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[2 Broke Girls] Ch: 197 [Cat, drinks & fun with old friends...]
🕑 Added 2025-10-07 15:20:48 +0000 UTCAN: Slightly shorter than usual chs.
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Caroline ran over and plopped herself right onto Alex’s lap, looping her arms around his neck with a grin that said 'Mine.' Alex chuckled, pulling her closer as they shared a quick but warm kiss.
“Miss me?” she asked, grinning.
Alex smiled. “Every second.” He kissed her again lightly, earning a dramatic groan from Max.
“You sneaky bitch,” Max said. “You move faster than a Black Friday sale.”
Caroline kissed Alex again before looking toward Max. “You snooze, you lose.”
“Yeah, well, you drool, you cling,” Max shot back.
Alex laughed, then looked down at the orange furball in Max’s arms. “So, that’s Nacho.”
“Yep,” Max said proudly. “Found him outside my old apartment while I was eating Doritos. Little guy wouldn’t stop meowing, so I gave him one chip. Next thing I know, boom, he’s in love. Named him Nacho. Destiny.”
Caroline grinned. “He’s actually kind of cute.”
“Cute?” Max snorted. “This little psycho bit Claire, scratched a delivery guy, and hissed at the janitor. I think he’s possessed by the ghost of someone who hates rent. But he loves me and Caroline.”
Alex chuckled, holding out a hand. “Come here, buddy.”
To everyone’s surprise, Nacho didn’t hesitate. The cat leapt straight from Max’s arms onto Alex’s shoulder, balancing with ease. Then he started purring and rubbed his face against Alex’s cheek like they were old friends.
Max’s jaw dropped. “What the hell? He never does that. He attacked Claire for looking at him too long. You? He’s cuddling like you pay his tuition.”
Alex smiled, scratching the cat under the chin. “Guess he’s got good taste.”
Caroline giggled. “Looks like even Nacho’s joining the fan club.”
Max groaned, tossing a Dorito into her mouth. “Fantastic. First, I lose the hot seat to Little Miss Fast-and-Furious here, and now my cat’s flirting with my man. Truly, the circle of betrayal is complete.”
Alex laughed, still petting Nacho. “He’s staying?”
Max shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s technically mine, but if he keeps picking favorites like this, I might just leave him in your office. Consider him emotional support for your billionaire stress.”
Caroline poked Max with her foot. “Don’t act like you’re not happy he likes Alex.”
“Oh, I’m thrilled,” Max deadpanned. “If he starts purring stock tips, we’ll talk adoption.”
Alex shook his head, amused. “Well, as long as he behaves. But you took him in, it's your responsibility.” He said to Max.
"Meow!" Nacho meowed as if confirming it.
...
[Next Evening – DownAbby Bar]
The neon sign of DownAbby Bar was glowing. Inside, the place buzzed with laughter, low music, and the scent of grilled food and whiskey. It was one of those tucked-away joints that Hollywood folks loved because nobody bothered them here.
Alex walked in, wearing a black shirt and a casual jacket. The hostess spotted him and pointed toward the back corner where Jeremy Renner was waving. He walked over to the table.
“Alex, my man!” Jeremy called out. He stood up from the booth, grinning as he clapped Alex into a hug. “Finally! The legend himself graces us common folk.”
Alex chuckled. “Legend? I’m just a guy who writes too much and sleeps too little.”
“Yeah, and casually rebuilds Hollywood in his spare time,” Jeremy shot back, guiding him toward the table. “We were just talking about you.”
The table was stacked with beer bottles and half-eaten fries. Anthony Mackie leaned back with a grin, Malcolm Barrett was holding a glass of whiskey, Tom Hanks sat comfortably with a gentle smile, and RDJ was already holding a cue stick, halfway through a pool game with a random bystander he’d probably just met.
“Look who it is,” Mackie said, raising his bottle. “Big man, Alex. You writing another billion-dollar story tonight, or are we lucky enough to get you drunk first?”
Alex slid into the booth next to Jeremy. “That depends. Who’s buying the first round?”
“Tom already did,” Malcolm said, lifting his glass. “He’s the responsible dad of this group.”
Tom smiled. “Someone has to make sure none of you end up in TMZ tomorrow.”
Jeremy grinned. “Too late for that. Mackie’s already got a fan club forming by the jukebox.”
“Not my fault, charisma’s a full-time job,” Mackie said with mock seriousness. “You, on the other hand, look like you just came from rewriting the Ten Commandments.”
“Close,” Alex replied. “The MCU."
RDJ overheard that as he sank the eight ball in one clean shot. “Oh, so that’s what the whisper is. You’re finally doing the live-action Marvel movies.” He leaned his cue stick against the table and walked over. “Tell me you’ve got a part in there for a washed-up genius billionaire playboy.”
Alex smirked. “You’d have to compete with the other five I already know."
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Wait. Are you serious about that?”
Alex took a sip of his drink. “Very. Peter Jackson’s starting The Hobbit soon. I’m setting up Spider-Man and Iron Man right after that."
The table went quiet for half a second, then RDJ broke into a laugh. “Man, if you pull that off, the world’s never gonna be the same.”
Tom chuckled. “He will. Those of us who worked with him know that he's going to make most studios look like they’re still playing with crayons."
Jeremy clinked his beer against Alex’s. “To that, I’ll drink. You’ve been on fire lately. Hell, Lost in Translation and Alien are both getting Oscar attention, and you are holding Comic-Con, now live-action Marvel movies. You are going to break records again.”
“Hard work pays off,” Alex said. “But I’m trying not to think too far ahead tonight. Let’s enjoy this while we can.”
“Now you’re talking,” Mackie said, standing up. “Come on, let’s shoot some pool. I’m about to show you boys how New Orleans handles the game.”
“Please,” Malcolm said, sliding out of the booth. “You talk more than you play.”
[Pool Table Area]
Mackie chalked his cue, eyes glinting with mischief. “Alright, Tom. Let’s see if you actually live up to the dad reputation, or if it’s all talk and careful parenting.”
Tom gave a mock sigh, lining up his shot. “I hope you’re ready to witness the subtle art of precision. Not everything’s about brute strength, you know.”
Mackie smirked. “Subtlety’s for people who don’t want to embarrass their friends. Watch and learn, grandpa.” He racked up, breaking with a hard snap. Balls scattered across the table in a satisfying explosion of clacks and rolls.
Malcolm leaned against the railing, sipping his whiskey. “This is already off to a good start. Tom’s looking slightly nervous, and Mackie is grinning like he just invented pool.”
Alex chuckled. “It’s only fair to warn him about Mackie’s trash talk. I’d bet he’s already got a victory speech ready.”
“Victory speech? I was going to do a celebratory dance,” Mackie said with a wink, lining up a tricky bank shot. The cue ball rolled, bounced perfectly off the rail, and knocked the eight ball into a corner pocket. “And that’s how you handle New Orleans style.”
Tom shook his head, laughing. “That was impressive, but don’t get cocky. My turn.” He leaned in, focusing intently. “Precision, patience, dignity. Three things Mackie clearly doesn’t have.” He hit the cue ball. It rolled elegantly, clinking into its target balls and sinking two in one smooth motion. The bar staff nearby clapped quietly.
Mackie groaned. “Okay, okay, that’s cheating somehow. I refuse to believe you just did that.”
Meanwhile, Alex, Jeremy, and Malcolm had migrated over to the dartboard, drinks in hand. “Gentlemen,” Alex said, “tonight is not about winning. It’s about proving who’s the true master of aim.” He nodded toward the dartboard. "Let's see who hits the most Bullseye."
Jeremy grinned, stepping up. “Challenge accepted. But I warn you, I haven’t missed since last Tuesday.” He threw his first dart. Bullseye. “See? Talent, and sheer intimidation.” He threw the remaining darts. 6 out of 12: Bullseye.
Malcolm rolled his eyes, taking his turn. His dart landed just outside the bullseye. “Not bad, but not legendary either.” He sipped his whiskey, surveying the scoreboard before throwing the rest of his darts. 3 out of 12: Bullseye. "Okay. I think I'm drunk. Yep! No wonder I missed that many."
Alex stepped up last, twirling the dart between his fingers like a magician. With a casual flick, the dart landed smack in the center. He continued to throw the remaining darts. 12 out of 12: Bullseye.
“Gentlemen, I believe we’ve established the hierarchy.”
Jeremy laughed, shaking his head, "You gotta be kidding me. C'mon. How's that even make sense? 12 out of 12? How?"
"He just got lucky, or probably he's a pro," The bartender said from the side lounge.
"Only one way to find out," Malcom said as he raised his whiskey glass at Alex.
"Round 2 sounds good," Alex walked over and pulled out the darts. Then threw them again. The result? Perfect score.
"Ah! Okay, you are good. One round on me," The bartender said as he placed a glass of whiskey on the table.
Back at the pool table, Mackie was beginning to sweat. Tom, with a gentle grin, lined up a tricky combo, sinking two more balls in a single shot. “Precision, my young friend,” he said, motioning at Mackie. “It’s all about precision.”
Mackie shook his head, laughing. “Fine. You win this round, dad. But next time, the New Orleans style comes back full force.”
Alex said, grinning at the chaos. “This is exactly the kind of night I needed. Pool, darts, drinks, and the occasional ego bruising. Perfect.”
They went to the bar.
Jeremy raised his glass. “To perfect nights, and the disasters that make them unforgettable.”
Laughter, clinking glasses, and playful groans filled the bar. The music hummed in the background. The atmosphere was messy, competitive, and fun. It was the kind of night that didn’t make the news, but it was one to remember.
---
[Next Chapter: Perfume Launch]
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