Sisterhood Everlasting - Ann Brashares [43]
“Sure thing.”
By the speed with which a table cleared when he made his intentions known, Bridget guessed he was a regular here and a serious player.
He saw Bridget pausing over the array of cues. “Is this a game or a lesson?”
Bridget feigned innocence. “Do you need me to show you how to play?”
He laughed, and it was a great big laugh. It was the first thing Bridget had enjoyed in many days.
She stuck out her hand. “My name is Bridget,” she said.
He shook it, mildly surprised by her sudden formality. “Travis,” he said.
“Travis,” she repeated. “I like to know the name of my opponent before I beat him.”
Travis bought Bridget two more beers while she beat him three games in a row. She was getting giddy. Giddy from drinking, giddy from winning, giddy from the crowd that had gathered around the table, giddy at the way Travis looked at her.
She was so giddy she lost the fourth game. She laughed as he got the whole bar involved in his victory lap.
He was obviously a local guy and well loved. He was as good a player as she was, if not better. But she’d taken advantage of his initial surprise and disorientation to win the first games. She was naturally gifted, and she’d played a shameful number of hours while getting Cs at Brown and in the first aimless years after she’d graduated.
“What do you say we team up?” he suggested. “We’ll hold this table all night.”
Their first opponents were two serious older Mexicans, and they gave them a long fight. When Bridget nailed the final shot, the entire population of the bar erupted. Travis picked her up off her feet and kissed her on the lips.
He might have expected her to pull away first, but she didn’t. The kiss lengthened and deepened as the cheering of the spectators faded. Bridget felt the blood pounding in her head, rushing down into her abdomen. She felt the beer sloshing around behind her eyes and she could barely remember what had broken her heart two and a half weeks ago. She could almost forget that the burial had taken place and she hadn’t been there.
They didn’t hold the table all night. They were far more interested in each other than pool after that. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. She clutched another beer as Travis led her outside. If she kept drinking and he kept kissing her, she could keep the sadness away longer.
He took her around to the side of the bar, where it was dark and quiet. He took off his hat and dropped it on the grass. He took her in his arms and pushed her against the wall. He kissed her like she hadn’t been kissed in a long time and she was breathless. The feeling was so strong she could lose herself in it.
She felt his hands on her back, then under her shirt. His hands came around the front. He pulled open her bra and then her shirt and she startled. It had been a long time since she’d had unfamiliar hands on her skin.
You are drunk, she informed herself drunkenly, feeling the spin starting in the middle of her head.
She unbuttoned his shirt so she could see his tattoo, but it seemed to spread all around and she was too close to his chest to be able to tell what it was. He was pushing himself against her and she could feel his hardness through her jeans and his. She meant to ask him about the tattoo, but she forgot the question before she could.
His hands were on the waistband of her jeans and then he was pulling at the button. Am I really gonna do this? Right here, right now? the least drunk part of her was asking, while the rest of her was barreling along.
He undid the button and zipper before she could pay attention. She felt his two hands on her bare ass.
Intoxicated as she was, there was something she needed to know. She pulled her mouth away from his. “Do you have something?” she asked. “A rubber or something?”
“No. Do we need it?”
“We need it,” she said.