Chapter 1
Randa watched him stalk around the pool table, the cue rolling in his hand as he studied the lineup for the next shot. Two hours ago when she’d first walked into the pool hall with her duffel bag and twenty dollars to her name, she had been determined to make enough money to buy a week at the motel down the street. Now, she was up to almost three hundred dollars and for a moment she was able to breathe a small sigh of relief. If she could just take down this mark she could have a little time to organize her things and get back on her feet.
Until tonight, everything had been going great for Randa, she’d had a job that she enjoyed and a small apartment that she shared with one of her co-workers. However, when Grace’s ex-boyfriend, Cole, had gotten out of the military and found his way back to her life, Randa found that her space was increasingly cut whenever she butted heads with Cole. Yesterday he tried to climb into bed with her, which had resulted in her pulling the knife she kept tucked into her mattress and threatening him with it. When she’d gone to Grace, things had just deteriorated rapidly.
Tonight at her shift at the bar, she learned that she had been let go because Grace accused her of stealing from the till. When she’d gotten home, she’d found a duffel bag with some of her belongings at the front door and a note telling her that unless she was going to call the cops and get them involved, these were all the possessions she could have from the apartment.
Grace knew that Randa couldn’t afford to get the police involved, knew about her sketchy past with the foster care system and the law. So, she had taken the last of her tip money to catch a cab to the local pool hall to see if she could earn enough money to get back on her feet again.
The latest mark’s name was Drake. He had short cut blond hair and dark eyes, tan skin, muscles that moved and flexed every time he rounded the table. And the kicker was that when he thought he was about to pull one over on her, he smiled with half his mouth. While they played she had to keep reminding herself not to visibly ogle him. The last three rounds of pool he had continued to lose, and the pocket had just grown deeper. Now they were in it for the whole thing, more than four hundred dollars, and he was down by five balls.
All she had to do was sink the eight ball on her next move and she was home free with enough money to stay in slightly nicer living arrangements than the fleabag hotel she was sure was crawling with bed bugs and roaches. The thought of having to live in squalor again was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes. She’d spent the last year pulling herself up out of the gutter, and she didn’t intend to let one jerk bring her down.
“Ten ball corner pocket,” he called, before successfully sinking the shot. Rounding the table he lowered the cue again and took aim at another shot. “Bank the fifteen ball, right corner pocket.” This time he missed the shot.
Randa looked down at the table as she stood up from the chair and realized that he may have purposefully messed up that shot in order to keep her from having a clear line at the eight ball. As it was, she was going to have to bank it twice to try and get it to go into the corner pocket.
“Thanks for leaving me a shot,” she joked, smiling as she rounded the table. “Bank the shot off the far side and then once against the back bumper as well. Eight ball in the corner pocket.”
She slid the cue between her fingers, relishing the feel of the wood as it moved effortlessly against her chalked skin. Playing pool had been the one thing that had helped keep her off the streets when she was younger. A friend had introduced her to hustling when she was just barely fifteen, and she had taken to it like a fish in water.
Not only that, but she loved the control that she felt when she had that pool cue in her hand. For
Randa watched him stalk around the pool table, the cue rolling in his hand as he studied the lineup for the next shot. Two hours ago when she’d first walked into the pool hall with her duffel bag and twenty dollars to her name, she had been determined to make enough money to buy a week at the motel down the street. Now, she was up to almost three hundred dollars and for a moment she was able to breathe a small sigh of relief. If she could just take down this mark she could have a little time to organize her things and get back on her feet.
Until tonight, everything had been going great for Randa, she’d had a job that she enjoyed and a small apartment that she shared with one of her co-workers. However, when Grace’s ex-boyfriend, Cole, had gotten out of the military and found his way back to her life, Randa found that her space was increasingly cut whenever she butted heads with Cole. Yesterday he tried to climb into bed with her, which had resulted in her pulling the knife she kept tucked into her mattress and threatening him with it. When she’d gone to Grace, things had just deteriorated rapidly.
Tonight at her shift at the bar, she learned that she had been let go because Grace accused her of stealing from the till. When she’d gotten home, she’d found a duffel bag with some of her belongings at the front door and a note telling her that unless she was going to call the cops and get them involved, these were all the possessions she could have from the apartment.
Grace knew that Randa couldn’t afford to get the police involved, knew about her sketchy past with the foster care system and the law. So, she had taken the last of her tip money to catch a cab to the local pool hall to see if she could earn enough money to get back on her feet again.
The latest mark’s name was Drake. He had short cut blond hair and dark eyes, tan skin, muscles that moved and flexed every time he rounded the table. And the kicker was that when he thought he was about to pull one over on her, he smiled with half his mouth. While they played she had to keep reminding herself not to visibly ogle him. The last three rounds of pool he had continued to lose, and the pocket had just grown deeper. Now they were in it for the whole thing, more than four hundred dollars, and he was down by five balls.
All she had to do was sink the eight ball on her next move and she was home free with enough money to stay in slightly nicer living arrangements than the fleabag hotel she was sure was crawling with bed bugs and roaches. The thought of having to live in squalor again was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes. She’d spent the last year pulling herself up out of the gutter, and she didn’t intend to let one jerk bring her down.
“Ten ball corner pocket,” he called, before successfully sinking the shot. Rounding the table he lowered the cue again and took aim at another shot. “Bank the fifteen ball, right corner pocket.” This time he missed the shot.
Randa looked down at the table as she stood up from the chair and realized that he may have purposefully messed up that shot in order to keep her from having a clear line at the eight ball. As it was, she was going to have to bank it twice to try and get it to go into the corner pocket.
“Thanks for leaving me a shot,” she joked, smiling as she rounded the table. “Bank the shot off the far side and then once against the back bumper as well. Eight ball in the corner pocket.”
She slid the cue between her fingers, relishing the feel of the wood as it moved effortlessly against her chalked skin. Playing pool had been the one thing that had helped keep her off the streets when she was younger. A friend had introduced her to hustling when she was just barely fifteen, and she had taken to it like a fish in water.
Not only that, but she loved the control that she felt when she had that pool cue in her hand. For
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