At the bar, Stefan saw a familiar back, a sleek dark head. Even though he'd been sure Damon would be fol owing Elena, he wasn't surprised to see him. Stefan had reined his Power in, concentrating on his own misery, but he'd always been able to sense his brother. If he had thought about it, he would have known Damon was there.
Damon, equal y unsurprised, turned and tipped his glass to Stefan with a wry little grin. Stefan went over to join him.
"Hel o, little brother," Damon said softly when Stefan sat down. "Shouldn't you be holed up somewhere, crying over your loss of the lovely Elena?"
Stefan sighed and slumped on the barstool. Propping his elbows on the bar, he rested his head on his hands.
Suddenly, he was terribly tired. "Let's not talk about Elena," he said. "I don't want to fight with you, Damon."
"Then don't." Patting him lightly on the shoulder, Damon was up and out of his seat. "Let's play some pool." One thing about living for hundreds of years, Stefan knew, was that you had time to get real y good at things.
Versions of bil iards had been around as long as he and Damon had, although he liked the modern version best - he liked the smel of the chalk and the squeak of the leather tip on the cue.
Damon's thoughts seemed to be running on the same track. "Remember when we were kids and we used to play bil iart on the lawns of Father's palazzo?" he asked as he racked up the bal s.
"Different game, though, back then," Stefan said. "Go ahead and break."
He could picture it clearly, the two of them fooling around when the adults were al inside, shoving the bal s across the grass toward their targets with the heavy-headed maces, in a game that was a cross between modern pool and croquet. Back in those days, Damon was wild, prone to fights with stable boys and nights prowling the streets, but not yet as angry as he would be by the time they grew into young men. Back then, he let his adoring, more timid younger brother trail after him and have a share in his adventures.
Elena was right about one thing, he admitted to himself.
He liked hanging out with Damon, being brothers again.
When he'd spotted Damon at the bar just now, he'd felt a little lightening of the loneliness he was carrying around with him. Damon was the only person who remembered him as a child, the only person who remembered him alive.
Maybe they could be friends, without Katherine or Elena between them for a while. Maybe something good could come out of this.
Bil iart, bil iards, or pool, Damon had always liked playing. He was better than Stefan, and, after hundreds of years of practice, Stefan was pretty good.
Which was why Stefan was so surprised when Damon's break sent bal s spinning merrily al over the table, but none into the pockets.
"What's up?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow at Damon as he chalked his own cue.
I've been watching the locals, Damon said silently.
There are a couple of slick hustlers in here. I want to draw them over to us. Hustle them for a change.
Come on, Damon added quickly when Stefan hesitated. It's not wrong to hustle hustlers. It's like killing murderers, a public service.
Your moral compass is seriously skewed, Stefan shot back at him, but he couldn't keep himself from smiling.
What was the harm, real y? "Two bal in the corner pocket," he added aloud. He made the shot and sank two more bal s before intentional y scratching and stepping back to let Damon take his turn.
They went on like that, playing pretty Wellbut not too Well, careful to look like a couple of cocky col ege kids who knew their way around a pool cue but would be no chal enge to a professional hustler. Damon's pretense of frustration when he missed a shot amused Stefan. Stefan had forgotten, it was fun to be part of Damon's schemes.
Stefan won by a couple of bal s, and Damon whipped out a wal et ful of money.
"You got me, man," he said in a slightly drunken voice that didn't sound quite like his own and held out a twenty.
Stefan blinked at him.
Take it, Damon thought at him. Something about the set of his jaw reminded Stefan again of the way Damon was when they were children, of the way he lied to their father about his misadventures, confident Stefan would back him up. Damon was trusting him without even thinking about it, Stefan realized.
Stefan smiled and slipped it into his back pocket. "Rack'em up again?" he suggested, and realized he was also pitching his voice a little younger, a little drunker, than he normal y would.
They played another game, and Stefan handed the twenty back. "Another?" he asked.
Damon started to rack the bal s, and then his hands slowed. He flicked a glance up at Stefan and then back down at the bal s. "Listen," he said, taking a deep breath,
"I'm sorry for what's happening with Elena. If I - " He hesitated. "I can't just stop feeling the way I do about her, but I didn't mean to make things harder for you. Or for her." Stefan stared at him. Damon never apologized. Was he serious? "I - thank you," he said.
Damon looked past him and his mouth twitched into his sudden, bril iant smile. Bait taken, he said silently. So much for the heartfelt brother moment.
Two guys were coming toward them. One was short and slight with sandy hair, the other big, bulky, and dark.
"Hi," the shorter one said. "We wondered if you guys wanted to play teams, mix it up a little." His smile was bright and easy, but his eyes were shrewd and watchful. The eyes of a predator.
Their names were Jimmy and David, and they were real pros. They kept the games close, waiting until after the third game to suggest raising the stakes to make things a little more interesting.
"A hundred?" Jimmy suggested casual y. "I can just about do it, if you want."