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“I guess so,” Ken replied, leaning over the table with one eye closed. “I told him it was a bad idea.” Smack. “If she doesn’t want him”—smack—“she doesn’t want him.” Smack. Ken had sunk the red-, purple-, and yellow-striped balls by the time he finished his sentence.
Show-off.
“What makes you think she doesn’t want him?” I asked, lining up my next shot.
“Because she moved to the other side of the country.”
“Hey, can I use your ball to—”
“Nope.” Ken smirked.
“No?” I pouted, but Ken just shook his head.
Asshole.
I tried to bank the orange ball off the side bumper to avoid Ken’s ball, but I misjudged the angle and knocked one of his other balls in instead. “Shit.”
“Thanks.” Ken chuckled, chalking his cue.
“You know, she probably left because she got sick and tired of waiting for him to propose. I know he’s your friend and all, but…five years and no ring? I mean, how long was she supposed to wait?”
Ken arched a brow at me, the end of his stick poised to strike. “You think she left him because she wants to marry him?” I could see the microchip in his brain lighting up, trying to compute what I’d just said. “That doesn’t make sense.” Ken tapped the ball a little too lightly. It stopped just short of the hole.
“Ha!” I yelled, pointing at his mistake.
I walked over to Ken’s side of the pool table where I had the best shot. I expected him to move away like he usually did when someone threatened to penetrate his massive bubble of personal space, but he didn’t. He stayed put. And he held my gaze as I approached.
As soon as I stepped into his invisible force field, I felt hairs on the back of my arms stand up. It was electric, being that close to him. Maybe because he was kind of a robot.
I planted the end of my stick on the ground and looked up into his chiseled face. “Let me ask you this…did Allen do anything wrong?”
Ken’s angled light-brown eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
“Did he cheat? Did he hit her? Did he steal her car and sell it for drugs?”
“No.”
I smiled and glanced over at Ken’s BFF, who was now sitting on a barstool with his head in his hands.
“Hey, Allen,” I called out, leaning around Ken’s dryer-sheet-scented V-shaped torso.
The stocky guy in the Falcons jersey and glasses looked up, misery aging his youthful features.
“Your girl wants to get married.”
A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You think so?”
“Uh, yeah.” I nodded. “Ken says you’re gonna go get her back.”
Allen rubbed his eyes behind his glasses and glanced from me to Ken. “I’m thinkin’ about it.”
“If you go, you’d better take a ring with you.”
Allen’s smile spread the rest of the way. “You sure?”
“Yeah, you sure?” Ken’s doubtful voice echoed. “What if she says no?”
I looked up at him sporting a grin as big as Allen’s. “Man, you guys don’t know shit about girls. It’s a good thing I’m here.”
