19. Remi

Chapter 19

Remi

P ool balls clacked together behind me. Karaoke night was in full swing. The bar was packed with a ton of Swifties. Songs from her latest album were being belted into the microphone by far less than Emmy winning voices.

“Bro. If you scratch, you have to stay in the kitchen.” Chuck rubbed chalk on the tip of his pool stick. He leaned against the pool table next to Pedro, pointing and making comments in Spanish.

“Haven’t you ever played this before, amigo?” Pedro smoothed his mustache and scratched the side of his head.

He didn’t always come with us to the bar on our at least bi-weekly bro nights. His five kids and wife took up most of his free time.

Smoot waved his hand in front of him. “Yeah, I play by different rules, though.” He went to set the cue ball down, hesitated, then said, “I don’t see a kitchen on this table.”

All of us broke out into a round of drunken giggles. Except Blake’s were non-drunken. He’d ordered his usual Coke.

Chuck grabbed his beer and took a swig. “Dude. It’s behind this dot.” He pressed his finger into the pearl circle in line with the headstring.

“Oh. Yeah. I knew that.” Smoot adjusted his glasses, set his ball down, and took his shot. Bad move buddy. He’d make his shot, but … Smoot tapped the cue ball, sending it sailing. It ricocheted off the three-ball and into the side pocket.

I threw my scotch back. I needed to be drunker to survive this night. What did Angie see in him? More importantly, why had I agreed to hang out with him? “Sam!” I hollered across the counter and got the bartender’s attention. “Can I get another?”

He nodded but finished serving the mayor and his wife, plus all the friends I’d made from the farm store.

“Hey, Remi!” Agnus hollered while Mitch and Joe tipped their beers to me.

Sam set a full tumbler in front of me. “Rough night?”

I raised my scotch to my farm store friends and answered him, “An unexpected bend in the road, but I’ll get it figured out.” Tonight, Angie emerged the victor, or so she thought. If I could have picked this outcome, I would have. I had a clear path set before me to achieve all my goals. Yet, looking at Smoot fumble with his cue stick, I didn’t revel in the victory like usual.

She picked this whirlie over me?

Blake twisted toward me in his stool. He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t tell me about your job,” he hedged.

Oh, great. Lili must have texted him. “It’s just business.”

“You know it’ll crush her to lose her land?”

I slumped backward until the bar pressed into my spine, my elbows edging onto the counter, my scotch clutched in my right hand. “I have no doubt she’ll land on her feet.”

Pedro cheered as Chuck sank the eight ball in the corner pocket. Game over. I let out a short puff of air. Smoot still had five balls on the table.

“You could have told me at the crib raising.” Blake finished off his Coke, slammed his glass on the bar, and stood. “You’re even more screwed than I imagined.” He directed a sympathetic grimace my way.

I didn’t respond to him, and he didn’t wait for me to.

Blake checked his watch then sauntered to Chuck and Pedro. “One more game, and I’ve got to get home.”

Smoot handed him his stick and loped toward me. Swiveling my head to the right and then to the left, I couldn’t find an escape hatch. I wasn’t drunk enough for this conversation.

“Hey.” Smoot sat on the seat Blake had vacated. “Thanks for this. I’m having an epic time.”

Everything he said felt forced, like he was an actor on a stage. Nerves, maybe? “No problem.” I drained my drink, caught Sam’s eye, and pointed at my empty glass.

“So, uh, I was wondering if you knew any of Angie’s favorite places. Other than her farm, of course.”

Even in my foggy state, I recalled the details I’d cataloged about Angie. “City of the Rocks. She and her dad used to go camping there.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

“What are you planning?” I asked while Sam traded my empty glass for a full one.

Blake, Pedro, and Chuck burst out in simultaneous cheers and groans. By the looks of it, Blake was cleaning house. Being sober gave him an unfair advantage.

Smoot leaned close to me. Fermented barley and yeast clung to his breath. “Can I tell you a secret?”

No. Please don’t, my mind pleaded, my mouth too slow to respond before Smoot continued talking.

“I want to propose to Angie.”

My elbows slipped off the bar, and I nearly fell from my stool, my drink sloshing over the edge. “Hold on. What?”

“I know I’ve only known her for a month—”

Not quite a month.

“—but from the first time I chatted with her, I just knew she’s the one. Why wait when you know, you know?”

“Because it’s the rest of your life you’re talking about.” I wiped at the liquid I’d spilled on my shirt. “Don’t you think you should wait a little longer? At least a couple months?”

“Oh yeah, man. I’m in the planning stage. Make sure everything is good to go, you know. Not going to propose for another month, probably two.”

My throat went dry. If he said you know, one more time, I’d tell him just what I knew. I struggled to swallow. Propose? He didn’t understand Angie, not half as well as I did. Yet, after what she’d discovered tonight, I doubted I’d be able to get any closer to her.

What did I care? This was good for me. The sooner Smoot proposed, the sooner I’d have my freedom. This fit right into my three-step plan. Step two: Let Smoot have her. “Congratulations. This calls for some celebrating. Next rounds on me!” I shouted above the music. Everyone cheered and clambered to the bar.

I slapped Smoot on the back. “Now. Let’s get you up on that stage.”

Keeping my hand on his shoulder, I propelled a less-than-enthusiastic Smoot forward with Blake, Pedro, and Chuck trailing behind.