"We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows." - Robert Frost

Memory Lane: Chapter Eleven

Some things in this town are simply routine, like going to The Oven Bird the afternoon after a Saturday night out. Since neither Allen nor I drank, we are both feeling particularly well rested and ready for the day today. Quinn and Kendall, on the other hand, are both wearing sunglasses inside and sweatpants paired with baggy sweatshirts.

We all had a good time at the party. Since Allen was on door duty, we had to stay until everyone else had left. Quinn and Kendall passed the time by playing a few too many drinking games, which they insisted I be included in with a bottle of water. Every now and then, between playing Kings or Beer Pong, I caught myself glancing to the door in hopes of catching familiar gray eyes. And, every time I did I had to mentally slap myself for looking.

"I thought I told you to never let me drink again," Quinn mutters, reaching for her water sitting on the small shelf that extends the entire pool-table area.

"In my defense, I did try to get you to stop. Then you warned me that your uncle taught you Jiu jitsu right after he got back from a short trip to Japan," I snicker.

Quinn waves a dismissive hand at me, groaning as Allen hits the cue-ball to break as he begins his game with Sandy-Hair-Steven, the sound ricocheting through our ears. Steven lets out a low whistle, tossing his hand through his hair when the pool balls scatter all around the table, pocketing the solid maroon ball.

Allen stands up straight with a pleased grin, wandering around the table to hit in his next shot. He lines it up, staring at his target from just above the black rim of his glasses. He takes his shot, completely missing even hitting another ball, and ends his turn in a scratch.

"All that time studying equations and angles, and you still can't play pool," Steven smirks, patting Allen on the back.

"At least I can throw a curveball."

Steven sends him an irritated look that has Allen laughing.

"I play shortstop. There's hardly any need for me to throw a curveball." Steven says as he lines up his pool shot.

"Hardly any need for you to hit one too, then?"

Steven instantly straightens up and whacks Allen in the leg with the cue-stick. "I batted over .300 last season."

Allen just snickers, choosing not to respond and instead direct his attention to Kendall. He retreats to the highchair next to her, whose head is buried in her arms as she half-lays on the table. He leans down and gently rubs her back, murmuring something to her that I'm sure is undoubtedly sweet from the way she peeks her head out from under her arm with a small smile.

Steven hits his shot, sinking the purple striped ball with a satisfying clunk into the left corner pocket. He stands up straight with a small smirk and then glances at me, sea-green eyes twinkling with confidence.

He leans a hip against the table, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that makes it seem like he's trying to push his biceps out. There's really no need. Steven is tall with a great, athletic physique and stunning facial features. The light dusting of freckles on his nose, his sea green eyes, and sandy hair all assist his good looks. He's attractive and he knows it, if his smirk and smooth tongue are any indicator.

"You like baseball, Laura Laurier?"

The few times I've spoken to Steven, he's made it his job to call me by my full name. I know it's meant to be a fun, endearing way of becoming friends, but only one other person in my life used to call me by my full name. And now that person is gone forever.

I shrug, "More of a football girl myself."

"Seems I chose the wrong sport, then."

Before I do something stupid, like blush, Allen turns his attention to us and frowns. "Would you just make your shot, Steven?"

Steven keeps his attention on me for a moment longer with that confident grin remaining. I could melt under his dazzling gaze, and it certainly does make me hyper aware of every time I blink or breathe, but I manage to look away.

While they continue their game of pool, I talk with Quinn and Kendall as their Tylenol finally begins to kick in and some life flashes back to their faces. I'm sure the shift in their mood also has to do with the giant basket of chili-cheese fries they ordered as a "hangover remedy."

As they munch on the fries and Quinn tells another story about her Uncle, this time from his travels in Mexico, the girls' attention is pulled to the front door and their brows raise in surprise. Since my back is to the door, I turn to follow their gaze, noting the way both Allen and Steven pause their game and stare at the entrance as well, and my heart does a stupid, surprised stutter in my chest.

Jesse walks past the entryway. His bold, confident presence is unable to be ignored by anyone in the restaurant; including me. The dark reds of his flannel, rolled up at the sleeves to reveal his toned forearms, are in direct contrast with his black jeans, which compliment his dark hair.

He, however, easily ignores all of the stares as he steps further inside. His gaze wanders the room with purpose until it lands on us, and he heads in our direction. While I understand his ability to pay no attention to all of the eyes on him, I don't know how he's able to ignore how everyone's chatter clearly changes their topic to focus on him. Quinn and Kendall are no exception.

"Two weeks in a row that he's come to Sunday lunch." Kendall says, brows raised over her sunglasses.

"Must be a new record," Quinn says.

"If only he had come to the party last night, too," Kendall sighs, resting her temple on the heel of her palm.

When Jesse walks up to our pool table, all conversation falls flat. The others stare at him for a second too long before shaking off their shock and greeting him with smiles. From the slight tick in his jaw, I know he felt the awkward tension. After both Steven and Allen greet him, Jesse walks over to me and the girls.

He eyes their sunglasses and the mostly now-empty basket fries curiously.

They both smile sheepishly and Kendall sighs. "Rough night."

Quinn nods, "Ferncliff's chili-cheese fries and Laura's medicine are our best friends right now."

"She saved us with the emergency supply of Tylenol she keeps on hand." Kendall says, patting my cheek with friendly thanks.

Jesse finally looks at me and nods towards the basket, now stained red from the chili that covered the fries.

"How were they?"

I lift a shoulder. "I'm not hungover, so I didn't need to indulge in their 'hangover remedy'."

"Hangover remedy..." he echoes, a crease forming in his brow, "most people just call them a snack."

My stomach suddenly rumbles- quiet enough for only my ears- reminding me that I ignored breakfast too. The scent of deep fried everything from the kitchen is suddenly very apparent in the air, but I push away the sting of hunger that pokes through my stomach.

"I'm holding off until lunch," I say dismissively.

Jesse gives me a subtle once-over. "No hangover. I guess you took my advice on the wine bottles, then."

"It wasn't really helpful."

Jesse stares back at me, quirking a brow.

"They had boxed wine."

"That could have been dangerous," he says.

I cross my arms and shrug. "It was labeled with some pretty bold letters, Hard to miss."

His scowl twitches into a small smirk. "Right. Because nothing gets past you."

My cheerful expression drops, causing him to let out an amused breath of air from his nose. He leans against the wall next to us and directs his attention to the game of pool when I don't reply. Not for lack of a comeback. But for lack of wanting to engage with him any longer. At least, that's what I tell myself.

"Laura Laurier," Steven starts, sending me a smile after he pockets another ball. "You said you like football. NFL or college?"

I watch as he lines up another shot, missing just by a hair but dusting it off his shoulders with a slightly embarrassed grimace. My jaw clenches for a split second when he addresses me by my full name again, but his question has my mind drifting to the only other person who did.

My experience with sports is made up almost entirely of my dad's passion. Every weekend in the fall and winter, our TV was taken over by football. My dad watched both college and NFL, but there was a special place in his heart for College GameDay.

"Both, but more college."

Steven gives me a dashing smile. "Favorite team?"

I smile with him, recalling the maroon and orange decorations that filled my house of my parent's Alma Mater. Maybe that's why I love Fall so much. My dad never missed a televised game. Meanwhile, I haven't watched a single one since he died.

"Virginia Tech."

As soon as I say it, Allen shanks his shot and quickly looks at me with apologetic eyes. I have to look away. Allen knows why I love Virginia Tech, so he knows where my thoughts are right now. He knows it's where my parents went to school, where they met, and ultimately where they fell in love. My dad's VT crewneck is the only piece of him that I kept after our house was cleaned out.

"An ACC school?" Steven scoffs, running a hand through his sandy-colored hair. "I was hoping you'd have better taste than that."

I clear the lump in my throat, barely looking at him. "My parents went there."

"My condolences," Steven teases, clearly missing the tension in my jaw. Then, he notices that Allen messed up his shot so badly that he hit the 8-ball in, making Steven the winner. He celebrates his win with a cheer, but I take my attention off of him.

Allen takes off his glasses to clean them with his sweatshirt and sends me a worried look; silently asking if I'm okay. I subtly wave off his concern, not wanting any more attention drawn to myself. All I did was mention a college, for heaven's sake. I should be able to do that without falling into a pit of despair.

Still, a shiver slides down my spine and I hug my arms to myself, suddenly feeling small after mentioning anything about my parents. I slump against the wall and let out a quiet sigh, stiffening when I lock eyes with Jesse. Somehow, the bright fluorescent light coming from the distasteful beer sign hanging on the wall across the pool table reaches his face and places a sort of spotlight on the ring of blue circling his irises. But I'm not focused on the depth of detail in his now not-so-colorless eyes. Instead, I place my attention on his expression. He didn't miss my reaction.

However, when he opens his mouth to presumably ask me more, he's suddenly stopped when another high-pitched voice takes his place.

"Jesse!"

All of our attention moves to the entrance of The Oven Bird. Shay is standing by the door, her plump lips spread into a smile that takes up half of her face as she stares directly at Jesse. I swear I hear him groan quietly when she starts to walk swiftly over to him. She sends everyone a small word of greeting before placing all of her attention on him.

"I wasn't expecting you to come today," she says when she reaches his side.

Jesse shrugs, eyes briefly landing on me. "I was driving by."

"Laura Laurier," Steven says, suddenly right in front of me. I pull my gaze away from Jesse and blink up at him, my brows slightly raised as his cute expression settles solely on me. He grins and hands me the extra pool cue. "You're up."

"Me against you?" I ask, taking the outstretched cue with a buzz of excitement.

He chuckles and walks directly next to me for the few steps it takes to get to the table. "No, I was thinking we could double up. Play teams. You and me against..." he trails off, glancing around, eyes landing on his target. "Jesse and Shay!"

I look at the aforementioned. Shay's eyes light up with excitement and Jesse's darken with annoyance.

"I don't think-"

"Come on Ashford," Steven cuts him off, tossing him the other pool cue. "Just one game."

Jesse has no choice but to quickly catch it out in front of his body, scowling deeply. Shay claps her hands together a few times, grabbing onto Jesse's arm and dragging him off of the wall. His expression, pulled into a scowl even deeper than when we argued at the party weeks ago, has me biting my lip to keep from smiling. Jesse catches my amused expression and narrows his eyes into a challenge.

"Okay. You break."

Steven looks at me, "You want to give it a try?"

My heart thuds with excitement at his request. I used to watch my dad play pool in the garage with our neighbors every Saturday while football played in the background. Every now and then, he would pull me in for a game. He was a great teacher. He was patient with me, taught me how to always look for both the offensive and defensive shot, and never made me feel bad when I missed entirely. After a while, the latter ceased to happen. One of my favorite memories is when he and I beat two of his old fraternity brothers when they came to visit.

As much as I've wanted to, I haven't asked to play pool since moving to Bennington as the tables are crowded every Sunday. There was never really a chance for me to even get a game in with the groups of guys circling the area like sharks, waiting for a table to open so that they could strike. Now that our group has command of this table and Steven asked me to play, that bubble of excitement bursts and I nod at him with an almost giddy smile.

Steven's face somehow gets brighter at my reaction and he stands next to me as I line up at the end of the table. I eye him with a furrowed brow as he steps closer, placing a hand on my lower back and the other on my cue as he directs it down. His head is only inches away from mine. So close I can see the blonde, patchy stubble on his jaw and smell the now mostly faded cinnamon body spray he uses. My cheeks warm when I realize what he's doing.

"Steven?"

He turns his chin just enough to look at me. "Yeah?"

"I know how to hit the cue ball."

Steven blinks at me and my unwavering gaze, and then awkwardly steps back and clears his throat. He tosses a hand through his hair with a smile, but I see the way his cheeks flush red.

"Right. All you, then."

Quinn and Kendall barely cover up their mouths to conceal their snickers while Allen sends a pointed glare at Steven's back. Jesse leans his tense body against one of the wood pillars off to the side of the table as he watches me prepare my shot, eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second.

I return my attention to the table, following the line my cue-stick makes straight for the cue ball. I pull back, darting my eye between my target spot and the rack, and then swing the cue-stick forward. It slams against the cue ball and sends it speeding forward, smacking against the rack and sending each ball off in a different direction. Controlled chaos ensues on the table as the balls all smack into each other, the walls, and disperse enough to show we'll have a good game.

I stand up straight after the solid orange ball rolls into the corner pocket, giving Steven and I control of the table. I shift my eyes over to my partner and smirk at the expression of total shock on his face, catching a glimpse of Jesse's equally impressed look in passing that oddly makes my pride soar higher.

"That's my cousin!" Allen whoops.

"My dad taught me how to play when I was young," I explain with a sly shrug.

Steven chuckles in awe, sliding his toned arm across my shoulders to offer a side hug as he stares at the table. "I chose my partner right. No offense, of course," he says, sending Kendall and Quinn a quick glance.

"I tried once," Quinn says, waving a dismissive hand, "I somehow broke the cue-stick halfway through."

Kendall murmurs her agreement, "Ferncliff wasn't too happy."

I finish out my turn, knocking in both the red and green solids before missing and turning the table over to Jesse and Shay. She daintily takes the cue stick and walks up to the table, pursing her ruby red lips.

"While Lauren is an expert," Shay begins, ignoring how everyone furrows their brow at her name mistake, "I don't know how to play. Jesse, can you help me?"

He looks at her and frowns. "You've played before."

Her smile barely falters. "It's been a while. I could use a reminder."

"Get eye-level with the table, line up your shot, pull the stick back, and then hit the ball."

Shay, clearly wanting more than verbal instruction, purses her lips together in annoyance for a second when Jesse stays rooted to his spot. Then, she bends down, quite obviously doing it all wrong, and lifts her pouty gaze to Jesse.

"Like this?"

From next to me, Quinn, Kendall, and Allen bite back their snorts. Steven just scratches his head as he eyes her position.

I scoff under my breath. Jesse can barely hold a conversation with me without getting annoyed yet he dated her? Shay is gorgeous, that much is obvious, and she is extremely nice... but the picture of them holding hands while walking down the hall is still nearly impossible to imagine.

"In what world would that be right?" Quinn says under her breath, which causes Kendall to let a small laugh escape.

Jesse sighs, barely avoiding rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. Just go."

She scratches. No shock there. The table turns to Steven and he picks up the cue ball, placing it strategically for his turn, but not in a good enough spot. After he misses and runs a hand over his face, sending me an apologetic smile, Jesse pushes off of the wall and walks over.

He surveys the table with a calculating gaze, only needing a few seconds until he finds his target. He keeps his eyes there and reaches out for Shay to hand him the stick, not even glancing at her.

In one swift motion, he takes his turn and sends not one, but two balls into their respective pockets with one shot. No one else seems surprised, but my brows shoot up to my hairline and my mouth parts slightly. Jesse stands back up, satisfied with his shot, and then meets my eye with a tiny, pompous grin.

I wipe away my shock and try to make my face neutral, shrugging. "Lucky shot."

He doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. He sinks another, the blue striped ball, seconds later, catching my gaze again and daring me to say something else with one cocked brow. I roll my eyes.

"Jesse's really good," Shay explains, cutting off our eye contact. "His dad used to play here all the time and taught Jesse. He was like a Billiards Master."

Jesse's jaw stiffens the second Shay mentions his dad and his smug expression drops as he wipes his face clean of any emotion.

"He even won some sort of tournament. Remember, Jesse?" Shay asks.

Despite her gaze being stuck to him this entire time, she somehow doesn't pick up on how his fists clench tighter around the cue stick, causing the muscles in his forearms to ripple.

He gives some sort of grunt as his only response. It seems like he purposefully misses the next shot. He leans the stick against the table and retreats back to the pillar, lips pulled into a hard line. The others look away uncomfortably and all conversation once again stops.

I try to focus on my turn rather than his reaction. He was happy to admit to the shared love for history between him and his dad, but not their shared skill in Billiards?