Hustle Me (Bank Shot Romance #1)(2)
Author: Jennifer Foor

Moving out was easy. I’d been taking care of myself for as long as I could remember, but being able to cope with it all was a challenge. Elle did whatever she could to try to coax me into the lifestyle she was accustomed to. I think she was finally realizing that I was more of a challenge than she had assumed.

I had problems opening up and that caused a strain in our friendship from the beginning. Never being able to count on anyone had made me put walls up. It prevented me from ever getting close enough to someone for them to hurt me. I’d lost everything I loved and had to live in horrible conditions just to survive and get where I was. I was bound and determined to finish with school and never live that kind of life again.

Still, it didn’t stop her from trying to drag me places and force me to be more sociable. Her and her boyfriend, Tommy, kept trying to hook me up with people they knew, but after a few dates that ended miserably, they had finally stopped pushing as much as at first.

My only other friend was actually someone from my past. Zach Miller was put into the foster care system the same week that I was. We were both placed in a temporary home together and were the same age. Zach’s parents didn’t die like mine had. He didn’t know his father and his mother was put in jail for drug possession. We spent four months together, before she got out and regained custody of her son, leaving me all alone.

I hadn’t seen Zach in almost ten years before starting college. Each time I was sent to live with a new family, I always hoped that I would someday see him again, but it never happened. I will never forget walking into my English class on my very first day. I was running late because I am terrible with directions and ended up coming in when role was being called.

I dropped my bag as the door slammed on my ass and a very handsome guy came and helped me pick up my things. I should have recognized his smile, but I was too embarrassed to pay attention. He offered me the seat next to him just as they got to my name. I raised my hand and got myself situated in my chair. When I heard the name Zachary Miller, my eyes shot up and looked to the guy next to me, who was raising his hand.

At first I thought he didn’t remember me, until he reached over and squeezed my hand. I have to admit, I didn’t even remember anything the professor talked about, because all I wanted to do was talk to Zach. We passed notes during class and when it ended, we spent the next two hours catching up. Since that day we had been inseparable and he is my very best friend.

For the next couple of months I fell right into college life. My courses were rough, but I managed to stay on task and do well. Zach and I hung out and studied together as much as we could. He wasn’t that strapped to maintain a grade point average anymore. His mother married someone with money and got her life together. He had new siblings and a happy life, nothing like I had lived.

I should have known that my life could never be perfect for long. Everything changed when I got the letter from the attorney’s office. I will never forget that day that everything I knew came crashing down over me.

Chapter 2

Jammer

The people I played changed from day to day, but the game always remained the same. For as long as I could remember I’d been playing pool, or billiards if you want to get technical about it. What went from being a hobby with my friends had turned into an easy way to make a buck, or in my outlook, a way to break away from my family.

They weren’t that bad, but had always insisted I follow through with being a part of the family business. Since I was no good at school, and I had no intention of working alongside of my family, I left when I was seventeen and never looked back.

My friends and I used to hang out in the back of this local restaurant. They had two pool tables and the owner was pretty cool about us being there, instead of getting into other kinds of trouble. Baltimore City wasn’t exactly the safest place to bring up a kid. Since I was still alive and not in jail yet, I would say I was a success story. Don’t get me wrong, I know places like John’s Hopkins and major banks were located in the city, but for the most part, where I came from only consisted of lowlifes and panhandlers.

My parents had run a strip of businesses right off of Baltimore Street that consisted of a deli, a cleaners, and a check cashing establishment. They did well for themselves and even gave back to the community, but my father wasn’t always a straight businessman. He lied to my mother about things and when I discovered it, I wanted nothing more to do with him or what he was involved in.

It broke my mother’s heart, but it was better than telling her she was married to a liar. She was a kindhearted woman that thought the world of him. Far be it from me to take that away. I’d much rather her assume I was the f**k up instead.

When I left, right before my eighteenth birthday, I had saved about five hundred bucks. My plan was to take my beaten up Honda Civic to Pennsylvania and play in an Amateur Tournament and win big.

I got my ass handed to me in the first two matches and was eliminated. After just one day, I was down to under four hundred bucks and knew that it was the only thing standing between me being independent or going back home to my father.

After going outside and kicking the hell out of a few trashcans and smoking a few cigs, I went back and watched the guys play that beat me so badly.

I knew I was a cocky guy, but I had honestly believed that I was pretty damn good. The men and even women in this tournament blew me away. There was no way that I could shoot at the level they were.

That’s when I met Joker.

I was walking around, watching a few people play on a couple practice tables when he approached me. I recognized him right away as the second guy that handed me my ass. He tapped on my pool case that was hanging over my shoulder. “Where’d you get that stick kid?”

I hated being called kid, but since I’d lied about my age to get into the tournament, I knew I couldn’t argue. “Pawn shop.”

“You mind if I take a look at it?” We were in a crowded place and it wasn’t like he could take it and run. Still, since I had traded my stereo and all of my baseball cards, I wasn’t very keen on taking the chance.

“Why do you want to see it?”

He smiled and crossed his arms. “I noticed when you were shooting that the ferrule seems cracked. It can affect the way the tip hits the cue.”

“Ferrule?”

“Yeah, kid, it’s the white part of the tip. You going to let me take a look or what?” After watching the dude play pool and now hearing about his knowledge of the stick, I reluctantly got my stick out and handed it to him. The stick unscrewed to fit in the case and he only needed the top shaft part of it. I waited patiently to hear what he was going to say. “It’s definitely cracked.” He showed me where. “Don’t you hear the difference when you take your shot?”