😂😂 I’m from London🇬🇧so I had to look up what 8 Ball was, and my google search prompted this. ———– “Eight Ball.” He says for the fourth time, this time gesturing to the table for emphasis. “No I’ve never heard of it.” You say, a frown forming on your face as you wrack your brains. “You play with cue sticks and 16 balls? You have to try and get all of your balls off the table before the other person and then sink the black 8 ball?” “Oh!” You say. “You mean spots and stripes? Yeah I can play that.” Barba frowns. “Is that what you call it in England? How backwards.” You screw up your face, fed up of his quips against you and your country. He’s supposed to be showing you the ropes and helping you adjust to life in Manhattan, and he’s never missed an opportunity to tease you. He misses your dirty look because he’s turned away from you and busied himself with setting up the game. The rules are exactly the same as the ones you played by in the pub back home, so there’s no trouble understanding the game. You manage to pot the first ball, causing Barba’s nose to wrinkle slightly in annoyance. “Lucky shot.” He mutters under his breath, thinking you won’t hear. “And this?” You flick your wrist and sink another one of your balls. “Bet you won’t do it a third time.” He locks eyes with you and raises his left eyebrow. “Bet what?” “Drinks after work tomorrow.” You shoot him a cocky pout and circle round the table, choosing the right angle for your third shot. You lean over, line up the shot and thrust the stick at the white ball, but the veers left and completely misses the white ball. You turn around indignantly to see him standing there with the most innocent expression on his face. “I can count on you to buy the drinks tomorrow then, yes?”