by Turner, CJ
Forgetting how bad his cocktail was, Lane took a sip just so he had something to do with his hands. He flinched but swallowed nonetheless. He was on the clock so he would not get drunk, but he thought a few sips of something stiff would ease the discomfort he felt at being in a strip club. Lane had met the groom only once before, but Carlton did not seem like the type to go too far with a stripper, especially not the week before his wedding. That did not matter, though. Lane was not the type to do anything halfheartedly, and, as always, he had a plan. He was surveying the waitresses in order to choose one who could help him implement that plan.
It was Friday evening, and the club was busy. The waitresses, who could be identified by their matching skin-tight, black mini dresses and bow-tie chokers, were rushing to and from the service counter precariously balancing trays loaded with drinks. As he watched them work, Lane was impressed that they managed to move so smoothly, considering none of them were wearing heels less than six inches. His eyes landed on one pair of shoes in particular. One of the waitresses, a small brunette woman, was wearing a pair of eight-inch Louboutin pumps. The red bottoms were unmistakable. She would be perfect. Lane knew the woman must be clever; the clientele of the club was wealthy, and the tips were good, but it would take excellent planning and money management for a waitress to afford designer shoes. The next time she returned to the counter, she caught him staring at her.
Meeting her gaze, Lane said, “I love your shoes!”
She eyed him suspiciously. “ Um, thank you. But this area is for waitresses only. Why don’t you go find a seat? I’m sure one of the dancers would be happy to...take care of you.”
Lane began to laugh. She must have thought he was lurking so he could check out the waitresses. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “it’s nothing like that. I’m actually here working.”
She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side.
The poor girl must deal with creeps all the time, Lane thought sympathetically. “I’m an event planner,” he clarified. Then, pointing to where Carlton was knocking back a tequila shot with his buddies, said, “I’m here to make sure that groom doesn’t get himself into any trouble. I’m not here for the women or any women for that matter.” He winked.
Understanding, the woman’s mood brightened. “So you’re more of a muscles and bulges kind of guy?” she asked, the suspicion gone from her voice.
For the first time that evening, Lane cracked a smile. “You’ve got it! I’ll take washboard abs over boobs any day.”
“Well, that we can agree on,” she returned his smile.
“I was actually wondering if you could help me.” Lane pulled an envelope of cash from the inner pocket of his sport coat.
The waitress’s eyes widened. “What kind of help are you looking for?”
“Nothing weird, I promise. I was just hoping you could ask some of the dancers to stick close to Carlton’s group all night, you know, to keep the other girls away. They can give the other guys lap dances, but Olivia, the bride, I mean, she would kill me if I let Carlton get one. I’ll pay them double whatever they usually make in a night just to talk to him, and I’ll pay you too, to make his drinks extra strong. You know how straight guys are - they think the more wasted they got, the better their night was. The wedding isn’t until next weekend, so it doesn’t matter how hungover he is tomorrow.”
“Wow,” she responded, “you really have this all planned out, huh?”
“That’s my job,” Lane chuckled.
Then the waitress nodded her head. “Sure, I’d love to help you. I could always use some extra cash to add to my shoe budget.” She lifted her foot and turned it from side to side so he could admire the stiletto.
“You’re a lifesaver! And you have excellent taste in footwear.”
They both laughed. The waitress, who told him her name was Piper, walked off to set their plan in motion. Lane glanced into the mirror again. A new guy had just walked into the bar. A few men around the room appeared to recognize him and began chanting, “Moose! Moose! Moose!” Is that some sort of nickname? he wondered. The man looked vaguely familiar to Lane, but he couldn’t quite place him. Whoever he was, he was huge. He towered over every man he walked past. He wasn’t just tall - he was built like a Greek god. Moose’s shoulders were broad and rounded, his biceps strained at the sleeves of his T-shirt, and his thickly muscled thighs could be seen through his black jeans. Lane sighed, wishing he wasn’t stuck in a place full of straight men and nearly naked women.
While he waited for Piper to return, Lane pulled out his phone to scroll through his dating apps. If he didn’t have a shot with any of the guys in the room, he could at least entertain himself by looking at pictures of hot dudes he did have a chance with. He was about to send a message to a sexy redhead with a golden retriever in all of his profile pictures when someone spoke next to him.
“You’re in a room full of all these people, and you’d rather stare at your phone?” asked a rich baritone voice.
Lane looked up to see Moose standing at the end of the bar, waiting for a drink. Damn. He’s even more attractive up close. The man had to be well over six feet, and there was not an ounce of fat on his chiseled frame. His jawline was so sharp he could have an action figure modeled after him. Lane prided himself on his confidence and self-control, but looking up into the eyes of this stranger, his heartbeat quickened and he felt strangely nervous. Why is he talking to me? Did he see me looking at guys on my phone? Is he about to mock me? Lane took a large gulp of his drink to steady his nerves. Snap out of it, he scolded himself. For some reason, his inner monologue was sounding like it had when he was an awkward teenager. Those days were long behind him. He was a grown man now with a successful career. He wouldn’t let this man, Moose or whoever he was, get to him.
The bartender slid a seltzer water across the counter then left them alone at the end of the bar. Lane eyed it and snapped, “You’re in a room full of all this alcohol, and you’d rather drink a seltzer?”
Moose smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling endearingly. “Touché,” he replied. “I promised my buddy I’d be here, but I have a game tomorrow, so I can’t drink.”
That made sense, the man certainly had the body of an athlete. “Game?” Lane asked, “What sport do you play?”
“Football. I’m a quarterback.”
Moose was leaning on the bar, his forearms braced against its surface, causing the tendons to pop out in a way that Lane found very attractive. He wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped in those arms, then internally scolded himself again. There was no way this guy was gay. Lane knew nothing about football except that the quarterback was the most important player. The ones on the teams at his high school and college had always been jerks. Lane had been out and proud for most of his life, but some of the teasing he had endured from those alpha male jerks had stuck with him.
“Huh. Well, isn’t that nice?” Lane said dismissively.
Moose looked surprised at Lane’s cold response. “You don’t like football?”
“I’ve always been more into theatre than sports.”
Moose stood up from the bar, taking a few steps closer to Lane. “Oh, so you’re a drama nerd.” His tone was friendly, and he was grinning down at Lane, his straight white teeth on full display.
Lane relaxed somewhat, convinced now that the big man was not trying to be rude, though he still did not understand why he had struck up a conversation. “I guess you could say that. I do have a theatre degree.” Lane blushed, something he had not done in a long time.
“Are you an actor?” inquired Moose, taking another step closer.
“No, I work as—” Lane began to respond but was interrupted by Piper returning.
“Lane, everything is set, and the plan is in motion!” she said brightly. She glanced appreciatively at Moose before walking off.
Lane expected Moose to at least glance at the woman’s attractive form as she walked away, but the big man’s eyes stayed locked on him. Stran
ge.
“So, Lane, is it?” Moose asked, holding out a hand to shake. “I’m Moose.”
But Lane had needed to pee for ages. He had waited because he wanted to make sure Carlton was well taken care of before leaving him unsupervised for any amount of time. If he failed at his task, Olivia might fire him, and he would be ruined. He had worked his ass off for an entire year after college to rise to his place as second in command at the most prestigious event company in the state. He had no intention of letting a simple task like preventing one man from having a stripper sit in his lap be his downfall. Piper seemed like a capable woman, and Lane trusted that she and her coworkers could keep the groom in line long enough for him to sneak in a bathroom break.
Heading toward the back of the bar, Lane said over his shoulder to Moose, “Well, it was nice meeting you.” He left the man standing with his hand still extended, a look of pure confusion on his handsome face.
The men’s bathroom was tiny, which seemed like incredibly poor planning to Lane. The strip club catered mainly to men, and besides watching women bare their breasts and writhe against poles, the main activity in the place was drinking. Lane was relieving himself at one of the two urinals when he heard someone else enter the small, dingy space. He zipped his fly and turned around only to see that Moose had followed him in. Moose’s enormous frame made the room seem even smaller, and his shoulder brushed Lane’s as he crossed the room to stand in the spot Lane had just vacated. The fine hair on the back of Lane’s neck rose at the physical contact. Did he do that on purpose?
Lane moved to the only sink to wash his hands, hoping that someone had bothered to clean the bathroom that day. Moose came to stand behind Lane, waiting his turn, and he was acutely aware of the larger man’s presence. Lane turned to leave and smiled uncertainly up at Moose, who grinned broadly in return.
Moose extended his hand, “You left me hanging out there.”
“I’m not touching that hand until you wash it,” Lane said, mortified.
Shrugging nonchalantly, Moose lathered up, rinsed, then dried his hands on his jeans. He held it out to Lane for the third time that evening, and Lane eyed him dubiously. He was having trouble pinning down what this guy’s agenda was. He finally accepted Moose’s handshake, though somewhat reluctantly. Moose’s hand, as massive as the rest of him, folded Lane’s in an iron grip. He beamed down at Lane. “As I was trying to say earlier, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” replied Lane, and he found that he meant it. The situation he found himself in was strange - he was not used to being actively pursued, especially not by men as attractive as Moose. But he was starting to believe the big man was genuinely interested in him. Lane decided to take a risk. Opening the swinging bathroom door with his foot, he asked, “Can I buy you another seltzer?”
Moose nodded enthusiastically and followed him back to the bar. The men sat talking for nearly an hour, their respective drink glasses sitting forgotten on the counter in front of them. Moose was magnetic, and the longer they spoke, the more Lane became infatuated. He felt guilty now for making assumptions about the man based solely on his appearance.
Toward the end of their conversation, Moose had reached across Lane to grab a napkin. He was so close that Lane could feel the heat radiating from his body. Lane’s shoulder was pressed against the man’s impossibly muscular chest, which sent his heart racing. He could feel Moose’s breath against his neck, and the gentle current of air sent a shiver down his spine. With one foot on the floor and the other on the crosspiece of his barstool, the taller man’s groin was making contact with Lane’s hip, and, though he was not hard, Lane could feel the impressive length of him. Moose was so close that the heady, earthy scent of him overwhelmed Lane’s senses. The man smelled of coffee, copper, and freshly cut grass, and it made Lane want to bury his face against Moose’s neck and drink him in. Lane sat completely still, afraid that the moment would pass if he moved. He wanted it to go on forever. This man, this burly, gorgeous, god of a man, had an effect on Lane that was impossible to deny.
Then, as soon as the moment had begun, it was over. Moose was pulling away and regarding Lane with a devilish look. Lane felt as if a vital part of him had been stolen because the man was no longer touching him. He found it difficult to speak. As he was trying to string enough words together to form a sentence, Moose spoke first. “I’d like to see you again, Lane.” Just as he was about to respond, a chorus of male voices across the room began shouting for Moose. He glanced toward the crowds of men in front of the main stage and grimaced. “I guess I’d better get back.”
“Yeah, I really am supposed to be working,” sighed Lane. “But I would also like to—” He was interrupted by a very drunk man stumbling toward them and grabbing hold of Moose’s arm.
The man began pulling him toward the main stage and slurred, “C’mon bro, ‘s time for the sp...speech.”
With a final, regretful glance at Lane, Moose disappeared into the sea of bodies.
Keep Reading!
His Wedding Quarterback is available for FREE on Kindle Unlimited
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