“We suck,” Hollis gripes.
“We’re not great,” I acknowledge.
Today’s practice was another disaster, which doesn’t bode well for tomorrow’s game against Yale. I was hoping the road trip to Boston would distract us from how badly we’re playing, but we’ve been sitting in this bar for almost an hour, and so far all we’ve talked about is hockey. The Bruins game flashing on multiple screens all around us isn’t helping matters—watching a good team play good hockey is just the icing on the shit cake.
I peer at my empty beer bottle and then wave it in the air to signal the waitress. I’m going to need about five more of these if I want to snap out of this sour mood.
Hollis is still grumbling beside me. “If we don’t start playing some defense, we can kiss our chances at another Frozen Four goodbye.”
“It’s a long season. Let’s not throw in the towel yet,” Fitzy says from across the booth. He’s sipping on a Coke because he’s our DD tonight.
“Are you guys going to talk hockey all night?” Hollis’ brother, Brody, complains. He’s twenty-five, but looks way younger with his clean-shaven face and backwards Red Sox cap.
“What else are we gonna talk about? This place is a sausage fest.” Hollis tosses a napkin at his brother.
He’s not wrong. There are only two women in this bar. They’re around our age, hot as fuck, and they also happen to be making out with each other in a corner booth. Ninety-five percent of the men here—myself included—have already snuck glances at the lip-locked chicks. The other five percent are busy lip-locking each other.
“Fine, you losers.” Brody heaves out an exaggerated sigh. “You don’t like this place? Let’s go.”
“Where?” his little brother asks.
“Where there’s girls.”
“Done and done.”
Three minutes later, we’re climbing into Fitzy’s car and following Brody’s Audi across town.
“Nice wheels,” I remark, gesturing to the shiny silver car ahead of us.
“He leases it,” Hollis informs me. “He likes to act like a big shot, but he’s really not.”
“Gee,” Fitzy drawls from the driver’s seat. “Sound like anyone you know?”
That gets him a middle finger from our teammate. “Dude. I’m more of a big shot than your pansy ass. You didn’t even get laid on your birthday this week.”
“I wasn’t looking to get laid. Trust me, if I was, you wouldn’t have seen me at all that night.”
“We barely saw you, anyway! You went home early to play video games!”
“To demo the game I designed,” the other guy corrects. “I don’t see you doing anything productive with your time.”
“Actually using my dick is very productive, thank you very much.”
I hide a grin. It always boggles my mind how these two could be such close friends. Hollis is a loud-mouthed bro with only one thing on the brain—chicks—while Fitzy is serious and intense with only one thing on his brain—gaming. Or maybe two things, seeing as the guy loves getting tattooed. Somehow they make the friendship work, though it seems like it’s mostly through bickering and flipping each other off.
We pull into a gravel driveway and park in the spot next to Brody’s. His Audi doesn’t look out of place with the rest of the cars, but it doesn’t fit the bar, either. A neon sign over the nondescript building blazes with the words “Boots & Chutes,” which are positioned underneath a half-naked girl riding a bull.
Hollis gapes at the sign. “Seriously? A western-theme titty bar in Boston? This is gonna suck.” He looks like he wants to punch his brother.
“Aren’t you Miss Mary Sunshine.” Brody throws an arm around Hollis and waves for us to come forward. “You babies wanted pussy—well, here you are.”
“Is this what happens after you get out of college? You have to pay for pussy?” Hollis hangs his head. “I’m never leaving Briar, bro. Ever.”
I chuckle. “Hey, think of all the leftover hockey groupies you’ll have access to when Garrett or Logan start playing for the pros.”
That immediately perks him up. “Good point. And look—” He points to the sign “—now you don’t have to leave Boston either. Who needs to move back to Texas when you’ve got cowgirls right here for you?”
“Tempting,” I say dryly, “but I think I’m sticking to my original plan.”
Unless my mom suddenly acquires a taste for the East Coast, I’m moving back to Patterson after I graduate. I’m not sure our small town is a good place to start a business, but I could always try to open something up in Dallas and come home on the weekends. Mom sacrificed a shitload to get me to where I’m at now, and I’m not leaving her alone.
The strip club reeks of sweat, smoke, and desperation. At the front of our group, Hollis’ brother slaps something into the hands of the bouncer, and they have a short conversation.
“No touching. Private dances start at five bills.” He waves a waitress over. “Front row, stage right,” he tells her.
Everyone starts moving.
Everyone but me.
“Got a problem?”
The bouncer’s sharp voice gets me moving. “Nope,” I say easily.
But I kinda do. I have a big problem, in fact. A fucking huge problem.
Because under the heavy eyeliner and the big hair, I recognize the waitress. Hell, I’ve had my hands and mouth all over that exposed skin.
Sabrina’s startled gaze locks with mine. I see all the color drain from her face, which is saying a lot because she didn’t go easy on the blush when she applied her makeup.
“Right this way,” she mumbles. She spins around with a swish of dark hair, but not before I see the flash of warning in her eyes.
Got it. She doesn’t want me telling the guys that we know each other. I don’t blame her. This is probably awkward as fuck for her.
“What kinds of chicks work this joint?” Hollis says as he leers at Sabrina’s incredible backside, which is barely covered by the tiny shorts she’s wearing.
“Hot ones,” Fitzy replies dryly.
That’s an understatement. The girls here are more than hot. They’re goddamn spectacular. Source: my eyeballs.
Tall ones, short ones, curvy ones. Light, dark, and everything in between. But my gaze keeps snapping back to Sabrina, as if it’s attached to an invisible string that’s controlled by her perfect ass.
“I take back every rude thing I said about cowgirls in the parking lot. Any of these girls can ride me.”
Heat curdles in my gut. I don’t like the idea of Hollis—or any of the dudes in this place—getting ridden by Sabrina. She’s mine.
“You okay?” Fitzy asks. “You look pissed.”
I take a breath. “Yeah, sorry. I was thinking about the team.”
He buys that. “That’s enough to make anyone mad. Come on. Let’s get a drink and forget about hockey.”
I nod absently, too mesmerized by the center of Sabrina’s back. It’s completely bare except for one measly string that looks like it would unravel if I blew against the bow. My gaze drops lower, taking in the elegant indentation of her spine, all the way down to the top of her black satin booty shorts.
By the time we arrive at the stage, I’m sporting a semi, which is fucking embarrassing. Getting a hard-on at the mere sight of a girl’s ass isn’t something that’s happened to me since high school.
I force my eyes upward in time to avoid a table full of frat boys. One of them reaches out to slap Sabrina’s ass as she sways by him.
A jolt of rage shoots up my spine. I shove forward, but a bouncer sitting at the base of the stage reaches the punk before I do.
“No touching, asshole.” He hauls the polo-shirted kid to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“Hey, I’m sorry,” the asswipe protests. “It was reflex.”
But the bouncer doesn’t listen and the guy is dragged out anyway. His friends just watch him go.
Hollis grins. “Strict fuckers here.”
“We need that guy on our team,” Fizzy observes.
“No lie.”
Sabrina holds out her hand. “Anything I can get for you boys?” Her voice is barely audible over the loud dance beat blaring through the club.
“Whatever you have on draft.” I keep my eyes fixed above her chin, which is a fucking miracle.
I don’t miss the unhappiness washing over her face. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess she’s embarrassed, and I don’t know how to tell her that where she works doesn’t make a shit’s worth of difference to me.
Brody flops down in the chair next to mine. He rests his forearms on the tabletop and leans forward to watch the half-naked woman dancing five feet away from us. The tall redhead is in the process of wiggling out of her G-string, leaving her in nothing but a leather holster around her waist and two fake guns.
“And for you?”
Hollis’ brother tears his gaze off the naked cowgirl and glances at Sabrina. “Whiskey, neat.”
“Coming right up.”
“Thanks, baby.”
With a strained smile, Sabrina disappears, and somehow I manage not to lunge across the table at Brody. Sabrina’s not his baby. If he calls her that one more time, I’m not sure I’ll be able to restrain myself from beating the living crap out of him.
“She looks familiar,” Hollis yells in my ear. “The waitress. Doesn’t she?”
I shrug. “Don’t know.”
Fitzy turns to study her as she leans forward to take orders at a nearby table. “I guess she looks a little like Olivia Munn?”
“No way. She’s a million times hotter than her,” Hollis declares. Then he shrugs. “Whatever, maybe I don’t know her.”
His brother grins. “I’ll ask her later why she looks familiar. You know, when she’s on her knees in front of me.”
I clench my fists against my thighs. I have to, or I’m going to pound Hollis’ brother into mincemeat and then Hollis will be pissed off. I like Hollis.
Luckily, Brody decides to stop being a creep, as if on some subconscious level he figured out how close I was to straight-up murdering him. He turns to me and says, “Mikey mentioned you’re going to start your own business?”
I nod. “That’s the plan.”
“Got something in mind?”
“I’m kicking around a few ideas, but I haven’t settled on anything yet. I’ve been focused on hockey.”
“Yeah, I hear ya.”
“But once I’m done with school, I’ll evaluate my options.”
“If you need help, let me know. I’ve got a couple ins with some new opportunities. Really ground-floor stuff. I’m not sure how much cash you’ve got, but these investment opportunities aren’t open to the public. One day you’re in for a couple hundred Gs, and three years later you’re a billionaire when Facebook buys you out.” He snaps his fingers as if it’s just that easy.
“Sounds interesting. Maybe I’ll give you a call when I’m ready to make some decisions.” I’m nodding again, but really, I have no plans on calling Brody Hollis for investment advice. I’d rather not get suckered into some pyramid scheme, thank you very much.
Sabrina returns with a tray in her hand, and all my attention instantly belongs to her. She sets down our drinks, standing right at my shoulder. I figure it’s because I’m the least likely to play grab-ass with her and not because she wants to rub her tits across my cheek.
“I’ll be back in a bit to check on you,” she murmurs before darting off.
Jesus. I stare at her in admiration, wishing I could run after her and give her a hug. Serving a bunch of Briar guys—not to mention one she’s slept with—can’t be comfortable for her. She could’ve asked her boss to be switched to another section, but she didn’t. She’s continuing to do her job as if our presence doesn’t affect her at all.
For the next half hour, the guys and I watch the strippers do their thing. Well, the guys watch. Me, I’m wholly focused on Sabrina. I sneak glances at her every other second, barely paying attention to what’s going on around me. I vaguely register laughter and catcalls and snippets of conversation, but my entire world has been reduced to Sabrina James. The sensual sway of her hips as she walks. The high heels that make her long legs look impossibly longer. Every time she walks past our table, I fight the urge to pull her into my lap and kiss her senseless.
“How much does a girl like you cost?” a loud voice slurs from behind me.
“I’m not a dancer.”
My shoulders stiffen when I recognize Sabrina’s voice. The woman on stage has just finished up, and the music volume has dropped a few notches while the next girl gets ready to go on. When I twist around in my chair, I find that the obnoxious frat boys are at it again.
“But you would be if the price was right,” one of the douchecanoes drawls.
“No. I just serve drinks.” From where I sit, I can see the tension in her slender shoulders.
“What if I want more than a drink?” Douchecanoe taunts.
“Trust me, you don’t want to waste your money on me. I’m a terrible dancer.” Her tone is light on the surface, but steely beneath it. “You need anything else?”
“Sweetheart, I’m not asking for a Broadway show. I just want you to shake your tits and ass in my face. Maybe rub up on me a bit—”
That’s it. I’ve had enough.
I don’t miss Fitzy’s look of confusion as I push out of my chair and march over to the Douche Table.
“She said no,” I growl.
The main douche smirks at me. “She’s a fucking stripper, dude.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “She said no,” I repeat.
From the corner of my eye I see Sabrina edge backward.
“Where do you get off?” Douchecanoe demands. “Mind your own business or I’ll—”
The chair legs behind me scrape against the floor, and Douchecanoe shrinks in his seat as over six hundred pounds of angry hockey players stare down at him. Fitzy is particularly menacing with his two full-sleeve tattoos and the cut over his eyebrow that he got during our last game.
“You’ll what?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“Nothing,” the frat boy says sullenly.
“That’s what I thought.” I bare my teeth at the assholes before the boys and I settle back in our chairs.
It takes me a second to realize that Sabrina is halfway across the room. She turns, briefly, to glance at our table. When our gazes meet, there’s unmistakable sorrow in hers.
Before I can stop myself, I pull out my phone and send her a quick text. I don’t know if she still has me blocked, but it can’t hurt to try.
I’m sorry about that.
I don’t expect a reply, so when my phone buzzes three minutes later, I’m genuinely surprised. But then I’m pissed, because she texted back:
Did u follow me here?
It takes me a minute to regroup. I sip my beer, take a breath, and then answer her with, Meet me at the restrooms?
This time she responds right away.
5 min.
For the next four minutes, I have to force myself not to stare at my phone. Or set a timer. Impatience bubbles in my gut, intensifying with each passing second. By the time I rise to my feet, I’m tense as fuck.
“Hitting the head,” I mutter, but the guys pay me no attention. Hollis and Brody are too busy shoving dollar bills in a stripper’s G-string, while Fitzy watches them with a bored expression.
I thread my way through the crowd of mostly men toward the doorway on the other side of the dark room. Boots & Chutes has gone overboard with the western theme—saloon-style doors separate the bathrooms from the main room, and the wooden signs on the restrooms read Gunslingers and Fillies. From behind the Fillies door, I hear the muffled sounds of female moans intermingled with male grunts. Classy.
“So, did you?”
I whirl around at Sabrina’s voice. She stalks up to me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest in a way that causes her cleavage to spill over her bra.
“Follow you here, you mean?” I flatten my lips. “No, darlin’, I did not.”
She studies me for several seconds before nodding. “Okay. I believe you.” Then she turns to walk away.
Oh hell no.
“Sabrina,” I say in a low voice.
She stops. “W-what?”
Something inside of me melts when I hear the crack in her voice. She keeps her back to me, her spine like a metal rod. By the time I reach her, any indignation I felt over her unfair assumption has faded away. I gently touch her arm to shift her around so we’re facing each other.
“Sabrina?” I keep my voice soft, safe.
She visibly swallows. “This is where I work.”
I give a slow nod. “This is where you work.”
“That’s it? You’ve got nothing else to say about that?”
I stroke her bare shoulder with the pad of my thumb, gratified to feel her shiver. “This is your place of employment. You get paid to work here. You use those paychecks to pay your bills, I’m assuming. What else do you want me to say?”
But I know what she expected from me. Judgment. Contempt. Maybe a lewd comment or two.
I’m not that man, though.
She keeps watching me, until finally a small smile plays on her gorgeous lips. “I’m waiting for the part where you tell me you never come to these places, your friends just dragged you here against your will, yada yada.”
“I’d be lying if I said I’ve never been to a strip club. But I kind of did get dragged here tonight—I voted for the sports bar. And the only reason I even came to Boston was because…” I trail off, because the last thing I want to do is scare her off again.
“Because what?”
Fuck it. I shrug and say, “I was hoping maybe I’d run into you.”
Sabrina laughs. “Boston’s a big place—you really expected to randomly run into me?”
“Expected, no. Hoped? Abso-fucking-lutely.”
That gets me another laugh.
We stare at each other for a beat. My voice comes out gravelly as I murmur, “You unblocked my number.”
“I unblocked your number,” she agrees.
Then she moistens her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, and I swallow a groan. Fuck, I want to kiss her.
“I should…get back to work.”
There’s only the tiniest sliver of reluctance in her words, but a sliver is all I need. “When do you get off?”
“Two.”
“Do you want to hang out when you’re done?”
She doesn’t answer right away. I stand there, holding my breath, hoping that the raw, overpowering lust I feel for her doesn’t show on my face, praying that she’ll say—
“Yes.”
