Chapter 83 Whiskey on the Rocks
Quick Silver was not the sort of establishment Andrea was used to hanging out in, but once she stepped through the door, Case’s hand in hers, she understood why he liked it.
The bar was on the outskirts of town, not even in a suburb, it was so remote. It looked like a rundown place for ne’er-do-wells to hang out in, but on the inside, it could’ve been any ol’ country western bar. There were pool tables toward the back along one side, several tables in the front and on the other side of the pool tables, and the bar was long enough to seat at least a dozen guests.
It wasn’t that full, though. Case waved at Charlie when he walked in. He was sitting with a few other drivers and crew members Andrea recognized, all but one, anyway, and they had a full round of Buds, as well as a pitcher, sitting in front of them. She was the only woman, which might’ve made her nervous if she didn’t trust Case and Charlie to keep her safe.
She wasn’t the only woman in the joint, though. There were two waitresses wearing cut off jean shorts that showed almost as much as Sarah had earlier, along with cowboy boots and flannel shirts tied up under their boobs. They had long hair, one blond and one brunette, and they looked like they could probably get enough tips in one night to pay their rent for a month.
Case pulled a chair out for her and introduced her to Rolo, one of the tire changers for Charlie’s team. Everyone else, she knew. Stewart Antony, the driver who’d one the championship last year, Brad, Case’s crew chief, and another drive named Whiskey Rogers. That wasn’t his given name, obviously, but that’s what he went by. He was older than the others by at least ten years and probably needed to retire. Chomping on a cigar, he leaned across his potbelly to take her hand when Case introduced her. He knew who she was, too. “Nice to meetcha, Ms. Sparks,” he said.
Andrea said, “You, too,” but she didn’t really mean it. He looked like the sort of guy who’d use a pool stick to raise a girl’s skirt or rub up on a woman’s backside while squeezing through a crowd.
Case poured them both a beer, and the men started talking about racing, swapping stories and talking like men, though most of them were careful of their language in front of Andrea, not that it offended her. Whiskey didn’t seem to care that there was a lady present. His mouth was filthy.
Several other folks came in. A lot of them said hi as they walked by but no one acted star struck. A few of them even noticed Andrea, but no one asked for her autograph. It was a huge change to being in LA, and she liked that aspect of it.
The waitress with the brown hair brought them a new pitcher, and Whiskey went out of his way to look at her backside as she was putting the beer on the table. He held his hand up like he was going to touch her, and Andrea’s eyes bulged. Charlie was sitting next to the older man and jabbed him in the ribs. Whiskey laughed and put his hand down. A few of the others chuckled and shook their heads, but Case seemed annoyed. Silently, Andrea hoped they’d leave soon. He’d promised they wouldn’t stay long, but he liked to hang out with his friends, and he’d been away from them for so long when he was in LA, she wanted him to have a chance to visit with them.
“Are we shootin’ pool, or what?” Brad asked, taking a swig of his beer and pushing his chair back.
“Hell, ya!” Whiskey replied, getting up as well. Screeches of wood on wood filled the air as chairs moved, drowning out the country song playing on the jukebox.
“You ready to go?” Case asked Andrea.
“You want to play, don’t you?”
“I don’t have to.”
“It’s fine. We can stay a little bit longer.” She knew he liked to shoot pool with his friends, and even though she was pretty sure Whiskey didn’t fall in that category, he was there nevertheless, and Case would probably have fun with the others.
He took her hand and walked her to the back of the room where the others had already determined who was playing where. Charlie and Case would take on Whiskey and Rolo. Andrea sat down at a high-rise table nearby, pulling her chair around where she could see.
“You wanna play?” Brad asked her, calling from a nearby table where he was taking on Antony.
“No, thanks. I’ll just watch.” She knew how to play, and she wasn’t too bad at it, but this wasn’t her gig—this was for Case.
Charlie broke, and the match was on. He was a good shot, but then so was Case when it was his turn. They were skunking the other two. Rolo wasn’t awful, but Whiskey was clearly drunk. He was having trouble keeping his balance. He either scratched or missed his shot every time.
When the first game was over, and Charlie and Case had won, Whiskey called for a rematch.
“I don’t know. I gotta get the young lady home,” he said, hooking a thumb at Andrea.
“Ah, she can hang out for one more round, can’tcha, beautiful?”
Andrea didn’t really like the way Whiskey was looking at her, but she didn’t say anything to him. Instead, she said to Case, “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
He kissed her forehead and handed her his pool stick. To the men, he said, “I’ll be back,” and he headed toward the bathroom.
A crowd was building elsewhere in the bar, and a few people were standing around as if they wanted the table. “We should get started so people don’t think we’re camping out at the table for no reason,” Charlie said. “Your turn to break, Whiskey.”
“All righty.” He staggered over to the end of the table and lined up his shot, losing his balance twice. When he finally hit the white ball, it barely move forward far enough to break the rest. None of them made it to the pockets. “I’ll be….” He stepped aside so that Charlie could take his shot, moving so close to Andrea that she could smell his beer breath and a distinct old man mix of body odor and gasoline.
Charlie was busy at the table, and Case had gotten stopped by a fan on his way out of the bathroom. Andrea was uncomfortable with Whiskey standing so close to her. He looked down at her and smiled, which made her skin crawl. “I heard about what Gordo Jones’s gal did at the photoshoot,” he said, his voice a little more suggestive than Andrea cared for.
“Yeah, I saw it.” She hoped her tone was dismissive.
“You know, us fellas have had a long week. If you wanna crawl up there on the pool table and give us a little demo, none of us would mind.”
Bile swam in the back of Andrea’s throat. “No, thanks.” She scooted around in her chair, trying to put some distance between them. Case caught her eyes, and she gave him a look that had him dismissing himself from the fan and hurrying over.
It wasn’t fast enough to keep Whiskey from striking again. “Come on, gorgeous. You’re wearing a nice skirt. Maybe just a peek for me?” His hand was low enough that the others at the table might not see as he grabbed the hem of Andrea’s skirt and attempted to pull it up. His thick fingers grazed her thigh, making her skin crawl.
She grabbed the hem and jerked it down. By then, Case was there.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his tone nothing but business.
“Huh?” Whiskey asked. “Noting. Why?”
By then, Charlie was next to Case, his pool stick propped on the floor next to his sneaker. He rose to his full height.
“Nothin’s the matter. Back off,” Whiskey said, trying to take a step backward but staggering into the table behind him.
Whiskey moved away from Andrea, and Case asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Are you ready to go?”
Before she could answer, Whiskey uttered under his breath, “B*tch ain’t ready for nothin’.”
‘What did you say?” Charlie demanded, since he was standing next to Whiskey.
“Oh, sh*t.” Andrea knew that look in Charlie’s eyes. She braced herself. Things were about to get ugly.
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