When my fingers grip around the cool, smooth surface of the flaxen striped 9 ball, the night comes flooding back.
He stood before me with an elongated stare, sparkling sweat forming at his hairline in the August heat while I leaned back against the pool table in my safe, all black outfit. “Dare.” He stated, unflinchingly. My eyes scanned the dimly lit bar, it’s emptiness and lush, high-backed red leather upholstery leaving me uninspired. The closest wall was constructed entirely of glass doors, all of which had been flung open with their rich tapestried curtains gathered to the sides to let any teasing bout of wind find it’s way inside to where we stood. All the other patrons were dining outside where we had just been, softly lit by the sea of paper lanterns strung above them swaying gently in the balmy breeze. Their voices had become a calming white noise to me.