"Fuck no it's not Dan." He tossed back a long draught of bourbon, then set the glass down on the machine's broad arm. He rolled the wooden ball between his fingers, letting it drop into his closely cupped palms. "Dan," he snorted. "I've had one nickname in my entire life, and it damn sure wasn't that." He pointed his index finger at her, the others still curled around the ball. "You can guess all you want. If you win maybe I'll tell you if you got it or not."
He rolled the ball up the incline with a languid underhand. It spun as it moved, and sank neatly into the 30 point circle.