Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“Are you kidding me, Miles? You want me to do a paternity test?”
“Well…yeah. I want to know for sure that the kid is mine, Rhonda.” Because it’s not.
“And my word isn’t good enough for you?” she screeches.
“I’m no mathematician, but I sure as shit can’t be that baby’s father if you’re four months along. What do you really want?”
“Miles,” she sputters.
“You said you heard I’m a rancher now. That means you heard why I moved to Montana. Let me guess. From Dave at the shop who gave you my number. Probably the real father.”
Her huff comes through the phone line clear as day.
“You want the money. Jesus. You’re a piece of work, using your baby to get your hands on some cash.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I plow on.
“You’ve got two choices. Take the paternity test and prove I’m the father. Or fuck off.”
“Fuck you!” She ends the call. Just as I thought.
Christ. What a total nightmare. No wonder Chance is single. He must be scared of being trapped by a gold digger just by sinking his dick into a woman.
Hell, who could blame the man?
Sadie isn’t like that. She didn’t know who I was when we first hooked up. And now she thinks I’m some rando’s baby daddy. We couldn’t have had a rockier start to a relationship—if it could ever be considered one after all the ups and downs we’ve been through in such a short time. I want to hunt her down, but I have no clue where to go.
Yes, I do.
I stalk back out of my bedroom and find Chance with his jacket on heading out the door.
“Where are you off to?”
“I told you. I feel like a game of pool.”
“I changed my mind. I’m in.”
Mikey’s Pool Hall is a large warehouse, probably used to store crops before transport back in the day. The interior walls are brick and the ceiling is high and thick-beamed. It’s got at least eight pool tables. Five of them are occupied.
“Fuck. Seriously?” I nudge Chance.
Mark Peterson is playing with a couple other men on the table closest to the bar.
Damn. Just what we need.
“Chance!” The guy behind the bar waves.
Chance walks toward him, and I follow, perfectly content to avoid Peterson and his overblown ego.
“Evening, Jed. This is my brother Miles.”
The man—Jed, apparently—holds out his hand. “Good to meet you. So you’re one of the billion heirs?”
Is there anyone in town who doesn’t know about the inheritance? “Not quite yet,” I reply.
“Can I get you two anything?”
“Tonic water for me,” I say.
“Me, too.” Chance turns to me. “I play lousy when I’m drinking.”
“You got it.” Jed pours our drinks.
“Put it on my tab.” Chance grabs the icy glasses and passes one to me. “We’re going to take table six.”
“Enjoy.” Jed turns to another customer.
Chance and I head to the table, and I ignore the glare from Peterson. I don’t have it in me to deal with him tonight.
“How are you at eight-ball?” Chance asks.
“Okay.”
I take a look at the table. Four by eight. Regulation size. Most pool halls have smaller seven-foot tables. I look for a coin slot and find none. It’s free to play. Strange. Whoever Mikey is, he clearly owns this place outright and earns his keep off the drinks.
“You want to break?” I ask.
“I’ll rack.” Chance grabs the triangle. “You do the honors.”
I scan the pool cues on the wall and weigh a few in my hands until I find the one that feels right. I chalk the tip and break, sending the five ball into a side pocket.
“Guess I’m solids,” I say.
I continue to pocket solids and then the eight ball to successfully obliterate Chance in the first game before he even gets a turn.
“What the hell?” My brother stares at the table, eyes wide. “You said you were”—air quote—“okay?”
“One of my mom’s husbands was a hustler.” I rack the balls for the second game. “Taught me everything I know.”
“You know hustling’s illegal, right?” he mutters.
“Did I ask you to play for money?”
“Sorry. I guess I should have mentioned that Peterson over there is kind of a staple at Mikey’s. He’s known as the best pool player in town.”
I chuckle. “So?”
“He hustles here, although not much any longer since he’s run out of people to take money from. The cop bends the rules to suit himself. Man, it’d piss him off if you beat his ass. He’s undefeated as far as I know.”
This time I grin. I can see the interest in Chance’s voice to take the fucker down a notch or two. “Until now,” I reply.
“Bro, you want to break the law with a cop?”
“I can’t hustle for money,” I clarify.
“What the hell is going on in that warped mind of yours?”
“I’m not sure yet. But maybe we can get him off our backs.”
Chance shakes his head. “That’s a bad idea. Peterson is still the law around here.”