Storm
After our late breakfast—which had officially crossed the line from breakfast into brunch—the girls and I headed upstairs to the games room.
It felt good to be doing something normal again.
We set up a game of eight-ball and quickly turned our friendly competition into a full-blown battle for bragging rights.
“Don’t even think about it, Lena,” Lilly warned as I lined up my shot.
I glanced at her.
“Think about what?”
“Winning.”
I smirked.
“Too late.”
I took the shot.
The cue ball struck the target ball perfectly, sending it straight into the pocket.
“Yes!”
Lilly groaned.
“Beginner’s luck.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
The girls burst into laughter.
While we played, they filled me in on everything I’d missed at university. They told me stories about their classmates,
