"You still haven't told us what's on your mind," Samuel said, stepping over to Clinton. He raised his eyebrows in a playful gesture when Clinton finally looked up.
"Dude, what's wrong? You've been quiet this whole time," David added, glancing at Clinton from across the room.
Clinton had been uncharacteristically silent ever since they picked him up at his house. The boys had expected him to regale them with details about his family's dinner, but all they got were sighs and a heavy silence. During the ride to the clubhouse, they exchanged curious glances, wondering if something had gone wrong.
Now, as David focused on the snooker table, he couldn't help but wonder if Clinton was still stuck in his thoughts. Playing against Harrison was a challenge—Harry was a natural at the game. He'd beaten them so many times that Daniel once jokingly suggested he open a snooker gambling hall.
"You'd make millions," Daniel had said with a laugh. "Way more fun than sitting behind a desk handling boring work all day."
Harrison had chuckled, shaking his head. "My father would have a heart attack. The man's invested way too much in me to take over the family legacy. He'd freak out." Then, with casual precision, Harrison sank three red balls in a row.
"Yeah, being the only child comes with a lot of pressure," Daniel said, nodding knowingly. As an only child himself, he understood the pressure of family expectations. His parents were relentless about him pursuing science and technology for the sake of their business, though all he really wanted to do was sit around and play his guitar.
The boys had come to the popular billiard club in the city to unwind and finally discuss Clinton's recent land sightseeing. Their previous attempt to do so had been canceled, much to everyone's disappointment.
They shared a few drinks as upbeat music played in the background. Daniel had even booked the space until evening to ensure Clinton didn't get irritated and make a run for it like last time.
David eventually gave up on the game, shaking Harrison's hand in mock defeat. "You're too good," he admitted with a grin.
"I know," Harrison replied smugly, flashing a smile.
David returned to their table while Daniel clapped in approval as Harrison landed another impressive shot.
"How do you keep doing this?" Daniel asked, hands on his hips.
Harrison smirked. "It's a skill," he said confidently.
Daniel laughed and pointed his cue at him. "Trust me, if this was a different field, you'd be the one going home empty-handed."
Harrison shrugged, lining up another shot, completely unfazed.
"You did what?" David exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief and amusement. He stared at Clinton, then glanced at Samuel, who was clearly struggling to keep a straight face.
"We should definitely be part of this conversation," Harrison said, abandoning the game to join them at the table. David's reaction had caught both his and Daniel's attention.
Pouring himself a drink, Daniel leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing at Samuel, who suddenly seemed very interested in avoiding their gaze. "Who did what?" Daniel asked, though his focus eventually shifted to Clinton.
"Clinton should tell you," David said, throwing up his hands. "I can't."
All eyes turned to Clinton.
Clinton heaved another long sigh and grabbed the drink Harry had poured for himself, downing it in one swift gulp. He winced, feeling the burn as the liquor slid down his throat, and squeezed his eyes shut. Another sigh escaped his lips as he wished, for the hundredth time, that he could shake off the overwhelming guilt and confusion that consumed him.
Harry and Daniel exchanged glances, waiting patiently for him to spill whatever was weighing on his mind. Harrison was just about to offer some words of reassurance when Clinton blurted out, "I made out with my family's cleaner."
"What?" Daniel and Harrison exclaimed in unison, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief.
"Wait... is she, like, really old?" Daniel asked, his eyebrows shooting up.
Clinton gave him a sharp look and shook his head. "No, man, she's not. She's young. And... beautiful," he added quietly, making sure they caught the last part.
"Wow," Daniel muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached for his drink.
"Did you at least use protection? The last thing you need is her coming back and saying she's pregnant," Samuel interjected, a note of concern in his voice.
Clinton shook his head slowly, his gaze fixed on the table. "That's the issue. Everything happened so fast. I wasn't thinking..." His voice trailed off as memories of that night flooded his mind. It had started with an innocent kiss, but it spiraled into something much more. The next morning, she was gone. All that remained was a bloodstain on the sheets. He ran a hand down his face and whispered, "She was a virgin."
The room fell silent for a moment.
"Well," Daniel finally said, breaking the tension, "at least you don't have to worry about STDs." He shrugged, as if that was supposed to be comforting.
Samuel rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Dan? That's not the point. She could still get pregnant. Becoming a father at this point is a huge deal."
Clinton scratched the back of his neck, clearly bothered. He could still taste the drink on his tongue as he struggled to focus on the conversation.
"Relax, bro. It's not that deep. Just see it as a one-time thing," Harrison chimed in, attempting to lighten the mood. "When you see her again, make it clear it didn't mean anything."
David chuckled softly, shaking his head. "The fact that you did this in your family's house, though... You're lucky no one caught you."
Clinton took a deep breath. He debated whether to share the next part of the story—the detail that had been gnawing at him since breakfast. Deciding it was best to lay it all out, he looked at the boys and said, "She's the gatekeeper's daughter."
The revelation left his friends stunned. They stared at him, processing what they'd just heard.
"Wait," Daniel finally spoke, narrowing his eyes, "Ronald has a daughter?"
Clinton nodded. "I didn't know either. Found out this morning when my mom mentioned her at breakfast." He poured himself another drink, ignoring the worried looks his friends exchanged as he gulped down yet another glass. By now, he'd lost count of how many he'd had.
"Damn," Daniel muttered, still trying to process it all.
"This isn't just some fling," David said, leaning forward. "Ronald's practically family. He's been with your folks forever. If they find out, it's going to cause a huge mess."
"Mess?" Samuel scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "They're two consenting adults. No big deal." He glanced at Clinton. "If she gets pregnant, though... well, she'd have to take care of that. You're not ready to be a dad, and you know it."
David's head snapped toward Samuel. "Are you serious? You're talking about abortion like it's no big deal. That's dangerous, not to mention... immoral."
Clinton groaned, rubbing his temples. "Look, I can't have a kid with her. She's... not my type. Too loose."
"That's the spirit," Samuel said, raising his glass in a mock toast. Clinton clinked his glass against his, forcing a grin, though the liquor was doing little to ease his nerves.
David, however, wasn't amused. He grabbed Clinton's wrist just as he reached for another pour. "That's enough, man," he said firmly, shaking his head. "You need to sober up and figure this out before it gets out of hand."
Clinton hesitated, meeting David's gaze. For a brief moment, he considered ignoring him. But deep down, he knew David was right.
"Don't. You've had enough," David said firmly, sliding the whiskey bottle out of Clinton's reach.
Clinton rolled his eyes, defiant. "Waiter! Waiter!" he called out repeatedly, his voice louder each time, drawing attention.
"Clinton, stop," Daniel said cautiously, his tone low but firm.
A young waiter, no older than the boys themselves, finally approached, a look of confusion etched on his face. He'd just started his shift and had been briefed by his predecessor that the group had booked the entire club for a "serious meeting." Judging by the scene before him, though, it didn't look like much business was happening.
The waiter quickly bent to retrieve a glass that had rolled off the table onto the carpeted floor. Thankfully, the thick rug had cushioned its fall, preventing it from shattering.
"Do you want another drink?" the waiter asked, glancing at the boys, all of whom were dressed in expensive designer clothes and luxury watches.
"Yes," Clinton said with a firm nod.
"No, we're fine," Daniel interjected quickly, dismissing the waiter with a wave of his hand.
The boy hesitated, unsure, then turned to leave.
"If you don't bring me my drink, I promise you'll get fired," Clinton said coldly, his words cutting through the air.
David groaned, rubbing his face. "He's drunk," he muttered to no one in particular, as though it wasn't already obvious.
The young waiter let out a quiet sigh, clearly weighing his options. After a brief pause, he replied, "I'll get your drink," meeting Clinton's gaze reluctantly.
Clinton hissed in irritation, turning his attention away as the waiter bowed his head slightly and began to walk off.
"Stop!" Clinton called after him.
The waiter froze and turned back. His friends exchanged wary glances, bracing for whatever Clinton might say next. When drunk, Clinton was unpredictable—and often unreasonable.
Clinton's eyelids drooped as if he were about to nod off, but he managed to slur, "Why's your hair pink?"
The waiter blinked, startled by the unexpected question.
"You look ridiculous with that color," Clinton continued, his tone mocking. "Feminine boy," he added with a smirk.
Samuel groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Don't mind him. He's drunk," he said to the waiter.
The young man straightened and replied calmly, "I like it this way, sir." His voice was steady, but his lowered gaze betrayed his discomfort.
Clinton's expression twisted into a grimace. "You must have terrible taste," he sneered, dragging out the insult.
"I try not to, sir," the waiter said softly, still avoiding Clinton's glare.
The calm response seemed to irritate Clinton further. He bit his lip, eyeing the waiter with disdain. Suddenly, he snatched the whiskey bottle from David's side and stood, staggering slightly as he made his way toward the boy.
Before anyone could react, Clinton upended the remaining liquor onto the waiter's shoes.
"My God," David muttered under his breath, horrified.
The waiter flinched but said nothing, his face a mask of quiet humiliation.
"Clean it up," Clinton barked, tossing the empty bottle onto the carpet with a thud. "It's your job."
"We need to go," Samuel said, catching Clinton by the arm as he stumbled.
Without another word, the group rose from their seats, leaving the waiter crouched on the floor, picking up the discarded bottle. The boys exchanged glances but didn't intervene, following Clinton and Samuel out of the club.
Meanwhile...
Tasha stared at her reflection in the mirror, her emotions a swirling mix of joy and uncertainty. Should she be happy? Or ashamed? She touched her flushed cheeks, her fingers trembling slightly as she recalled the events of the night before.
She had slipped out of bed quietly that morning, leaving Clinton to sleep soundly, his face peaceful in the dim light. She had wanted to stay, to cuddle against him, maybe even kiss his cheek. But something had stopped her. Instead, she'd rolled out from under the covers, careful not to wake him.
She remembered struggling to pull her dress over her body as she stood by the window, the faint morning light filtering through the curtain she had opened. Her bare feet had felt cold against the floor as she gathered her sandals in one hand and tiptoed to the door, shutting it behind her as silently as she could.
By the time she reached her own room, it was 5 a.m. She felt a strange sense of satisfaction knowing she hadn't been caught—especially not by her father.
Now, standing in front of the mirror, Tasha's thoughts returned to the moment she'd lost her innocence. Her hand drifted to her abdomen as the memory played vividly in her mind. It had hurt, yes, but it had also felt... worth it. She had given herself to the boy she adored, the one who had captured her heart.
She closed her eyes, her fingers brushing against her collarbone as she wondered if Clinton felt the same way. She touched her chest, her heartbeat steady but tinged with hope.
No matter what happened next, Tasha knew one thing for certain: the memory of that night would stay with her forever.