Betting on Bailey

“What do you think?” Clark points to Bailey. “Hot or not?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “She’s not a piece of meat, jackass,” he says in disgust. “She’s a person.”

“Hot or not?” Clark repeats. There’s a note of rancor in his voice. I’m really hoping he’s had too much to drink tonight, not that alcohol is any justification for acting like a douchebag. “You guys. You want to act like you are above it all, don’t you? Daniel with his billions, Sebastian and the bad boy chef routine. You can’t stand admitting that you look at women and think, I’d tap that.”

Sebastian stiffens next to me. I might not be willing to get into a fight, but I know Sebastian, and if Clark doesn’t stop talking, he’s going to get hit. I’m about to say something to try and diffuse the tension, when Bailey bends over to make a shot, and her breasts graze the table.

Fuck yes, I’d tap that in a heartbeat.

“Oh, she’s hot, alright,” Sebastian says next to me. His voice sounds hoarse. It’s not just me that’s feeling the effect of her curves. “She just doesn’t know it.”

Clark grits his teeth when Bailey misses an easy shot. She has absolutely no confidence in herself, her hands shake when they grip the cue stick, and she takes each shot in some kind of weird hunch over the table, but she doesn’t give up, and she doesn’t leave.

When her opponent wins her final game, Clark goes up to Bailey. “Well,” he says, his voice patronizing, “you have plenty of room for improvement.”

Her face whitens, and she whirls on her heel, looking for the closest exit. When she spots it, she makes a beeline for it. I want to follow her, and I will, in a moment. But Clark needs to be dealt with. I walk up to him, murder in my eyes. “Did you just make her cry?”

“Fuck off, Hartman,” he snaps. “You saw her. She’s terrible and she’s inconsistent. I want a two who can win a game or two, not just act as a sacrifice.”

Clark’s obsessed with winning the tournament and going to Vegas, and he’s forgotten to be kind. “She’ll win more than a game or two,” I tell him. “I guarantee it.”

“She’s dreadful and she’s ugly,” he says viciously.

Next to me, Sebastian’s temper is one thread away from snapping. “Listen to me, asshole,” he growls, his voice thick with menace. “I will get her good enough that she’ll win at the end of the season.”

“Bullshit,” Clark says. “She’ll be a two next week, and in July, I’ll sacrifice her to draw out a seven. She doesn’t have a chance. In fact, I might not even play her. It’ll be easier to take a forfeit.”

“You’ll play her,” I say. “Let’s bet on it. You play her in July and she’ll win her match.”

“How much?”

“Fifty.”

“Fifty dollars?” he sneers. “Fuck off, Hartman.”

“Fifty grand.”

From the look on Clark’s face, I know we’ve got him.

6

We know what we are, but not what we may be.

William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Bailey:

You have plenty of room for improvement. The words themselves weren’t cruel, but the tone was scathing. Clark, who looks exactly like the comic book Clark Kent, right down to the square black nerd glasses, didn’t bother to gentle his voice and listening to him, I had a bad flashback to Trevor’s cutting words.

As I stand in the alleyway behind the bar, I twist my turquoise ring round my little finger, trying hard to calm myself. Right now, I wish I were more like my friends. Gabby, whose temper erupts hot and fiery when she’s enraged, would have never let Clark speak to her the way he had just done to me. Wendy, who can turn icy when provoked, would have come up with a cutting response. Piper would have given him a contemptuous look and walked away. Me? I ran away and I’m fighting back tears behind the club. Great job, Bailey, I tell myself. I wish I’d grabbed my bag before fleeing. I don’t want to go back in there and feel the eyes of the entire team on me. A team that includes two of the hottest men I’ve ever met. Daniel and Sebastian.