Page 44 of Lucifer's Hounds

Cass: Roflmao. Tell my brother hi for me.

Ugh. That isn’t an answer.

Lilly: Is it what I think it is?

Cass: Probably. It’s a term I came up with to name Scott’s lady friends. He treats them like a pin cushion. Pokes them cause that’s all they’re good for.

I burst out laughing as I read his message. Scott looks at me, amused.

“What’s so funny?” He asks.

I don’t answer. He knows damn good and well what’s so funny. I double over, with tears nearly rolling down my face.

“Oh my god, you have a term for your fuck buddies…that is literally more morally degrading than the term fuck buddy itself.”

Scott laughs and shakes his head. “Yep. Pretty much.”

“Cass says hi, by the way.”

“I know. I was talking to him too.”

“Oh, that’s wrong.”

“Is not. I hear you like to shoot pool. Want to shoot a game?” he asks.

My cheeks redden as thoughts of last night play through my mind, wondering if that’s what Scott’s referring to. Did Cass tell him? No.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll go grab some quarters.” I grab my purse and get a handful of quarters. When I approach the pool table, I stop abruptly. They’ve been replaced since last night. Instead of green felt, there’s purple in its place.

“When did we get new pool tables?”

“This morning. I brought them in,” Scott answers.

“Why? What was wrong with the other ones?”

He scuffs the tip of his pool stick. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

“Sorry.”

I lean down to rack.

“Nothing was wrong with the other ones, we just wanted tables with purple felt. He’s got a theme going.”

“Oh okay.”

I replace the rack and take a step back from the table.

“Have at it.” I point to the table. Scott breaks and runs out every last ball.

“I thought you wanted to shoot a game?” I ask inquisitively.

“I did.” Scott laughs.

“No, no. You just practiced. I didn’t get a damn shot!” I stomp my foot with my arms crossed, pretending to be offended.

“Awe. Well, rack again and I’ll try to give you a shot.”

I re-rack. Scott breaks and nothing falls. I shoot out six of my seven balls.

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