What If

Chapter 27

Breakfast was delicious. For someone who's never gotten an order for a BLT taco before, the chef did a fantastic job. Even though the bacon wasn't as crispy as I would've liked, I'll forgive it.

Paul wanted to take a bite right out of it, but seeing as other people's bodily fluids totally grossed me out, I cut off a piece for him to try. I don't care whether it's saliva, sweat, or semen, the three S's are no-no's for me. Watching his face as he ate it, I think he didn't know what to make of it. People didn't get creative with their food back then. I think he was teetering on whether or not he liked it and simply couldn't decide.

He also had finished his cocktail early, so I ordered him another one. Grapefruit juice, cranberry juice, and tequila all in one tasty drink. I wasn't worried about him becoming drunk. I knew that even this young he drank incredibly often, so I was sure he trained himself to hold alcohol pretty well.

The snow outside wasn't very high; the grass was still visible, but it was still beautiful to look at. I loved this tiny city. I love tiny areas. Granted, my hometown back in New York was a thousand times smaller than this, but Liverpool was nice too.

Paul refused to let me pay the bill afterwards, but he did let me buy the second cocktail. I wouldn't call that score 1 for me; more like . . . score one half.

After the bill was paid and the tip was left, Paul pulled me out by my hand to the sidewalk where he lead me for a few blocks.

"Can you really not tell me where we're going?" I asked impatiently. We had been walking for maybe three minutes, but for little potato-me, that was long enough.

Paul playfully sighed and said "How many times do I have to tell ya, love? It's a surprise."

Not ten seconds after he said that, he stopped in front of another place.

"Here we are."

I looked up to find the name of the place we were at, but couldn't see because of the overhang. He held open the door for me, which chimed an adorable little bell. Looking around, there weren't many adults; there were mostly teenagers like us. It was funny to see them in their respective packs: the geeks and the teddy boys. They were far away from each other, but were having fun amongst themselves and not interacting with the other social group at all. Another thing I noticed, there wasn't a single girl.

This place was clearly a bar, but not a bar like the Cavern or the Casbah. It was a sports bar. There were games like pool and darts and at the actual bar, there were really old TVs with black and white broadcasts of cricket playing on them. Almost like an antique version of Dave & Buster's. It stank of cigarettes and sweat, much like the Cavern did when I was there. They don't do as good of a job covering it up, I thought, waving the smell away with my hand.

I looked at Paul cheekily and said "A sport's bar?"

He looked back at me and said "Well, you're not like most girls, so I brought you somewhere where not most girls go." He dragged me over to the middle of the bar where an ancient-looking foosball table stood, unused. "Show me your competitive side." He went over to the far side of the table and grabbed two of the rotating bar handles, twisting them in his hands.

I smirked and sassily walked up to my side, grabbing two bars of my own. "You asked the wrong girl for her competitive side," I said, spinning my guys around in circles. "Where's the ball?"

"I've got it," he said, throwing the dirty white ball into the air and catching it. He quickly slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out and equally dirty penny. "Call heads or tails." He flipped it up into the air.

"Tails," I said, watching it land in his palm.

"Heads," he stated, putting it back in his pocket. "I throw the first ball in. Go!" He quickly threw it in and desperately tried kicking it around before I had time to even realize it was in there. But my reflexes were too quick and I started spinning my guys furiously to get the ball away from him.

I managed to get it away from him a few times and nearly scored, but he blocked me good and was able to get the ball away from me. When he shot at the goal, he was able to send it right between two of my guys and into the open space.

"Yes!" he yelled like a happy kid, but then looked at me and his face dropped playfully. "Come on, Colleen! You can do better than that! I know you!"

I grabbed the ball from the goal, tossed it into the air, and caught it again. "Beginner's luck," I said, smirking. "You ready?"

He put his hands back on the bars on his side and got into a stance, signaling his readiness for the next round. "Yeah."

"Go!"

I threw it in and started kicking it around violently, going from handle to handle, bar to bar. Paul was doing the same, trying to get it past me, but he kept kicking it into my guys over and over again.

I was finally able to find an opening and shot the ball in the scorebox, giving me a goal. "Yeah!" I yelled sassily into the air.

Paul staggered away from the table, defeated, but still smiling. "You just got lucky!" he yelled back to me. "You won't get it past me again, love!"

"Oh yeah? Just try me!" I grabbed onto my side again and waited for Paul to toss it in again.

"One, two, three, go!" He threw it in and we began our ritual of desperately trying to get the little white ball past each other.

This time we were both having trouble. He was kicking it into me and I was kicking it into him. The handles were slamming hard against the table on both sides, chipping the already decaying paint. The table itself was being shoved back and forth roughly, leaving permanent black marks against the otherwise clean floor.

Neither of us were getting anywhere and my hands were starting to become chafed from the wooden handles on the game, but being the strong girl I was, I ignored them. I looked everywhere for a strategy to win over Paul. I looked at the players. I looked at how Paul was moving them and how quickly. I looked at the people around me. A few guys were watching, but nothing that could help me out.

Then I noticed the height of the foosball table and where Paul was standing in accordance with it. I got the most evil idea I could've possibly gotten. When Paul was in just the right place, I rammed a steel bar right into his crotch as hard as I could and sent the ball into the goal.

Paul immediately let go of his side and fell to the floor, holding himself in fetal position and rolling a little. He made an initial yelp and then did lots of moaning and groaning to make himself feel better.

I couldn't help but laugh hysterically. The image was too funny. I felt kind of bad though: he was in pain and I was laughing at him, but life isn't fair, is it?

Once he was finally able to regain himself, he looked up at me from the floor and said "You can't do that! That's cheating!"

Regaining my composure as well, I responded "It's not my fault you have a natural, exploitable weakness!"

He stood back up, brushed himself off, and grabbed onto his side again. "Fine, I'll give you that one, but no more crotch-shots! You've got to win by pure skill."

I rested my hand on my hip, looked him straight in the eye, and said "Deal!"