Sean watched in bemused horror as the ball spun lazily, then dropped into the pocket. "Bloody Christ, no one told me you were a pool shark." Viggo grinned, flash of tongue peeking through his lips as he surveyed the decimation of the pool table. "I'd say you're in a world of hurt, brother." "Oh, fuck off," Sean replied amiably. He picked up his beer -- piss-warm, but still wet -- and took a pull, surveyed his options. "I can still take you." "Lot riding on this game." "And I'm not losing to a bloody American and that's that." Sean bent over the table, set up the cue with practiced ease. The eleven sank into the rear pocket in short order, followed by the fifteen. "We Brits invented billiards, for fuck's sake." "Yeah, but this isn't billiards," Viggo replied and tapped the neck of his bottle to Sean's. "You lose here, it'll cost you." "I'm aware of that," Sean stated through clenched teeth, and took the next shot. "Bloody hell." "Ouch," Viggo winced and stood, gave Sean a friendly pat on the back. "Thanks for sinking the eight ball for me, though." "My pleasure." "You don't sound too happy about it." Sean rolled his eyes. "Clever of you to notice. When?" "Tomorrow, seven sharp. Partner."
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