Page 9 of Lucifer's Hounds

“Oh, darlin’, I did say goodbye. I held you this morning while you slept and kissed you on the forehead before I got up and left.” I search his eyes for any sign of joke or amusement and find none. Are you kidding me right now? He’s great in bedanda genuine sweetheart? Something has to be wrong with him. He’s got to have an extra toe or something.

My brow furrows before I quickly fix it and smile. “Really? I never knew. I was out. You drained me last night. I think a hurricane could’ve come through and I would’ve still slept through it.”

“I drained you? Woman, I couldn’t even get up afterward.” His grin widens.

"I've never had anyone sit up and ride me like that.”

"You mean all hundred and eighty women haven’t done that to you?"

Cass lets out a gut-wrenching laugh. “Oh, you got jokes!”

“Maybe a few.”

"Okay, well save your jokes for later. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a conversation, about you and not the hundred and eighty women I’ve apparently had sex with.”

“Talk away, I’m all ears.” I point at my ears, resting my chin on top of my hands.

“What brings you to Houston?" he asks.

"I took a vacation from work for two days, and I needed to get away. Besides, this place is beautiful, and I'm a photographer by hobby." I stare down at my drink as I stir my straw, making mini tornadoes in it.

"Photographer? Really?" Cass gives me his full attention, urging me to go on. He’s invested in our conversation and seems genuinely interested in hearing what I have to say.

“Yep! I went to the Project Row Houses today and got a couple shots. I read about them a few months ago when I was out here, but I didn’t have my camera with me. This time, I made sure that was the first place I went.”

“I think that’s awesome.” He slides four quarters across the table in my direction.

“Up for another game?”

“Only if I actually get to participate this time,” I tease.

"I might let you."

I rack yet again, before returning to my seat at the table.

“So, since you got to ask your few questions, it’s my turn.” I reach over to my pack of Marlboros and light one.

“I’m all ears,” he mocks, pointing the table.

“Very funny. All right Mister Motorcycle President, what do you do when you aren’t being a badass biker?”

“I work, just like anyone else. I do a lot of work for construction companies, and when I’m not doing that, I play the drums or watch documentaries on singers and bands.”

My jaw drops. I didn’t know what I expected his answer to be, but it wasn’t that. I snap my mouth shut in hopes that my facial expression hadn’t offended him.

“That’s interesting. The only musical instrument I’ve ever wanted to learn to play is the drums.”

“Who knows, I might show you one day.”

I almost spit out my drink. Cass isn’t going to be around after this trip, much less “one day” to show me how to play the drums. This is just a fling. Something to keep us both occupied while we’re in town. I can barely take care of myself right now. The last thing I need to do is worry about getting involved with someone.

I am only here, after all, because everything at home is falling apart. I have done my best not to let it plague my mind, but it always comes soaring to the forefront of my brain after a few drinks. I’m on the verge of losing my house because I’m not making the money to pay the rent, and the bar hasn’t turned out to be a very profitable decision. It’s hard to pay for anything when you aren’t making any money. The only reason I splurged and showed up here this week is because I know what’s coming and figured why the hell not. No matter how hard I’ve struggled to escape the reality of what my life is, it never quite faded away long enough for me to forget.

“Hey pretty girl, where’s your head at?” Cass asks, pulling me back to the here and now.

“Eh, it’s irrelevant. I think it’s my turn to rack. Again.” I brush off his inquisition and rack.

Cass walks around the table behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He kisses my neck lightly before cupping my ass cheek, squeezing it tightly.

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