Both of the girls’ hands go to the men’s butts, grabbing and squeezing, and the crowd goes absolutely nuts. I laugh and shake my head as the guys eat up the reaction then jump down simultaneously. Their moves are so in sync, I wonder how many times they’ve done this exact routine. They each kiss the girls on the cheeks and then lead them back to their places in the circle before making the universal sign with their hands for the room to quiet down.
Austin, who’s wearing red boxer briefs with a yellow waistband and reads “Today I’m Your Fireman” on the ass, points to my cousin in her birthday tiara and sash. “It’s time for the birthday girl to get her birthday treat. Come here, darlin’.”
Again, the women cheer and get rowdy as Austin leads Julia center stage and sits her down on the ottoman.
Roman heads to the fireplace mantle where his phone and a speaker are set up like the one Chance has. For as small as those things are, they pump out dance club quality sound. He chooses something from a playlist and a new song starts up, all sexy bass and syncopated rhythms. The guys approach Julia and each straddle one of her legs as they perform body rolls so fluid they look virtually boneless.
Suddenly the music starts skipping like it’s a scratched CD instead of a digitally mastered track playing from a smartphone, then it stops altogether. Boos rise up from the peanut gallery and Roman and Austin look at each other like they’re not sure what to do, but Austin manages to calm the masses in a matter of seconds.
“Ladies, ladies, it’s okay, we know what to do.” He looks at Roman and says, “Ruthless, whenever we need something fixed, what do we do?”
A devilish grin turns Roman—aka Ruthless—into a wicked panty-melter. “That’s easy. We call the handyman.”
Screams erupt in stereo, and I’m positive I’ve lost fifty percent of my hearing. Oh, God…no no no n—
“Ladies, put your hands together for Romeo the Handyman!”
The crowd parts to my left, and in struts the man I’ve been seeing, wearing the same coveralls he wore the first night we met. The women are going crazy, and the lust-struck look on my cousin’s face says she’d like to explore my boyfriend with nothing more than her tongue.
For the next bit of eternity, I watch with acid churning in my gut as Chance dances and methodically reveals more and more of his hard body while Julia rubs him down like her very life depends on mapping out his muscles. His damp hair started off pulled back in a low pony, but he’s since ripped out the hair tie and now his shoulder-length locks are whipping across his face, adding another level of sexy to the already edible package.
I want to get drunk and make myself numb against the jealousy and angry proprietary feelings clawing at my insides. I hate that I feel this way. This is his job—or one of them, at least. I’ve known all along that this is what he does sometimes on the weekends; it’s not like he’s been dishonest or kept this a secret. It’s how I met him, for Christ’s sake.
Down to only a small pair of blue boxer briefs with white handprints on the ass, Chance uncrosses Julia’s legs and yanks her butt to the edge of the ottoman. Standing to the right of her, he bends to the left, placing his left shoulder on her left thigh with his head going between her thighs. Then he pushes himself into a handstand, his shoulders braced on her thighs. His line of sight right now is straight up my cousin’s skirt while he spreads his legs and gyrates his pelvis directly in front of her face.
Julia wears a look of awe and actually goes to grab my man’s cock. I’m torn between throwing up where I stand and breaking my cousin’s fingers one by one. I’m spared from doing either when Chance avoids her molestation, just barely, by rotating out of the position until he’s standing again.
But the dance isn’t over, and though I doubt it’ll get much worse than what he’s already done, I can’t continue to watch or I will do something to cause a scene. I lean over to Emily, who’s still next to me, and yell directly into her ear so she can hear me. I make an excuse about the drink not sitting well and ask her to tell Julia I wish her the best.
Just as I turn to leave, Austin tosses two cans of whipped cream to Chance, two to Roman, and grabs two for himself. I watch in wide-eyed horror as each of them make designs on their bodies with the fluffy dessert topping and offer to let a woman—in Chance’s case, Julia—lick it off.
As I push through the crowd and make my way out of the house, I realize I was wrong: things are definitely getting much worse.
Chapter Nineteen
Chance
The night is hot and humid, adding to the sticky feeling already coating my body from the P4H job I’m coming from. The guys and I used baby wipes to do a preliminary cleaning before getting dressed to leave, but I need a proper shower to wash off the whipped cream, sweat, and dozens of touches that aren’t my girl’s.
I can’t wait to see her tonight. She said she had to go to her aunt’s house for her cousin’s birthday. We figured out our schedules, and she’ll probably be back about an hour after me, so she gave me her spare key to let myself in. I’ll have plenty of time to shower and set things up for our S’mores ‘n’ Statham night.
I grab the bag of food supplies from the passenger seat of my truck and bound up her apartment building’s stairs two at a time. I use the key to let myself in and I’m locking up behind me when I hear noises coming from the kitchen. Loud noises.
Rounding the corner, I’m surprised to find Jane opening up cabinet doors and slamming them shut. She’s obviously looking for something and is getting frustrated at not finding it. Not wanting to scare the shit out of her, I rustle the plastic bag as a subtle warning, then say, “Hey, sweetness.”
She jumps and spins, white-knuckling the edge of the counter behind her. “Fuck, Chance, don’t do that!”
So much for not scaring the shit out of her. I chuckle and set the bag on the counter. “Sorry, baby, I tried not to startle you. What are you doing in here, anyway? You look upset.”
Sighing she brings her hands up and pushes her hair back from her face. “I can’t find my chamomile tea. I used to drink it when I needed to relax, and I’d really like to relax right now, but I can’t fricking find it. It used to be in this cabinet, but now I don’t know where it is.”
When she opens the cabinet door, I spot the box of tea immediately. It’s on the top shelf, pushed all the way to the back where the short-stack can’t see it. “Found it,” I say, easily retrieving it for her. She mumbles a thanks and moves to fill the kettle with water. “Have a bad day, babe? Did you not go to your cousin’s thing?”
Jane sets the kettle on the stove a little harder than seems necessary and turns the burner on high. “No, I went, but I didn’t stay long. Wasn’t my scene.”
I want to wrap my arms around her, comfort her until whatever’s bothering her goes away, but I really need to bathe before that because I’m gross. “Not your scene?” I ask. “I thought you said it was at your aunt’s house.”
“It was,” she says, turning to face me. “But my aunt isn’t your typical parent who invites the family over for cake and ice cream and gives her daughters nice sweater sets.”
I arch a brow in question and start taking the ingredients I’d picked up for s’mores out of the bag. “Then what type of parent is she?”
“The type who turns her suburban Elmhurst home into a night club with enough alcohol to warrant a liquor license, invites a sex toy rep to bring samples of her latest and greatest, and hires male entertainers who cover themselves in whipped cream as the highlight of the evening.”
I freeze, the bag of marshmallows mid-transfer, and look over at Jane, who’s leaning back on the counter with her arms hugging her middle as she chews on her lower lip. Ah, fuck me, this isn’t good.
“Julia is your cousin.” She nods. “And you saw me dance for her?”
She snorts. “I think you mean on her.”
Shitdamnfuck. “Baby, you know that doesn’t mean anything. It’s all an act.”
Again she nods. “I know th
at. I mean, logically I know, but it really sucked actually seeing it. I love my cousin, but I wanted to rip her hair out by the roots every time she touched you.”
Part of me likes how jealous she is, and that part of me wants to smile and laugh at how cute she looks as she tries not to pout about another woman touching me. “I’m sorry it sucked, but it’s just a job. You’re the one I’m coming home to at night, as evidenced by my presence right now. I’m here with you, Jane, not anyone else.”
Her teeth are still worrying her lip, which has me worried. If she doesn’t stop, she might break the skin. Fuck the state of my hygiene; I need to kiss her.
Closing the small distance, I hold her face in my hands and spare her lip by molding mine around it. For a second, she melts into me, just as she always does, but then I feel her hands on my chest, and she pushes me away.
“Sorry, but you smell like her,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. “My cousin has worn Escape by Calvin Klein since the tenth grade, and I can smell it on you.”
Shit, I was so worried about the sweat and whipped cream that I forgot about the female scents I come away with after having rubbed up against them. Slick move, asshole. I apologize and take a couple of steps back, ready to tell her I’ll be back in five minutes, after I’ve showered, when she says the one thing I never wanted to hear her ask.
“Have you ever given any thought to not stripping anymore?”
Jesus Christ, this is like Sandra all over again. It’s the question that marks the beginning of the end. Sandra had given me an ultimatum. Either I stop stripping, or she was stopping the engagement. I didn’t stop stripping.
“Nope,” I say, trying to tamp down the flames of aggravation. “I haven’t.”
“Okay,” she draws out slowly. “Well, is it something you’d consider giving thought to?”
Planting my feet, I cross my arms over my chest. “I gotta say, I honestly didn’t expect this from you. I thought it didn’t bother you, that you were more mature than this.”
She folds her arms, too, and narrows her eyes slightly. “Chance, don’t be an ass, and don’t make this about me.”
“What do you mean don’t make this about you? You couldn’t handle watching me dance for other women, so now you want me to stop. But I’ll tell you how we fix that. We make sure I’m never working any party you’re attending. Problem solved.”
Jane throws her hands up and lets them drop to slap on her legs. “Yes, fine. The part about me hating to see other women paw at you is about me. But this is deeper than that. I mean, what is it about stripping that’s so important to you? It’s not like you need the money anymore. Do you get a rush from being a sex symbol, being objectified by strange women? What?”
“Don’t start shrinking me with your social worker thesis shit, Jane,” I say angrily. “I’m not one of your case studies, and I don’t have any issues from my childhood driving my behavior.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to understand why it’s so important to you. Am I not enough for you?”
“Now who’s making this about you?” I say, seething and turning her own words against her. See? All women want to change the man they’re with. It’s a fact of life. Inevitable. Women are inherent fixers of the “broken boy.” But I’m not. Fucking. Broken. “Bottom line, I don’t have one damn reason to stop. I was doing this long before you came along, and I’ll still be doing it after we’re done.”
Jane rears her head back like I just slapped her. Subconsciously—or, hell, maybe even consciously—I chose those words to deliberately hurt her, because she was damn sure hurting me. I was so stupid for thinking this time would be different. That she was different. But in the end, she wants me to be someone I’m not, and that doesn’t wash with me.
“I see.” She wraps her arms around her middle again, hugging herself against the pain swimming in her eyes. “Then I guess there’s also no reason to prolong our inevitable split. Please leave, Chance.”
I force my hand to get her key from my pocket. I slap it onto the counter, causing her to flinch. “Thanks for the reminder of why I enjoy being single, Jane.”
I stride out of the kitchen toward the front door. I hear the tea kettle start to scream, much like the voice in my head is screaming at me to go back and figure out a way to fix this. But there’s no point. I can’t.
As good as I am, this is one situation that not even this handyman can fix.
Chapter Twenty
Chance
“So what do you think are our chances of retaining tonight’s business, Danvers?”
Roman’s joke pulls a half-hearted chuckle from me before I take several long pulls on my beer. The guys and I decided to go out when our gig at a bachelorette party got cut short. Apparently the bride-to-be had promised her very religious fiancé there would be no strippers in attendance, but the don’t-give-a-shit maid-of-honor made no such promises and decided to give her sister a last night of freedom she’d never forget.
That, of course, caused some problems when the soon-to-be groom decided he had to see her one last time before the midnight deadline of their wedding day and walked in on O’Donnell thrusting his junk in her face as he braced himself over her on the living room floor.
“I think that despite the high level of customer satisfaction,” I say, “we probably won’t be getting the future Mrs. Carter’s business anytime soon.”
Austin, Roman, and Liam all laugh and clink their beer bottles together in a toast to customer satisfaction. I signal to a waitress for another round for the table, then drain the rest of my fourth Corona. If the night goes well, I’ll get a dozen or so under my belt before Austin drops me off at home. That way I’ll be too drunk to lie awake and think of Jane, a problem I’ve been having every fucking night for the last two weeks, ever since I walked out of her apartment.
“We might not get the new bride’s repeat business, but her sister was smokin’ hot and ready to go.” Austin holds up his one and only beer and lifts a finger from the bottle to point at no one in particular. “I would’ve gotten a bonus dance out of that one, for sure. She practically blew me through my skivvies in the middle of the party. I think she would’ve been down to let you in on the fun, too, Reeves.”
“I think you’re right,” Roman says. “Too bad she had to stay and play referee for Big Sis. That dude was furious. I wonder if he’ll call off the wedding.”
Liam slaps the table. “Damn, that means my thrusting game would be the reason a marriage gets called off.” He shakes his head and whistles. “That’s pretty fucking heavy, man, but I guess what they say is true. With great cock comes great responsibility.”
Everyone laughs and makes the obligatory dick jokes at O’Donnell’s expense. Everyone except me. I’m not in a laughing mood lately, and not only that, I can sympathize with the Carter guy 100 percent.
Austin passes around the bottles that the waitress brought over to those of us having another. “It’s a good thing we have our anonymity, because the way that guy was acting, it wouldn’t surprise me if he made a hunting party out of his groomsmen and tracked us down.”
I use the edge of the table to pop off the cap on my beer and take a long pull before finally putting my two cents in. “Can you honestly blame the man, Massey?” I realize my rhetorical question comes out more like a growl, but I don’t bother checking my attitude. “How would you have felt in his shoes? I’ll tell you one thing, if that was me walking in on some asshole grinding his junk in Jane’s face, the man’s privates would become his ‘publics’ when I ripped them off and chucked them into the goddamn street.”
All three of my friends fall silent and stare at me with varied expressions that all communicate the same message: No shit, Sherlock.
That’s when two things dawn on me. One, I’m in love with Jane Wendall. And two, Jane’s reaction the night of her cousin’s party was completely valid. Because she loves me, too.
“Ah, fuck.” I shove my fingers through my h
air and pull at the scalp, hoping the physical pain on the outside will somehow alleviate the emotional shit strangling me on the inside.
“It’s about time you caught on, brother.” This from Roman, who claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Now that you have, how do you want to get her back? Massey and I have a couple of ideas, if you want to hear them.”
Austin perks up. “My favorite is the one with you in a banana hammock using a can of whipped cream, sliced bananas, and a monkey.”
I don’t even have the focus to appreciate what a fucking moronic idea that must be because I’m too busy shutting down my newfound hope. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about her. She wants to change me, just like Sandra.”
“For as smart as you are,” Roman says, “you can be such a fucking moron. Sandy never loved you. When you guys met, dating a stripper was the perfect way of rebelling against her father.”
“Yeah, man, she loved using you to pick fights with him,” Austin says, chiming in. “But once she grew out of that phase, then it was all about provin’ Daddy wrong and gettin’ you to fit in with the richy-rich folks at their yacht club. You were like a pet project.”
“Fuck, dude.” Liam shakes his head with a solemn expression. “I didn’t know you back then, so I can’t speak about your ex. But if a chick told me right now to stop working at P4H—to stop the job that I love doing, and that’s building up my savings for when I graduate—I’d tell her to take a hike.”
I slap the table in front of me and sit up straight. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. Thank you, O’Donnell.”
“Don’t thank me, boss. I’m talking about being twenty-three and still loving the life of a college idiot and stripper-for-hire. You guys all started this business when you were where I’m at now, but that was what, five plus years ago? Now you’re established in life and the owner of a major construction company.
“Being a stripper isn’t who you are anymore, man. It’s just something you still do on the side. Whether it’s because you enjoy the dancing, the women, or just want to hold on to your misspent youth, I don’t know. But what I do know, is that if I were in your shoes,” he says with emphasis to call back to my remark earlier, “and I had a girl like Jane who wanted me all to herself, you can bet your ass I’d never be shaking mine for another woman ever again.”
Shameless (Playboys in Love #1) Page 13
