4
The cue-ball struck its yellow-striped companion and sent the Nine rolling straight into the corner pocket. Ben did his traditional victory dance, marching around the table and cheering himself.
Closing his eyes tight, Jack bowed his head. He touched fingers to his brow and massaged away a throbbing pain. “All right,” he said. “I think we should be calling it a night, don't you?”
Tall and slim in jeans and a silk shirt that he wore untucked, Ben studied the tip of his cue. “Dude, it's only ten,” he muttered. “You can't possibly be ready to go home yet. You haven't even met anyone.”
Jack leaned over the table, lining up his shot. The tip of his cue struck the white ball and sent it rolling down table to collide with the Six. Clipped on the corner, the green ball took off at a forty-fi
