Chauncey Bordane's Story

Are You Ready by Creed spilled from the radio of Chauncey's black Jeep Commander. Her fingers drumming the steering wheel as she pressed the gas, rocketing a 65 in a 45 zone. Her ass gets caught and that's an automatic court date. Last damn thing she needs was something to add to probation. She pulled into the parking lot of the bar, Bailey, the main bartender, leaned against the wall. A cigarette in his small hands. Bailey was a short man, legally a damn midget. But he had a sexiness to him only he could claim. Tattoos created sleeves on his arms, his dark hair short and disheveled, a five o'clock shadow hung to his face, and a tongue ring that made women scream his name.

"Chauncey." He nodded his small head to her in greeting. His dark eyes traveling down her body as he ground the cigarette into the wall.

"Shouldn't you be in arts n' crafts about now Bailey?" She held the door open for the squat man, chuckling as he flashed her the finger. Zee's Pool Hall was a two part building. A bar on the top with several tables and even a small dance floor. The pool hall was down a small flights of stairs, in a basement like cave. Cigar and pot smoke clouded the air, Manly shouts sang with the loud crack of pool balls. Ever since Chauncey moved to NY, she spends her days here with Randle and Devin. Fellow gamblers. Chauncey bounced down the stairs, looking for the bear of a man who promised an Eight-ball. He leaned over the pool table in the corner.

Maneuvering her way around the pool tables she gave Devin a healthy punch in the ribs. He chuckled and pulled her in a headlock. These men where just as loud and stupid as her, she considered them blood. And will, and has done anything for them. Chauncey wiggled her away from his grasp and watched Randle jump the cue ball. "Foul."

"Damn it lass, I know that." Randle's thick Irish accent growled at her. "My hand slipped."

Chauncey erupted in laughter. "Shit, your just a fucktard." Devin crackled in laughter behind her as she pulled a pool stick from the rack. "You playin Eight or Nine?" She dusted her hands and cue with powder chalk. Randle shot her a black glare, his features pulling together. He was a large ass man, six-four and two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle. Gorgeous with deep green eyes and dark hair. And one hell of a temper. Devin was the complete opposite, thin and lanky, blonde hair with ice blue eyes and bubblier than Dolly Parton. How the hell he managed to hang around here eluded Chauncey.

"Eight." He quipped, a goofy grin on his face. "Hows classes." He leaned on his pool stick, white chalk on his cheek. Chauncey rolled her eyes at the question as she leaned over the table. School can kiss my ass.

"Its good." Like a sniper she drew in a breath and held it, sliding the pool stick between her fingers to smash into the cue ball. An exhale danced with a loud crack as the glistening white cue ball knocked into the purple striped 12, pocketing in the left corner. Last thing she wanted to talk about was Biology or Chemistry. Four hours of Biology notes about drove her crazy today, now it was time to just play pool and get shit faced.