He knew an exit line when he uttered it.
He threw the destroyed cue down, snatched his cue up, shot the eight ball in the corner pocket, and flung the cue down again.
And then he headed out the door.
“Untoward?” Truck’s voice was frayed with shock. “Whosaysshit like that?”
“Aren’t,” Britt heard J. T. say viciously to himself, once he stood outside. As though he were pressing a reset button.
She’d started after him and paused to give Sherrie an imploring look. Sherrie gave her the “go on, go after him” nudge with her chin.
The street was so peaceful compared to the inside of the Misty Cat, it was like entering another dimension. The hills were purpling now and it would be full dark in minutes, but it was never really dark on a clear night, thanks to all the stars.
He glanced over at her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. A little shaken. Impressed. But fine.”
He was quiet a moment.
“Wasn’t all that long agoIdidn’t know what satay was. That was playing even dirtier than I’m normally willing to do.”
“I’m sorry you had to do that.”
“It’s not me I’m concerned about. I have plenty of experience with the Trucks of the world. If I had to guess, he’s a big fish in a small pond that doesn’t have the guts to ever leave. Guys like Truck, when they see something different or new, they either want to own it, be it, or kill it. Metaphorically speaking. Or, if you’ll excuse the vernacular, fuck it. Anything to make him feel like he has some control over it.”
Only someone who was used to feeling like an outsider would know these things.
Her first impression of him had been right: John Tennessee McCord was probably fundamentally lonely.
“You nailed him pretty perfectly,” she told him softly. “Add to all that the fact that he hasn’t worked in over a year. Got laid off. His mama’s on disability.”
J. T. gave a short laugh that tapered into a sigh, and he swept his hair back with his hands. “Now I feel like even more of a jerk.”
“No, Truck had every bit of that coming. He wasn’t going to hurt me, though.”
“Oh, how the hell do you know that?” He sounded more wearily exasperated than anything else and she almost laughed.
“I just do. He’s an equal opportunity asshole. He mostly just blunders about and people put up with it because they know him. Everyone in town seems to have their own role. Seemed like he had something to prove tonight, though.”
He turned and even in the dark his eyes seemed brilliant.
Normally she would have enjoyed an uninterrupted opportunity to stare into his blue eyes.
At the moment they felt like lasers.
“But you didn’t like him touching you, Britt.”
She hesitated. “No.”
“Has he touched you before? Like that? Grabbed you?”
Suddenly she was wary.
This was a man who noticed things.
“Not quite like that. No.” Her voice was fainter now.
“And you’re certainly not scared ofTruck, necessarily.”