Saving Quinton (Nova #2)(46)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

I drag my ass back to my room and flop down onto my mattress, the overload of adrenaline I was feeling dwindling. For a brief second my mind slows down to reflect on how I got to this place. How I could get to such a low. How I created this monster within me—what I would be like if it died. But then I glance down at the names on my arm and remember.

I got here because I’m no one.

I shouldn’t even be alive.

Nova

I follow Tristan’s directions to a small bar on a corner a few miles away. Right beside it is a place called Topless Hotties and Drinks and across from it is a massage parlor, but I have to wonder by the half-naked lady painted on the glass window just what kind of massages they give.

Tristan doesn’t seem to be made uncomfortable by any of this. In fact he seems right at home as he climbs out of the car and lights up.

“So they have the best Jäger bombs here,” he tells me as he opens the tinted glass door at the front of the building. He holds it open for me and I enter, cringing at the dark, smoky atmosphere.

“I don’t really drink anymore¸” I tell him and breath eases from my lips as a waitress walks by in a uniform that looks like it was bought at Victoria’s Secret.

Tristan gives me a weird look like he doesn’t quite understand the concept. “Sure. Okay.” Then he leads me out into the open bar area that has tables and chairs on one side and a few pool tables on the other.

There’s a jukebox in the corner playing “Leader of Men” by Nickelback. All the waitresses are dressed similarly to the one we ran into when we walked in, wearing lingerie-type outfits. There are mostly guys hanging out in here, go figure, but thankfully, there are a few women patrons here and there so I don’t feel so out of place. Although I do feel very uncomfortable about the half-dressed waitresses.

“Do you want to play some pool?” Tristan asks, angling his head and checking out one of the waitress not so discreetly.

I shrug. “I’ve never played before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

He muses over this, intrigued. “Well, I think it might be time to break that cherry,” he says with a sly expression that makes me wonder if he knows I’m a virgin. If maybe Quinton told him about the little incident in the pond. But for some reason, I just can’t seem to picture Quinton doing that.

“Sounds good.” I play along, knowing that if I want to get information about Quinton’s dad from him, I’m going to have to stay on his good side.

He grins and motions for me to follow him, stopping briefly to order a shot of vodka at the bar. He asks me if I want one and I shake my head, telling him I rarely drink anymore. He gives me a weird look but doesn’t press.

Once he slams it down, he looks even more relaxed, and part of me wishes I could take a shot, too. But I’m afraid one shot may lead to five shots and that may lead to so much more. Plus, I have to drive.

Tristan gets two cues from the wall, hands one to me, then racks the balls up. He waves at some guy with a long beard as he rounds the table to get ready to break the balls and I have to wonder…

“Just how often do you come here?” I ask, leaning my weight on the cue as I prop it vertically against the floor.

He shrugs, lowering his head and slanting over the pool table while aiming the cue at the balls. “I don’t know…like once or twice a week.” The cue jerks forward and the tip slams against the ball. It springs forward and hits the others, scattering them around the table. He stands up straight, smiling proudly as two solid-colored balls go into the pockets. “I think it’s going to be payback time for making me lose at darts all the time.”

“I didn’t make you lose at darts,” I tell him. “I’m just better at it.”

He gives me a cocky grin and moves around the table, setting up his next shot, which he makes. This happens two more times and each time he looks cockier. When he finally does miss a shot, it barely fazes him.

“Go ahead and give it a try,” he says, gesturing at the table.

I almost smile because this feels so normal, like how things used to be, only he’s high and I’m sober. I step up to the table and try my best to hit one of the striped balls, but fail epically. I frown as not a single ball except the white one moves.

He laughs at me and it’s the first real emotion I think I’ve seen, real happiness fleetingly slipping through the drugs taking over his system.

“I’m glad you think this is funny,” I say, and I mean it. It’s good to see him laugh.

“Oh, I do.” His laughter dies down and he studies me from across the table with his blue eyes that used to be so much brighter. He cocks his head to the side as if he’s deliberating his next move and then he sets down his cue and strolls around the table, coming over to the side I’m standing on. “Here, let me help you.”

He reaches for me and I instinctively step back. “But it’s your turn.”

“I know,” he says. “But this can be more of a lesson than a game.”

I pout. “Am I that bad?”

He suppresses a laugh. “Just let me help you.”

I let out a loud breath. “Okay.”

He grins and then steps up to my side. “Face the table,” he says and I do, turning around. He puts an arm on each side of me and his chest presses against my back as I lean down and he moves with me, showing me how to hold the cue correctly by putting his hands over mine and guiding them into the right position.

His closeness makes me nervous, especially when his warm breath caresses my cheek as he dips his head forward. I think he’s going to say something, maybe kiss my cheek. I wonder if I’d let him—how far I’d go to get what I need in order to help Quinton. I’m not liking my thoughts very much right now, but thankfully, I get to escape them when all Tristan does is help me aim the cue and then shoot it forward. This time a lot of balls scatter and one even makes it in.

“See, not so hard, right?” he asks, his hands leaving mine.

I shake off my jitteriness and turn around. “No, but now that you’ve showed me how, you’ve made it harder for you to win.”

He chuckles as he rubs his scruffy jaw. “For some reason I doubt it.”

“Yeah, me, too,” I agree, stepping around the pool table to make my next shot, which I miss. He laughs amusedly.

We play for a little bit longer and of course he kicks my ass, which he comments on a few times as we find a seat at a table so he can order another drink. After the waitress leaves to go get Tristan his Jäger bomb and me my Coke, he grabs the saltshaker and starts rotating it between his hands.