by Gwyn McNamee
Yes, there’s a shitload of money to be made from the tourists down there, but it would be impossible to maintain any semblance of control or decorum in a club located in the French Quarter. If he wants to maintain the strict policies and image we have in place for the brand, there’s no way we can do it there. We’ve been butting heads on this for over a year—going back and forth about the pros and cons—and now a great location is available, so I’m sure it will be coming up again during our meeting with Storm.
The last thing I need right now is the complication of my feelings for Skye. Then again, maybe if I’m busy enough, I won’t have time to fantasize about her.
Yeah, right.
I turn and pour myself a shot of Jameson, downing it quickly and savoring the burn.
Byron walks by and swats me on the arm. “I know that look, man. Girl trouble, am I right?”
I scoff and turn to him. “What would you possibly know about girl trouble?”
His hand pauses midway to the bottle of Maker’s Mark he was reaching for before it drops to his side. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before facing me.
Shit, Gabe. Way to stick your foot in your mouth.
“Byron, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
His eyes open, and he watches me speculatively. I know exactly what’s running through his mind. He’s wondering if he’s going to be fired, or if I’m going to start making some crude jokes or smartass comments.
“Look, man, Savage and I have known for a while. Actually, I knew before we even hired you. Background checks and all…”
I trail off, and he nods, pressing his lips into a thin line and clenching his hands into fists at his sides.
“We don’t give a fuck who you fuck, okay? It’s completely irrelevant to you doing your job.”
He nods again. His shoulders relax slightly, but he still doesn’t say anything. I take a tentative step toward him and place my hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Just don’t expect to be let backstage when we finally add a Ladies’ Night.”
That finally cracks him, and he laughs and claps me on the shoulder with a grin. “Duly noted, man.”
Whew.
Alienating Byron, or even worse, losing him, would have been devastating for the business. He runs this place so well, Savage and I couldn’t operate without him. Who gives a fuck if he’s gay? He could be a Brony for all I care, as long as he does his job well.
“But, as I was saying, if it’s girl troubles, which both you and I know it is, then my advice is just to apologize.”
Apologize. Yeah, right.
“I did the right thing. I don’t have anything to apologize for.”
Byron pours us both another shot of Jameson. He raises his and grins. “Do it anyway.”
I grunt at him in acknowledgement of the suggestion, though I have no plans on taking his advice. We clink our shot glasses before I down mine in one quick swallow.
The problem with apologizing to Skye is having to admit, out loud and to her face, not only that the kiss had actually happened, but also that I’d kissed her back.
One stupid moment. A snapshot in time. One kiss that ruined everything.
I went from an easy brotherly relationship with her to thinking about her 24/7, in a most decidedly non-brotherly way.
Avoiding her doesn’t help. Ignoring her doesn’t help. Fucking other beautiful women doesn’t help.
But tonight, once I’m done with Storm, I’m going to give that last one another shot.
Byron turns his attention to one of the waitresses, and I return mine to the stage. The opening riff of “Kashmir” begins, and I chuckle to myself. Nora is about to strut out from backstage. Only she would pick Led Zeppelin for her signature dance and Cashmere for a stage name. The girl is smart and has a crazy sharp sense of humor.
I bet some of the younger men in here don’t even get the play on the word when her stage name is announced with the song. The lack of classic rock appreciation in this generation kills me.
“And now, welcome Cashmere!” The announcement is met with applause, and Nora enters the stage to whoops and hollers. Byron waves to someone who just entered the club, and I glance over, expecting to see one of the regulars.
Aww, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me…
Those same damn blue eyes that haunt my dreams and every waking moment of every day drill into me as Skye approaches the bar with Storm.
Storm smiles, waves to me and Byron, and proceeds toward us. Skye just sidles up to the far end of the bar and motions for Clarissa, the other bartender, to come over to her.
The low, black tank-top she’s sporting barely contains the swell of her breasts when she leans forward across the bar top to talk to Clarissa.
My jeans are suddenly four sizes too small, and I bite back a groan as the zipper presses against my cock.
Sweet Lord, this woman is trying to kill me.
Clarissa pours Skye a drink while I try to keep my dick from escaping the ever-tightening confines of my pants. It strains against the denim and zipper, and I have to move up against the front of the bar to block my reaction to her.
These constant hard-ons whenever I see her are really starting to get inconvenient. At the house yesterday, the only thing keeping me from sporting wood was the fact that the entire family was there; it was like being watched by God.
“Gabe? Did you hear me?”
I turn my attention to Storm, who’s regarding me expectantly.
Get your shit together, Anderson.
“What? Sorry, no.” Hopefully she thinks I didn’t hear her because of the music, not because I was imagining throwing her little sister on the bar top and ravaging her. Having her sprawled across it with her legs wrapped around my neck and my tongue in her pussy sounds like fucking heaven.
Storm releases an annoyed sigh. “I said, I need a drink first, but then let’s head upstairs to review the plans with Savage.”
Work.
Yeah.
Work would be good.
“Oh, yeah, sounds like a plan.”
Byron pulls vermouth, vodka, and olive juice and makes Storm a martini while I watch Nora on stage.
Keep your eyes forward. Don’t look at Skye.
“Kashmir” continues to flow through the speakers, and I can’t help myself, I turn my head slightly so I can see Skye in my peripheral vision.
Her eyes are glued to the stage, and she nods along as Nora gyrates to the sultry tones of Robert Plant.
God, she’s fucking beautiful.
The black, swirling mass of her hair is pulled back in a messy bun that shakes slightly with her movement. My eyes slowly descend down her long, elegant neck until I find her nipples pebbled against the tight tank-top.
Holy shit.
I jerk my gaze back up to her face and watch as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyelids lower slightly.
Well, fuck me.
Skye is getting turned on watching Nora dance. I thought my pants were tight before, but now, it feels like my cock is in a vise.
Pushing my hair back off my forehead, I take a deep breath and try to control the swelling by thinking of anything else. I need to get out of here and away from her before I blow a load in my pants like a twelve-year-old schoolboy.
Shit, I can’t even remember the last time I came anywhere but in a girl’s mouth, pussy, or my hand. As good as coming would feel right now, doing it in my pants while at the bar is less than ideal, and that’s definitely where this is heading.
Getting out of here is feeling more and more like a necessity.
I glance to my left and watch Storm sip her martini. “Hey, Storm, do you really need me to go over the plans? Can’t Savage do it?”
Storm rolls her eyes and tosses back what remains in her glass. “Do you really want him making all the decisions? Besides, I need you to help me back him down when he goes all dictator on me.”
Fair point. I can’t aba
ndon Storm to wrangle Savage alone. She hasn’t done anything to deserve that. He’s practically unbearable unless Dani or I are there to act as mediator and control-freak wrangler.
“Fine, but let’s go get this done fast. I’m getting a headache.” More like a cockache, but whatever.
I adjust my dick as discreetly as possible and round the bar on the opposite end from Skye, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible. Work was the one place I rarely saw her, and having to be on-guard here really fucking sucks.
Storm joins me. We pass Skye on the way to the elevator, and she glances down at my crotch and back up, arching an eyebrow at me and giving me that damn sexy little half-smirk of hers.
Well, shit. So much for discretion.
She saw it. There’s no hiding it completely, and she wouldn’t look so damn smug if she hadn’t.
The elevator ride up to the second floor is awkward as fuck, not because Storm saw anything, but because she’s rambling on about something, and I can’t stop thinking about having Skye’s smirking lips wrapped around my hard cock.
I don’t even remember being this horny when I was in the sandbox for months at a time.
Ding.
“Seriously, Gabe, what the hell is up with you today?”
What? Shit, busted again.
“Sorry, Storm, I’m just not feeling well. Let’s get this taken care of so I can get out of here.”
With one quick knock to Savage’s office door, I push it open and walk in. I have no doubt he’s been watching on the security cameras and knows we were on our way up.
As expected, he’s behind his huge wooden desk, eyes glued to his computer, watching over his empire. He glances up when we enter and nods toward the chairs facing his desk before returning his attention to the computer screen.
The leather creaks when I drop into the chair, and Savage flinches. I smirk because I know exactly why. Doc Cochran’s chair is annoying as fuck, and after his first session with her last year, he came home in a rage complaining about it. It doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it does him, but his reaction always amuses me.
“You ready to look this over?” Storm spreads the blueprints for the restaurant on the desk, right over the piles of various paperwork, and Savage shoots daggers at her.
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I guess I am now.”
Storm swats at him across the desk. “Oh, stop it. You’re never around anymore, I need to get you when I can.”
I nod, in complete agreement with Storm. “Well, she’s kind of right, Savage. You’ve been spending more and more time at home with Dani, and I totally get it, but we do need to make these decisions.”
The blue of his eyes turns icy, and he narrows them at me. “Fine. But don’t either of you start giving me crap about spending more time with my pregnant wife.”
“Whoa!” I lean forward and hold my hands up. “We weren’t. It was just an observation. Right, Storm?”
She gives me a what-the-fuck-crawled-up-his-ass look and turns back to Savage. “Exactly. Seriously, Savage, do you really think I, of all people, would give you shit about something like that?”
Storm is a workaholic like Savage, and she has had to take conscious steps to ensure she arrives home at a reasonable hour and gets to spend quality time with Ben and Angelina. If she had her way, and didn’t give a shit about her family, she would probably sleep in her office just so she could get a jump on work early the next day.
“No. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out trying to get everything done here in less time than before. And I’m worried about Dani all the time. Let’s do this.” Savage leans over the plans, and I stand and join Storm on this side of the desk. “What’s this?” He points to an area on the second floor section of the diagram.
Storm pulls it to the center of the desk and points to it again. “That’s the private party dining room you wanted. It’s the only major change since we looked at these last month.”
Savage studies it for a moment.
Jesus, man, hurry the fuck up so I can get out of here and take care of my cock situation.
While the blood has, thankfully, mostly returned to the other appendages of my body, the ache has not abated. I know it won’t until I’ve either rubbed one out or found a wet hole for it tonight.
With an exhausted sounding sigh, Savage shoves the plans back toward Storm. “This looks good. Did we decide what time we are meeting Ben at the build site tomorrow?”
I return to my seat, not at all wanting to think about our early morning plans. “Eight-thirty. We’ll have to head straight there after the gym. And then we are meeting him Wednesday morning at the new club site.”
“In that case, I’m heading home to Danika. Are you both heading out?”
Thank God he didn’t bring up Bourbon Street again. This meeting is already taking longer than I have patience for. Storm rolls the plans up and tucks them under her arm. “Yeah, I’m just going to grab Skye and another drink, and then I’m taking off. Talk to you later.”
I nod. “I’m leaving too.”
After I spend a couple minutes finding some fucking relief.
I don’t know whether to be pissed or ecstatic when I see the very prominent bulge in the front of Gabe’s jeans after I caught him staring at me.
Part of me wanted to crawl across the bar and jump on that thing while another part wanted to crawl across the bar and smack him for being such an ass. Those texts he sent me were way the fuck out of line. He can’t reject me and then send me stuff like that; it’s just fucking cruel.
If I hadn’t seen him checking me out, I would have thought he was getting turned on watching “Cashmere” on the pole.
Not going to lie…Nora is fucking smoking hot on stage.
There’s nothing sexier than a woman who’s confident enough to shake her shit on stage and who’s also smart enough to be a doctor. I still don’t know why she dropped out of the pre-med program at Tulane. She’s always a bit cagey when I ask her about it and brushes it off saying she wasn’t smart enough. Which is bullshit. She’s smarter than most of the doctors I know, and I’ve told her that. Maybe, someday, she’ll believe it too and get out of here. I know Savage and Gabe treat her well, but she isn’t meant for this. Even if she is damn amazing on that pole.
So. Fucking. Sexy.
She makes me second-guess my love for dick.
And Gabe.
Finishing my third drink, I survey the club and wish I wasn’t stuck here waiting for Storm. I could always take a cab home, but then I’ll have to deal with her bitching about why I didn’t wait for her. Sometimes, she can really be a pain in my ass.
If I’d known she was coming to the club, I would have called a cab or tried to find another ride. I needed a ride and a drink, but what I definitely didn’t need was to be in this close proximity to Gabe.
At this point, the booze coupled with the emotional and physical exhaustion of working, and what happened with Lucas, has left me dead on my feet. And knowing Savage, their meeting could take hours.
I yawn and motion for Byron to come over.
His eyes narrow on my empty glass, and there’s obvious judgment there.
Yes, Byron, I like to drink. So fucking sue me.
“Hey, another?”
“No, just wanted to let you know, I’m going to head upstairs to find somewhere to lay down for a couple minutes while I wait for Storm. If she comes down, let her know where to find me.”
“Gotcha. They should be in Savage’s office, so you can probably use the couch in Gabe’s.”
Gee, wonderful.
I climb the stairs and duck into Gabe’s office, not bothering to flip on the lights. The overwhelming need to just crash is dragging me straight to the couch on the far side of the room, perpendicular to his desk.
The soft leather cradles me, and I sink into it, dropping my head on the armrest. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
Bad idea.
That familiar scent a
ssaults my senses—Gabe. His unique mix of musk and clean linen lingers in the air in here. It’s like being surrounded by him.
This is the last fucking thing I want to deal with. I need to just close my eyes, even if it’s only for ten minutes, before I can head home and crawl into my very lonely bed tonight.
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when the door creaking open wakes me. Gabe’s office is still dark, but his form is silhouetted in the light spilling in from the hallway.
He steps into the room and closes the door behind him before making his way over to his desk. The darkness swallows him until he opens the blinds on the windows behind him, letting in the faint glow of moonlight.
With an exhausted-sounding sigh, he lowers himself into his large leather chair, drops his head back, and closes his eyes. His profile is lit, and I watch him take a deep breath and run his hands back through his hair.
“Fuck…”
I freeze.
Shit.
Did he see me? Does he know I’m here?
My heart races, and I hold my breath. I don’t know why I don’t just announce my presence, but something tells me to keep quiet.
He growls and reaches down to his lap, which is trapped in the shadows. The familiar sound of a zipper going down breaks the silence of the room.
Oh, holy motherfucking shit.
He isn’t…
He is.
A contented sigh slips from his lips followed by a muffled groan. I can just make out the rise and fall of his shoulder as he moves his arm.
Gabe Anderson is jerking off fifteen feet away from me, and he doesn’t even know it.
Holy shit.
Warmth spreads through my core envisioning what’s going on in those shadows, and I have to press my thighs together to ease the throb in my clit.
How the hell am I supposed to lie here silent when one of my biggest fantasies is happening right across the room?
Life is so unfair.
I want nothing more than to cross the room and drop to my knees in front of him. His hard cock would be fucking heaven in my mouth.
Damn.
There’s no way I can remain still. The rush of blood to my clit needs to be answered.
