Page 32 of Filthy Little Lies

“Okay, but only ten dollars. Does that sound good?” Stan pulls out a ten-dollar bill and places it on the rail.

“We can do that.” Cassie reaches into her purse strapped across her chest and matches his bet. “Can I break? I love breaking.”

Stan chuckles. “Sure, sweetheart, you break.”

We lose the first game in under five minutes after Cassie “accidentally” sinks the eight ball. Then another and another. The boys get a little cockier and more flirtatious with each win. Every round of beers loosens their wallets a little more. Every game Cassie nudges the bet a little higher until there’s a pile of twenties sitting on the rail.

The last game goes a little longer. I nail a good shot.

“Your game is getting better all of a sudden, huh?” Ben teases.

“My luck is finally kicking in.” I shrug. We almost win the game. Just enough to boost our confidence.

“Let’s just go all in.” She grabs my hand. “I think we’ll get them next game.”

“There’s a hundred sixty there.” I dig through my wallet. “I’ll need to hit the ATM.”

Ben shares a look with Stan, probably wondering if they should take more money from the innocent women who don’t seem to know what they’re doing.

“I need some cash too. What do you say guys? You boys game?”

“Yeah. But if we win, you two join us for dinner. We’ll use the winnings to pay.” Stan winks.

“Sure. If you win, dinner’s on you,” I agree. “I saw an ATM by the bathrooms.”

“I’ll grab another round while you’re doing that.” Ben squeezes my hip and goes to the bar. Counting the empty bottles on the table, he’s had four beers. Not enough for him to get drunk, but I don’t know him well enough to be certain. And drunk men are not reasonable men.

“Last game. Stan’s had six beers,” Cassie whispers to me at the ATM.

“Ben’s had four, so yeah, last game.” I agree.

When Cassie and I come back, Stan’s racking the balls, rolling them forward and back half a dozen times before settling them in the center.

“Can we break?” I ask, picking my pool cue back up.

“Of course. Ladies first,” Ben grins, propping a hip against the table and resting his chin on his clasped hands atop the pool cue.

“Cassie, do you want to go first or should I?” I offer the table, but she shakes her head.

“No, you can do it this time. I did it last time.”

I think a moment. “You’re right. You did.”

“Did what?” Stan moves closer to Cassie, but she moves to lean back against the wall.

“Okay. I’m ready.” I bend over the table.

Crack.

The eleven ball disappears into the back right corner pocket.

“Nice break,” Ben slides along the table with me for my next shot.

The fifteen ball kisses the side rail, cutting across the table and dropping into the front left corner pocket.

“Huh.” Ben’s smile falters. Stan straightens and steps closer to the table to watch.

“This one’s a little ugly,” I say, bending over the table and taking the shot. The cue ball taps the twelve-ball, sending it into the right-side pocket before drifting perfectly into position for my next play.