table.”
Tentatively, Val reached out, putting his elbow on the table. It was slightly rickety — one of the legs must have been shorter than the others. The top was coarse, veneer roughened by the passing of glasses and plates and God knows what else over its surface. He looked at his opponent, taking in the bulging bicep and muscled forearm. The predatory, mocking grin.
Something inside Val — something hungry — made him reach forward, and they clasped hands. He grinned himself then.
Val’s opponent wanted the win — his grin said he knew he was going to get it. He tried a vice grip on Val’s hand, applying pressure before giving a savage wrench and slamming Val’s arm to the tabletop. At least, that’s what he thought was going to happen. As soon as he used that pressure, trying to crush Val’s hand in his, the game changed. That hungry thing inside of Val noticed the change, felt the point where this stopped being a game and started being a fight. Instead of his arm slamming to the tabletop in defeat, it stayed upright.
Val’s arm didn’t move an inch.
Val’s teeth were still showing over the top of their clasped hands. He began to apply pressure of his own, inexorably pushing the back of his opponent’s hand towards the tabletop. The motion was slow and smooth, no trembling of exertion.
Like that, it was over. The back of his opponent’s hand touched the table. Val hadn’t realised how quiet the bar had become until people started cheering, clapping him on the back. A beer appeared in front of him, and he chugged it thirstily. His opponent kicked back his chair, pushing savagely through the crowd. Jeers followed him to the anonymity of the night outside.
John reached forward. “Another fifty bro. It’s going to be a long night.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What?” Her head cocked at him, the small bar having become so loud that it was hard to hear yourself think, let alone get an order across.
“I said — hell — sorry! Peroni!” Val was almost shouting at her across the small bar top. The place had become almost rowdy, but in a jovial way — good people, good times . Val’s kind of crowd. At least, this was how he imagined his crowd was, if he could remember it in the morning.
She held up two fingers, head tilted to the side. Val nodded. “Sure!” And then those amber curls jounced away to the frosted door of the beer compartment. Val watched as she pulled the beers out, and with a practiced swipe pulled an opener from her back pocket. Two quick motions and the caps were tossed somewhere behind the bar, thrown in with the litter of another busy night.
Danny . That was what the name badge said. “You running late for work this evening?”
She leaned closer. “What?”
Val pointed to the badge. “Your badge. You swipe it from one of your pals?”
She looked down at it, then laughed. “Nah. My Dad always wanted a dog named Daniel. Wait a sec!” And like that, she was off down the other end of the bar for an order. Val watched her go. There was something about her, a feistiness in her grin — and dimples — that spoke out to him.
He stared down at his Peroni, watching the perspiration bead on the glass, then took a pull from it. He was sure he’d drunk his bodyweight in beer, but he only had a long smooth high, like the bottle couldn’t touch him. Not tonight. If only his left arm would stop aching.
“Why the hangdog face?”
He looked up to find her back. He dragged up a lopsided grin. “Sorry. I’ve been trying to teach myself Italian all night, can’t seen to get past, ‘Superior beer.’ At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what it says.”
Danny grinned at him. “Where’s your friend?”
Of course. None of the pretty girls really wanted to talk to Val. It was John they were usually after. “Hell, I don’t
Tentatively, Val reached out, putting his elbow on the table. It was slightly rickety — one of the legs must have been shorter than the others. The top was coarse, veneer roughened by the passing of glasses and plates and God knows what else over its surface. He looked at his opponent, taking in the bulging bicep and muscled forearm. The predatory, mocking grin.
Something inside Val — something hungry — made him reach forward, and they clasped hands. He grinned himself then.
Val’s opponent wanted the win — his grin said he knew he was going to get it. He tried a vice grip on Val’s hand, applying pressure before giving a savage wrench and slamming Val’s arm to the tabletop. At least, that’s what he thought was going to happen. As soon as he used that pressure, trying to crush Val’s hand in his, the game changed. That hungry thing inside of Val noticed the change, felt the point where this stopped being a game and started being a fight. Instead of his arm slamming to the tabletop in defeat, it stayed upright.
Val’s arm didn’t move an inch.
Val’s teeth were still showing over the top of their clasped hands. He began to apply pressure of his own, inexorably pushing the back of his opponent’s hand towards the tabletop. The motion was slow and smooth, no trembling of exertion.
Like that, it was over. The back of his opponent’s hand touched the table. Val hadn’t realised how quiet the bar had become until people started cheering, clapping him on the back. A beer appeared in front of him, and he chugged it thirstily. His opponent kicked back his chair, pushing savagely through the crowd. Jeers followed him to the anonymity of the night outside.
John reached forward. “Another fifty bro. It’s going to be a long night.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What?” Her head cocked at him, the small bar having become so loud that it was hard to hear yourself think, let alone get an order across.
“I said — hell — sorry! Peroni!” Val was almost shouting at her across the small bar top. The place had become almost rowdy, but in a jovial way — good people, good times . Val’s kind of crowd. At least, this was how he imagined his crowd was, if he could remember it in the morning.
She held up two fingers, head tilted to the side. Val nodded. “Sure!” And then those amber curls jounced away to the frosted door of the beer compartment. Val watched as she pulled the beers out, and with a practiced swipe pulled an opener from her back pocket. Two quick motions and the caps were tossed somewhere behind the bar, thrown in with the litter of another busy night.
Danny . That was what the name badge said. “You running late for work this evening?”
She leaned closer. “What?”
Val pointed to the badge. “Your badge. You swipe it from one of your pals?”
She looked down at it, then laughed. “Nah. My Dad always wanted a dog named Daniel. Wait a sec!” And like that, she was off down the other end of the bar for an order. Val watched her go. There was something about her, a feistiness in her grin — and dimples — that spoke out to him.
He stared down at his Peroni, watching the perspiration bead on the glass, then took a pull from it. He was sure he’d drunk his bodyweight in beer, but he only had a long smooth high, like the bottle couldn’t touch him. Not tonight. If only his left arm would stop aching.
“Why the hangdog face?”
He looked up to find her back. He dragged up a lopsided grin. “Sorry. I’ve been trying to teach myself Italian all night, can’t seen to get past, ‘Superior beer.’ At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what it says.”
Danny grinned at him. “Where’s your friend?”
Of course. None of the pretty girls really wanted to talk to Val. It was John they were usually after. “Hell, I don’t
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