I bound up. “I love games,” I say eagerly. “Let’s go.”
45
I’m a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it.
Thomas Jefferson
Bailey:
July, the day of the tournament…
During the regular season, pool league is a fun, social activity for all except Clark Ellis, who really takes it far too seriously. Team captains match beginner against beginner, and expert against expert. Everyone stays challenged that way, and people can hone their game against equally skilled opponents.
The rules are different when it’s tournament time. Now, the objective is to win at all costs. As a result, when your opponent is a seven, the highest skill rank attainable in the American Poolplayers Association, the strategic response is to counter with a two or a three. Because of the handicapping system, the player who is a seven needs to win six games to win the match, and the lower-ranked player needs to just win two games to prevail.
I’m a three now. Trevor’s still a seven. I just have to win two games.
Juliette had come up to me the Wednesday after the great tabloid debacle, and she’d apologized quietly. After that, she’s stayed away from us, merely showing up, playing without saying a word and leaving. I feel a little sorry for her, to be honest, and I’m tempted to tell Daniel and Sebastian that it’s time we all buried the hatchet.
Trevor’s team walks over. These guys - and they are all men, there’s not a single woman among them - have a definite swagger as they approach. Trevor gives me a snide look. “I’m surprised your team got this far, Bailey,” he calls over, his voice cutting through the noise. “But it ends here.”
His team fist-bumps each other and exchanges high-fives, while I exchange a dry glance with Daniel and Sebastian. It ends here. Seriously, who talks like that? Do they think they are in a Quentin Tarantino movie? We are in Yonkers, for crying out aloud, in a sports bar located in a strip mall. Glamorous, this isn’t.
I would normally be a bundle of nerves by this point, but Daniel and Sebastian have taken steps to prevent it. And by steps, I mean a butt plug buried in my ass, and a vibrator nestled against my clitoris. Then there’s the red lace bra and panties they’ve made me wear under my black dress. The sexy lingerie and the toys, not to mention the multiple orgasms I had in the car on my way over here, have all left me too blissed out to be nervous. Tense? Not me. I’m a deep pool of relaxation.
Clark goes up first, and Trevor puts up Peter, the only guy on their team who isn’t a complete jerk. Even though I should be rooting for my own team, I’m secretly not too heartbroken when Peter beats Clark. Clark’s a jerk. I’m never going to want him to win.
Next up is a player from Trevor’s team called Frankie. He’s listed as a five, but that’s a garbage rank. I’ve seen Frankie play, and he’s almost as good as Trevor. I whisper my disbelief to Daniel and Sebastian, and Daniel nods, unsurprised. “I’ve heard Trevor’s team does this,” he says. “They win as many games as it takes to qualify for the tournament, and then they start throwing games to lower their rank.”
“That’s cheating,” I say indignantly.
He doesn’t look concerned. “We can take them, Bailey. I have complete confidence in you.”
Juliette is selected to play against Frankie. She’s a four. Sebastian walks up to her to warn her about Frankie’s true skill level, and I turn to Daniel. “Are they talking again?” I ask him, indicating Sebastian and Juliette.
He shakes his head. “Not really.”
“Well, they should. His cookbook is still a New York Times bestseller. That was all Juliette’s doing.”
“She involved you,” he responds with a half-smile. “Neither Sebastian nor I find forgiveness easy.”
I think both of them are wrong, and it’s time to let this go, but for the moment, I hold my peace and watch Juliette play. She’s on fire today. She’s hitting the ball cleanly, she’s making smart, strategic decisions, and best of all, she’s in Frankie’s head. He thought he was playing against a girl, and it would be an easy win. Juliette’s proving him wrong.