Chapter Four #3
Cass hangs his head, his fingers intertwined and resting on his forehead. From the looks of it, he’s heard this story a thousand times and it isn’t one he cares to hear again, but doesn’t have much of a choice.
“He couldn’t have been any older than four when we took a club ride to the county fair.
It was a family thing, so Clayton brought Cass.
We were walking around the fair, letting the kids ride rides and eat fried everything when this lady walked toward us.
She wasn’t just any lady, either. She was gorgeous.
Long blonde hair, rocking body in daisy dukes and cut off tank top.
Cass walks up to her, smacks her on the ass and tells her to meet him at the clubhouse later.
She couldn’t even be mad at him because he was so serious it was priceless. ”
Brock finishes his story through bouts of laughter at the memory. I’m laughing as I look at Cass, astonished. Not much has changed.
“So, you’re telling me he’s been social and in control since he was four?” I ask.
“Yep. No changing this one, doll. He’s carved in stone.
” Brock lays his hand on Cass’s shoulder, shaking him gently.
This is the quietest I’ve ever seen Cass around other people.
Normally, being around people, he is in his element.
But this? Something about him almost bows down to these men.
It’s admirable. He respects the hell out of the two men sitting at that table, that much is evident.
The waitress returns with two massive platters of food and a stack of paper plates, napkins and utensils. “Y’all enjoy!”
She sets our trays down on the table and walks off.
Brock eyes her as she walks away. “Could’ve at least refilled our damn drinks,” he mumbles, more to himself. He doesn’t seem like the type to cause a scene or complain.
Clayton passes out plates with napkins and utensils before we all pile our plates full, and the chatter dies down as we begin eating.
I understand why The Patio is the best place in south Mississippi to get barbecue when I shovel a bite in my mouth.
The pulled pork is the best pulled pork I’ve ever tasted.
There is something different going on with barbecue sauce that is unlike any other.
The lot of us stuff our faces with the delicious food. Linc hasn’t said a word since we got here, listening and watching more than interacting. Which is a good thing since Cass always says a good prospect has two eyes, two ears, and no mouth.
“You three got anything planned tonight?” Clayton asks, bringing a napkin to his mouth and wiping the excess barbecue sauce that threatened to drip from his mustache.
“Nope. Our only plans were to meet you for dinner. After that, we were going to wing it.” Cass shrugs his shoulders when Clayton shoots him a questioning look.
“Good. We’re going to the pool hall down the street, then.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve shot, old man.” Cass’s eyes dance with a challenge. I’m missing something but I’m certain Cass is taunting his father.
“How long?” I ask, the words out of my mouth before I can stop them. Curiosity is getting the best of me. How long has it been since they’ve been around one another.
“Five years. That’s a long trip for an old man,” Clayton teases.
Cass chuckles. “Oh, horse shit. You could make that trip with your eyes closed. Unless…I mean unless you really are getting old.”
“Watch it. Old people don’t fight, they shoot.”
Cass puts his hands up in surrender, his smile mirroring the one on Clayton’s face.
Now that I’m looking at them both from almost the same angle, I can see the resemblance.
They have the same hairline and color, but Clayton’s has a little more salt than pepper.
Their eyes are identical aside from Clayton’s having more of an amber tint where Cass’s are more grey, and they have the same mouth.
They both have an intriguing sense of humor, too. I realize that their “bickering” wasn’t bickering at all. That’s normal. That’s their way of picking at each other.
Something I notice that is a bit odd to me is the fact that Cass is always in control, but whenever Clayton says something, it’s law. That’s what they’re doing and Cass doesn’t question it or contest it. it clicks in my head. That’s where Cass got it from, no doubt.
“Did you teach Cass how to shoot pool?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence.
A sly smirk crosses Clayton’s face. “I don’t know. Cass, did I?” he asks.
Cass huffs. “Yeah, eventually. After he kicked my ass constantly for about three years. He taught me before I was a teenager.”
“No wonder you stomped my ass on the table.”
“You shoot?” Clayton raises a curious brow at me.
“Kinda. I try sometimes.” I shrug.
“She’s actually not a bad shot.” Cass beams with pride like I’m the trophy he’s just brought home to show his dad from a competitive sport.
“Then I can’t wait to see her shoot.”
Clayton looks around the table and his gaze falls on Linc. “Linc, what’s got you so quiet?”
“Nothing at all. I’m just listening.”
Brock and Clayton share a look of…understanding?
I’m not sure, but whatever it is, they seem to be on the same page about it.
Looks like a good thing to me, too, which makes me happy for Linc.
I can tell he wants a position in this club more than anything and the fact that two old-timers just shared a look like that about a prospect has to mean he’s doing something right.
“I think you’re gonna do just fine here, boy,” Clayton says.
He chuckles before taking another bite of his food.
The table gets quiet as we finish our meal.
I feel a hand on my leg and look up to lock eyes with Cass.
He smirks at me before turning his attention back to his food without removing his hand.
It’s a simple gesture, but I find it cute, and it gives me butterflies.
Once we’re done and the waitress clears the table, Clayton pays the bill and we’re on the road toward the Sinners’ clubhouse to hang out for a little while and ask about a good place to shoot pool.
“Long time no see,” Micah greets us when we walk through the door.
It looks different today. Cleaner. Less stripper-filled.
There are a few guys around that I can see, but for the most part, it’s pretty laid back.
Clayton, Cass, Brock, and Micah disappear down the hall.
Micah’s saying something about a book he wants to show them.
I learned quickly that if the men are talking, you stay out of ear shot and mind your own business.
Too many ol’ ladies don’t understand that concept, but to me it makes sense.
It’s their business and I stay out of it. Besides, most women are catty.
I sit down at the horseshoe bar and the double doors behind it swing open and Raven emerges. From the glimpse I catch, those doors lead to a kitchen. Counter tops with trays of food are behind the doors and Raven is carrying a pot of something that smells divine.
“Hey!” Raven exclaims, almost dropping the pot in her hands.
“Hello, darlin’.” I try not to laugh at Raven’s obvious excitement. She sets the pot down on the bar and runs over to wrap me in the biggest hug. I embrace her and stumble a bit when the force in Raven’s hug nearly knocks me over. I let out a laugh and kiss Raven on the cheek.
“Are you hungry?” Raven asks, walking back behind the bar.
“Oh, God no. We just came from dinner at The Patio.”
“Then I know you’re definitely not hungry! Their food there is so delish!”
“Hey, do you need help carrying anything?” I ask, noticing that Raven is also trying to grab something else from behind the bar.
“Actually, if you could carry this tray,” Raven holds up a tray of finger sandwiches and I swiftly steal it from her.
“I’d be happy to,” I beam, following behind Raven who’s already started down the hallway that the guys disappeared down.
The hallway is wide, the walls full of photographs of the club members.
Most of the photos are signed and framed and from the black and white color and the style of clothing, these aren’t new photos.
I don’t recognize any of the men in the photos until we’re nearly at the end of the hallway.
The final few are of the guys that are here now.
They appear to be recent, based on Micah’s appearance in the photos.
I follow Raven through a door that opens up into what looks similar to a pool hall. There are multiple pool tables scattered throughout, the floor is a generic carpet that most poll halls host and instead of a liquor bar off to the side, there’s an island filled with food, plates, and utensils.
I’m starting to understand that this is their version of a game room.
I wonder if the clubhouse in Baton Rouge has a game room.
I was so agitated that I had to be stuck there that I’d barely left my room in the two weeks I was there.
I don’t know what all the Baton Rouge clubhouse entails and now I’m silently kicking myself in the ass for not exploring it.
Around the island, I find Cass, Micah and Clayton talking and pointing to something in front of them. They’re standing on the far side of it, facing the door that we just walked through. Almost in unison, the three of them look up at us.
Cass’s signature smile lights up his face as his eyes connect with mine.
For a moment, we’re the only two in the room.
His eyes burn through me, scorching a trail from my neck to my waist back up again.
It isn’t until I almost trip over a chair that I swear wasn’t there before I walked by it that I remember we aren’t alone.
That earns me a chuckle from the three men standing there. Cass’s eyes are apologetic as he fails to contain the amusement on his face. My cheeks redden as all eyes focus on me. Even Rave has stopped and turned to see what has the men’s attention.
“Watch out for those chairs, they tend to jump out at you,” Clayton teases.