Page 31 of Filthy Little Lies
“That’s my question.” She takes her phone back and tucks it away. “Hey, the pool table opened. Let’s grab it.”
She carries our beers, and I bring the nachos and set up at a high table beside the table. The men who just finished their game linger at the bar, watching us as we rack the balls.
“You go first.” I chalk my stick while she takes position to break.
As much as I try to focus on the game, I keep thinking about what I’ve just learned about Gabriel. There is no reason for him to be holding me to this little deal we made. Not when he has a huge company and organized syndicate behind him.
I’m small potatoes.
Not even potatoes. I’m the root of the potato that a potato grows from.
“Hit the eleven-ball into the fifteen, you’ll tap your four into the corner pocket.” A smooth voice says from over my left shoulder as I inspect the table.
He’s right. It should be an easy shot, so long as I don’t hit too hard and scratch.
“Thanks,” I throw over my shoulder, taking a beat to appreciate the handsomeness of the man giving the advice. He’s walked over from the group at the bar but stays a respectable distance from the table.
His smile is warm, casual. In every aspect, he’s insanely good-looking. Chocolate brown hair, soft caramel-colored eyes and a chiseled chin GQ would pay big bucks to have on their front page. But my first thought is he has no beard. Gabriel has a beard. It’s short, more a five o’clock shadow, but it’s rugged and rough and sexy as hell. This guy is clean-cut. Standard hotness.
“You gonna shoot or what?” Cassie nudges me.
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” I bend over the table, taking aim at the striped ball. It hits perfectly, knocking into the four ball and rolling it in.
“See. Perfect shot.” Mr. Hotness walks over to us. “Can I get you girls another round?” He offers, gesturing to the bottles on our table.
“Sure.” I smile. A free beer is a free beer.
By the time he comes back with our round, it’s my turn again. This time, he places his hand on the small of my back and leans over the table with me.
“Go for the three. You’ll have to bank it, but I think you can do it.” He points out where to aim my ball, and I let him think he’s doing me a big favor.
I glance up at Cassie, and her eyes light up. It’s been a while since we hustled pool. Lucky Stripes is our go-to hang out. Mostly everyone here knows us, but these guys must be new to the area.
“Real soft,” he coaches me. I hit the cue ball too hard, and it smacks into the wall just beside where he pointed then rolls straight into the corner pocket.
“Oh no!” I stomp my foot.
He laughs and walks around the table to retrieve my cue ball.
“Let me show you how to do it,” Cassie nudges me with her hip and plucks the cue from Mr. Hotness. She makes her first shot but blows the second.
Mr. Hotness has a friend. A curly blond with deep set blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. He hands out beers while introducing himself as Stanley. Mr. Hotness apparently has a real name, Benjamin.
“When you’re done, we’ll grab next game.” Stan picks up the chalk on the small chalkboard hanging beside the cues and scribbles his name.
“You could just play with us if you want.” I chalk my pool cue. “I mean we’re not that good, but we have fun.”
“Yeah, we can play girls against boys,” Cassie chimes in, taking a long sip of her beer.
Stan and Ben give each other a quick glance before both agreeing. “Sure. Let’s play.”
It’s a dance Cassie and I perfected years ago. With just the right number of flirtatious smiles and touches, mixed with the occasional pout when scratching the cue, we’ve lulled the boys right into our trap.
“Maybe we should make it more interesting. Put some money on the game,” Cassie offers after the boys buy a new round of beers to celebrate their win.
“We couldn’t take your money,” Ben says, handing me a fresh bottle.
“Why? I could take yours.” I wink and bump him with my hip which makes him laugh. Ugh, it’s just too easy with some men. Raise the pitch of your voice, lower your IQ a point or two, laugh at all of their jokes, and they’re putty.
