The Art Of Reputation (Patrick Verona X Reader) [COMPLETED]

the pool hall chapter

At the end of the school day, after an extra session with your drama teacher to make sure you were up to scratch for the exams to come, you walked straight from Padua to the pool hall on the other side of Seattle in time to start your shift. Your older brother, who comes round every so often to give you enough money to tide you over, doesn't care about you working there - you don't think he even knows.

After a quick change of clothing to your more professional uniform of a tee with a promotional alcohol brand over it and stark black leggings with the newest sneakers you could find, you appear fresh-faced in the small kitchen to greet the few regular staff, then tie an apron at your waist and go out to the bar.

A couple of hours pass by in which you pour drinks and take money and flirt with a patron for tips, until Patrick appears. He leans on the side of the bar as you finish serving a bald man with glasses a beer, and when you come up to him grinning he grins back. It's a lovely grin really, energetic and cheeky accompanied by a glint in his brown eyes that makes it seem he's laughing along with you.

"Righd," you begin, leaning over the bar so your tits can finally rest on a surface, "Sso, you ready to be the rebel boy of Padua?"
He nods solemnly - well, as solemnly as he could with that grin still on his face. "What's the first step? Cuz I've already got false rumours flying around me... do I make up more, or actually do the rumours they're saying? What? I'm guessing you've been a rebel girl longer than I've been a rebel boy."

You nod wisely, accepting the compliment preening a little. "Well, the firsd ssdep you're already doing, which is be sseen in public with me, Padua Enemy Number One. Next step... hmmm, I'd ssay we workshop thiss. Do you have a curfew?" you ask, a shit-eating grin on your face, clearly mocking him.

His eyebrow curve to show mock hurt, and he places a hand delicate to his chest. "Why yes, Mama told me that if I wasn't home by midnight, my share of the chicken pot pie would be fed to the dog that comes over to the ranch every so often," he churns out in a really shit Southern accent, and you splutter with laughter before a middle-aged woman comes from a pool table to order some beer.

As you're pouring her drink, the woman takes the cigarette out of her pinched wrinkly mouth and asks Patrick if he wants to play pool. He blinks and looks to you as if to tell him it's okay, and you hold up a finger to tell him to wait whilst you finish the drink and take the money, then beckon him into a close heads conversation.

"Padrick," you whisper with a smile, "diss could be sstep dwo: learn do play pool with the righd people here, and they'll sspread the word that Padrick Verona hangs out in pool halls playing for money. Oh, also, play for money."

You back your head away and point to the pool table with a bunch of teachers from Padua on it just starting to play. The teachers are a mixture of oldies going on dates and shop and textile teachers not being able to go home and grade anything so they come here instead - perfect.

Patrick looks to the group of familiar teachers and looks back to you, his eyes wide and his smile bright.
"That's my shop teacher, you know that? He thinks I'd make a good career as an engineer. If he sees me here, he might think I'm a waster."
You nod casually, and he grins even wider and remarks, "You're evil," before standing up from his stool and strolling to them.

You call to him, "Have fun, make ssure they dell all their friendss!" and he turns to flip you the bird before interacting with the pool table full of teachers, and you grin and start taking grub orders from a couple.
You walk into the dingy kitchen and tell the washer to go man the bar whilst you make the food, and wonder how Patrick is getting along in your plan.

When you come back with the food, Patrick has won a game and is at the bar waiting for you to know the good news... and smoking.
"Paddy Cakes!" you scold like he is a child, and he gives you a look that means, that's hypocritical, isn't it? Sure, you smoke weed and work underage in a pool hall, but at least you aren't actively putting tar in your lungs.