Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“No, bullshit. You didn’t call your shot.” Fenn shoves Lawson from the table when he tries to line up a second shot.
“Didn’t I? I’m certain I did.”
“I heard it,” Silas says from the corner.
“You said three in the corner. You don’t get to take seven in the side.”
“Three? Nah, I don’t remember saying three. Definitely said seven.”
“You can take that seven and use it as a butt plug.”
Standing nearby, Duke and some of his hangers-on watch us until Lawson relents and Fenn takes his turn.
“Who’s winning?” Duke asks me. He saunters over casually, as if he hadn’t vaguely threatened to put me in a pair of cement shoes last time we met.
“We are.” Fenn bends over the table and aims his cue.
“Let me get next,” Duke says.
Fenn sinks the eight ball with a thunk to end the game. “These guys might want a rematch.”
“Four-on-four, then.”
“Kinky.” Lawson winks at them. “I’m game.”
“Great.” Duke throws his arm over my shoulder. “This one’s on my team.”
Oh, joy.
A few rounds in, it feels like I’m on a shitty blind date with someone who won’t take the hint. Duke doesn’t shut the hell up trying to make small talk with me. It’s baffling. Like some Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Asshole bullshit going on. My silence and lack of eye contact somehow encourages him. He chats on about the World Cup, tells me about his workout routine, gripes about how his ex is such a cocktease. Meanwhile, I stand there not caring about soccer or steroids, and wondering who the hell could be shallow or dumb enough to date a guy like Duke Jessup.
“What do you say we raise the stakes?” Duke asks before the next game. He stands at the far end of the table chalking his cue. “Hundred bucks each?”
“Careful, Duke,” Fenn warns. “You’re only up one. Not the time to get cocky.”
“What’s the matter, don’t think your brother can cover the bet?”
“Do you take food stamps?” cackles one of Duke’s boys, whose name I can’t be bothered to remember.
“Can he get it on an installment plan?” Another one with a crooked nose laughs.
“How does it work?” Duke sinks his next shot. Four and nine in the corner pocket. “Does your mom hand out your allowance, or do you have to suck stepdaddy’s dick yourself?”
“You talk too much,” I say, not rising to the bait. Meanwhile, I’m making a mental note to move Duke to the top of my background check list. It’s always useful having ammunition on an asshole.
“Is that so?” Duke misses his next shot, much to my amusement. “Come on. Don’t be a chickenshit. Put your money on the table. Whoever sinks the eight wins the money.”
I shrug. “I’m good.”
“Tell you what, I’ll even float you.”
Sitting on my stool, I watch Silas land one then a second shot. I don’t so much as look in Duke’s direction. “Yeah, not interested.”
“What is your deal, bro?” He’s smiling, but when Duke gets up in my face, he’s not so friendly anymore.
“Don’t have one, bro.” I gaze past him, over his shoulder, to continue watching the game behind him.
“You know, you’ve got a real bad attitude. I thought you would have figured out by now to show some respect.”
I can’t help but flash a careless grin. “Don’t know what to tell you. I guess I’m a slow learner.”
“Hey, Duke. If you’re in the mood to hit on someone all night, I could use a good lay.” Lawson leans against the doorway, red-eyed and jittery despite his lazy grin. He’d slipped away a few minutes ago and came back wired.
“Sorry, Kent, even if I did swing that way, I wouldn’t touch your one-inch pole with a ten-foot one,” Duke calls back, and I can’t deny I do enjoy the pole line. Assholes shouldn’t be allowed to be funny. “Who knows where that dick’s been.”
“I can tell you where it’s been,” Lawson says helpfully. “Last night it was hitting your sister’s G-spot.”
Beside me, I hear Fenn sigh. “Not the goddamn sister again,” he mumbles.
“Excuse me?” Eyes blazing, Duke charges at him. “Come on, dipshit. Say it again.” He grabs Lawson’s shirt while the other guy laughs.
“I said, I drilled your little sister last night.”
Silas, who’d been silently going about his evening in the corner, throws himself between Lawson and Duke’s fist.
“Alright, enough. Game’s over.” He shoves Lawson, who continues to slur taunts, back out into the hallway. “He’s a shithead, okay?” Silas tells Duke to disarm the situation. “What do you expect?”
Duke flicks his hard eyes over Silas. “You better get your boy. One of these days I won’t have such a good sense of humor.”
At that blowup, the night is done. Silas locks Lawson in their room while Duke storms off with his crew. I get the sense Silas has a lot of nights like this, babysitting his roommate. But hey, it made for better entertainment than pool, that’s for sure.