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“This sucks.”
Lick grins like an asshole. “I thought you were supposed to be the mature one between the two of us?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Did you just call me old?”
He shakes his head and laughs. “You’re only as old as the person you’re fucking, and I’m a spring chicken.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
I blow out a frustrated breath, wishing I hated the asshole. My life is so much more complicated now with Lick and the MC in it. I didn’t want to have more people to care about because that meant I had more people to let me down. Yet here we are.
“I won’t be gone long. Four weeks max, and then the tours will be few and far between. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, but the band will be slowly transitioning into a record label and mostly doing gigs from home while signing up new artists.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
I throw myself into his arms. I should show some restraint, but I can’t find it in me to give a single fuck. I grab his face in my hands and tip it down so I can lay one on him. Of course, this is Lick, so the soft peck turns hot and heavy until a throat is cleared nearby.
“If you’re finished eating her face off, I need a word before you leave,” Knuckles says.
I roll my eyes but take a step back so Lick can talk to his father.
“Pool?” I jump at the sound of Dot’s voice behind me.
I turn, holding my hand to my heart. “Are you trying to scare this baby right out of me?”
Dot’s eyes widen comically before panic crosses his features. “Wait, is that something I should watch out for?”
I shake my head and sigh at the loveable idiot. “No, thankfully. What were you saying about playing pool?”
He stares at my stomach as he speaks, his face looking for signs of life or some shit. I think the man has seen one too many horror movies.
“Dot? You wanted to play pool?”
He nods and takes my hand in his huge one and walks me over to the pool table, where a couple of his club brothers, Hammer and Fester, are just finishing up. “Do you know how to play?”
I keep my gaze on the table and shrug. “It doesn’t look too hard.”
“I’ll talk you through it as you go along.”
“Thanks.” I smile at him, taking the shorter stick he offers me. I rub the tip with the blue chalk as he loads the balls into the triangle and tells me what to do.
I bend over the table, careful of my stomach, and wait for him to move back with the triangle in his hand. “So, I just have to hit the balls, right?”
“Yeah, and if one goes in—”
He shuts up when I send the white ball careening into the others, pocketing three stripes in the process.
“That means I’m stripes, right?”
“Right?” He nods, an air of suspicion bleeding into his voice.
I bend over, take another shot, and pocket that one too. I keep going until I have only the black to pot, then look up at Dot, who is grinning.
“So, you do know how to play.”
