilet seat seems to move and my naked ass almost lands on the floor.
“Fucking moving toilets and shit,” I mumble, my aggravation getting lost in the deafening stream of piss that’s currently shooting out of me. I release it like it’s the kraken. It’s so damn powerful that I get the shivers.
When I’m done, I weave over to the sink and wash up. Once I’m back in the bar, I look around, my eyes landing on the pool table where a few of the guys are still playing. The wheels in my head turn. It’s sluggishly, like a water wheel, but they do turn.
An idea suddenly pops into my head. I’m gonna hustle them.
I need money right? So I’ll go over there, act like I have no idea what I’m doing, wagers will be placed—since they obviously like to make bets on me—and then I can win some cash and replenish my dwindling cash. It seems like a solid idea.
I don’t actually know how to play pool, but my buzzed mind dismisses that as irrelevant, so I’m gonna go for it.
How hard can it be?
Motherfuck.
I lose. Really bad. Multiple times. I’m pretty sure they’re hustling me at one point.
I clench the pool stick between sweaty fingers, one eye closed as I try to focus really hard. It’s difficult, since every time I get ready to hit the cue ball, I lean over like the Tower of Pisa and miss. Staying upright is getting difficult, and every time I blink too fast, the room spins a bit. Fucking tequila.
“You gonna hit the ball this time?”
I glare over at the dude and his twin, since I’m seeing double. “I’m just fucking with you. Making you think I suck at this, and then I’m gonna swoop in and beat all of you so bad,” I tell him as I lose my footing again. They chuckle, but just wait. I’m going to own their asses. Just as soon as the floor stops going topsy turvy.
I pull the stick back between my fingers, concentrate really hard, and then bam! My stick hits the cue ball, the cue ball hits the red ball, and I sink it into the motherfuckin’ pocket.
I raise a fist and punch it into the air. “Yes!” I move around the pool table for my next shot and