make you miss me • q. hughes

01

The bar is hot and muggy. So much so it's probably cooler outside than in here. I am simply miserable. Val saw someone she swear she knows and disappeared, leaving me with both our drinks at the sticky-ass bar.

"Schuy!" Val shouts. She's dragging someone behind her. They have their own trailing group too. "This is huge!"

"What's up?" I say. In a regular volume. It's not that loud in here to yell.

She displays her new group of what looks to be a bunch of guys. Her smile basically reverses the dingy lighting in here. "Remember my mom's friend with the sons I practically grew up with?"

"Uh... Which ones? Your mom has a shit ton of friends with sons that you practically grew up with."

"The Hughes's! The one's on an entirely different level!" She nods backward toward her parade. "They're here for the summer too with some friends!"

I send a glance at the group of guys, trying to ignore how sweaty I feel. "That's great, Val."

"It's great for you! Quinn here is in Vancouver most of the year," she says. The guy whose hand she's holding nods softly. "I figured if you two get to know each other you'll already have a friend when you move there."

"Okay, sure," I agree.

"The rest of us are going to the pool tables!" She's gone before I can protest being left with some random guy.

Val and I are an interesting pair. Usually, we're pretty equal in our outgoingness. Some nights though, we're complete opposites. There are nights when I'm sitting on the sidelines watching her flourish and there are nights she's the one on the sidelines. This is one of those nights I'm on the sidelines. Hell, I'm practically in the bleachers tonight.

He doesn't seem too enthusiastic to be here either. Or it's the fact that Val dropped him off as she did. She means well. She does. It's the alcohol that makes her forget that not everyone will be on her level that overrules her intentions though.

"So, what do you do?" I ask.

He blinks a few times. "Uh, hockey."

"No, I mean... For work."

"Yeah. Hockey," he repeats. My face must show confusion or something because he adds on: "The NHL. I play for the Vancouver Canucks."

Mortified, my hand flies up to my mouth. "I'm so sorry, holy shit. I'm just a bit out of it from how hot it is in here. What position?"

"Defense. You know hockey?"

"I played from five to sixteen. My dad played 'til he graduated college. Same for my two older brothers and my younger brother is still playing in high school."

"So you know hockey."

"A little." I shrug.

"Why'd you quit? Not make a team or something?"

For a few moments, I simply stare at him. Because what the fuck? Not make a team?

"I've always known how to quit while I'm ahead," I say. "Maybe you should learn how."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means before asking if I quit hockey 'cause I sucked or something you seemed like an alright guy. If not a little awkward."

"Oh, 'cause you seem so open to discussion."

"Sure."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm just saying, who the hell questions a person on their answer to what they do for a living?"

"Well, it's not a very common thing to get a sport as the answer to that. Especially not the vaguest way of saying it."

"It seemed like you didn't even believe I had anything to do with hockey."

"Now you're just projecting," I mumble.

"Not making a team doesn't mean you suck. So who's the one projecting?"

"No, not making a team kind of means you suck. At least compared to the people around you."

"Okay, whatever. Sure! You're right."

"I am, thanks." I down both mine and Val's drinks. "I'm going to the pool tables."

"There goes my plan."

"What? Scared to lose? You bad at pool?"

He downs his drink and sets the cup next to my empty ones. "Let's go."

* * * * *

We decided on the best two out of three. By that, I mean I told him we're doing best two out of three. He said then we'd only be playing two games. I fought off the urge to laugh in his face.

We were definitely an interesting show. Our general group watched us and laughed— loudly. Mainly at the drunk shit-talking going on. The shit talk was mainly on my part. People outside of our group watched too. I even shit-talked Quinn to some random guys. They looked at me like they'd fallen in love. In about three drinks, I was off the sidelines and on to the starting lineup.

"Call it!" Val shouts from the other end of the table as me.

"Left corner," I say, pointing to the exact pocket.

Quinn watched with a clenched jaw as I line up my last shot. The eight ball. Here's the thing, we had a pool table in our basement growing up. My older brothers, Jem and Atticus, always won. Always. When I quit hockey there was this open about an hour and a half where Atticus would be at hockey and I'd be at home alone.

So I practiced. A lot. Even more than that, I still pretended to be terrible for months. Then once hockey season ended and Jem was home for the summer, I started putting my hours upon hours of work to show. It was fucking spectacular. Could do trick shots like they were the most casual play to exist.

With a deep breath, I pull the cue back and forward. The white cue ball barrels into its contrasting target. It's not a hard hit. The eight ball slows right before the pocket. Quinn's eyes widen. Just for his shoulders to fall exactly when the ball makes one last effort and goes in. That's game number two.

I join him in putting the cues back, right where he was standing next to Val while I beat him. "What was that about you only needing two games?"

"Spare his life, Scout," Val says.

Ignoring her, I nudge Quinn's shoulder. "We should have made a betting pool on that one."

Quinn nods. If those random guys I talked shit to looked at me like they were in love, Quinn was looking at me like he was plotting my downfall with every word I said. It's amazing. I don't even know this guy. No one's gotten under my skin this fast in years. No one would have gotten this level of shit-talking the first night. I'm not that easy.

"We should get you home, huh?" Val grabs my wrist, a handcuff. She turns to the rest of the guys she had found. "Jack, we've gotta go! But text me!"

"Couldn't have walked over there?" I question.

"Didn't want to risk you making more enemies tonight." She winks afterward. I think. I was still focused on Quinn's face.

***************
a/n
simply fucking around on this one, having a good time, vaguing the hell out of a timeline and facts of time

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4YLQt0eT6smzfZEdq0ZCqy?si=WAbCFphfSAqZQT42H7oHpg