“Then I’ll do it,” I cut in. What the fuck am I saying? “Male dancers make more money, anyway. If anyone is gonna take their clothes off for cash, it’s gonna be me.” Are you fucking kidding me? I know nothing about stripping.
Aubrey bites her bottom lip to stop from laughing. I scowl, her reaction to my revelation pissing me off. Is the idea of me stripping really that funny? I bet I could make her squirm if I wanted to. It wouldn’t be that hard.
“Don’t you have to know how to dance to be a dancer?” she fires back. She dashes into the kitchen before I can respond, returning a few moments later with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“You don’t think I can do it?” I cross my arms over my chest, watching as she pours the red liquid in each. I have to admit, I’m offended that she’s doubting me, even if I have no intention of doing it. All I’m trying to do is make her see what a bad idea it is. She hands me a glass and shakes her head.
“It’s not that. I mean, sure, you’re good looking, but there’s more to stripping than taking your clothes off, as much of an oxymoron as that is. You have to be able to dance and work a crowd.”
“First of all, I can dance,” I huff, my tone sharp. “Second, I wasn’t being serious. And last of all, how much you know about stripping concerns me.”
She gives me a devilish grin and lifts her glass to her lips as I roll my eyes.
“There’s a better way to pull together the funds,” I say. “Sam and I talked about a hosting a benefit in Mornington. We’ll get some bands together or something. That will bring in a load of cash.”
“No, the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of you stripping.” She blushes when I smirk at her. “Not what I meant, Drew. Listen to me. You’re on to something here. I bet if you and the guys got together, learned some moves I could totally teach you, you could make at least ten grand a night, easy.”
“Not gonna happen, Aubs,” I retort, my voice firm. I throw back the last of my drink and set it down on the coffee table. “So get it out of your head.”
“Oh, stop being a baby,” she jests, downing nearly the entire glass of wine and pouring another in both hers and mine. “What’s the point of being sexy if you’re not going to use it? Seems pointless to me. If you’re not going to do it, I will. Gentlemen’s clubs love when two girls dance together. Emma and I could clean up.”
“I told you, there is no way you or my sister are dancing. End of story.”
“You’re such a spoilsport,” she grumbles, frowning at me. “Anyone would think you don’t want to see Em and me dirty dance together.”
I groan and rake my fingers through my hair. “Why the fuck would I want to see my sister do that?” I growl. “You’re sick, Aubrey. I mean, watching you is one thing—”
“Is it?” she interrupts, her lips twitching. “You’d watch me dirty dance then?”
My face heats as I struggle to answer her. When I see she’s trying not to laugh, I know I need to get out of here before I do something stupid. Like kiss her.
“I’m going. When are we going to let the guys know what they’re in for?”
She shrugs. “I’ll invite them around here tonight. We’ll tell Max then, too. This will work, Drew. It’s a solid plan. We’re gonna do this, okay?”
I nod and force myself to smile. I want to believe we can do it, but a small part of me is terrified of failing. For her sake, I nod and reach over to squeeze her hand.
“We got this.”
Chapter Eight
Aubrey
“I’ve invited Drew and the guys around tonight for drinks, okay?”
I stand at Max’s bedroom door and peer inside. I can just make out the shape of his body on his bed. He rolls over and switches on his lamp, squinting up at me and wiping the sleep from his eyes.
After making sure this plan can actually work, Drew and I are ready to let the others in on it. I’m nervous because I have no idea how they’re going to react. Especially Max. But, at the end of the day, I know this will work. It has to.
“How long have I been asleep?” he mumbles, struggling to sit up. I walk over to help him, but he waves me off. “I’m okay, Aubs.”
I hang back although it kills me to watch him fight to do something so normal for the rest of us, my fingers fidgeting in front of me. He hates it when I try to help him, but I do it without even thinking—it’s my second nature, I think. I just want to make things as easy as I can for him. I did even when he wasn’t sick. I got the nurture, and he got the nature. Nope, that’s a lie; he got the nurture, too. A pair of peas in a pod, I guess.
“Only a few hours. I wanted to let you rest as long as you were able,” I say, answering his question. “Mum said you were having trouble sleeping through the night, but then I thought you might be hungry, so I’ve made soup. Mum also said you can usually handle that on your stomach when you’re not feeling well. Is that okay?”
“You’re cooking is enough to kill any appetite I have. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” he chuckles. I glower at him, but it’s nice to hear him laugh again, even if it is at my expense and maybe a little morbid. How do you tell a guy whose body is giving out on him that it’s too soon to be making death jokes? I suppose you can’t, can you?
Max stands up and I hand him his robe, consciously making sure I don’t try to help him. He follows me out to the kitchen, where the aroma of chicken soup fills the air. He wanders over to the trash and picks up an empty can, laughing and shaking his head.
“Opening a can and heating it doesn’t exactly qualify as cooking,” he says.
“Yeah, well, it’s my kind of cooking,” I respond defensively, snatching the can off him. I toss it back in the bin and set two bowls on the counter. “Go and sit down,” I order.
I pour the steaming soup straight from the pot into two bowls and carry them over to where he’s sitting, placing one in front of him, the other on the opposite side. He obliges, and I wait to take my seat until he’s taken his.
“You better have given me the one with more,” he teases. I smile, my mind going back to our childhood when we used to fight over which drink had more in it, or who got the bigger slice of cake. I remember our dad complaining because I even had to have the blue cup because Max had a blue cup. Then, as I grew older, everything became a competition: who finished dinner first, who got to sit in the front seat. Still, as I sit with the soup, I find myself wondering if I can finish before Max, so for the first time, I can actually win. It’s hard being ten and being in competition with a teenage boy—they can eat enough for ten men and still have room to steal the dessert.
“Remember the time you stole the ice cream from the freezer, and when Mum realised one was missing, she refused to let us have another until one of us owned up to it?” Max chuckles and takes a small sip of the broth, leaving the noodles and small chunks of chicken behind in the bowl.
I laugh and roll my eyes. “It’s been twelve years. You can own up to it now,” I say. “I was so pissed at you for making me miss out. You could have at least taken one for me. You knew she wouldn’t let either of us have any until we fessed up.”
“It wasn’t me!” he laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. “I was sure it was you.”
“Even back then, me and mum fought all the time. I wouldn’t dare risk having her unleash her special, sophisticated brand of crazy on me,” I scoff. Max has no reason to lie to me after all this time, so the more I think, the more my mind wanders, then it hits me. “Wasn’t Drew there that day? In the afternoon?”
Max nods, confused, and then breaks out into a smile. “That sneaky little bugger. That bastard owes us ice cream.”
“I’ll make sure he follows through,” I giggle. “You know how I feel about my desserts.”
*****
At just after eight, the doorbell rings. I jog through the living room and swing it open, smiling widely when I see Sam and Nash. Sam lets out a deep belly laugh and sweeps me into his arms.
“
Drew wasn’t fucking lying. You’re all grown up, kid.”
“Yeah, well, nearly ten years will do that,” I grin. I give Nash a hug and invite them inside. “How are you guys? What have you been up to? It’s been forever.”
“Same old shit, just older doing it,” Nash laughs. He rubs his beard, his green eyes sparkling.
“You don’t look that much older,” I giggle. “Get rid of this, and you’ll look eighteen again,” I say, touching his facial hair.
“Yeah, well, you’ve certainly changed. Looking good, Aubrey,” he replies with a wink.
“Oh, God, not you, too.”
I turn around to see Max limping into the room. He hunches over as walks, but the smile on his face masks the pain he’s obviously feeling. Again, I force the protective sister in me to back off instead of waiting until he’s safely sitting on the couch before I join him.
“Geez, Max, not everyone wants to jump me,” I retort, flopping down next to him. “Calm down, okay?”
“You’re my sister. It’s my job to drive the guys away from you.”
“Where were you last year then?” I joke. My whole relationship with Nate was a mistake. If only my brother had been around then to warn me, maybe I wouldn’t have had to break a guy’s heart for being exactly what I should want but still not wanting any part of what he had to offer. Not that I would’ve listened, though. In fact, I’d have probably done just the opposite if only to annoy him.
Drew walks in and throws his jacket over the back of an armchair. I watch him as he saunters through the living room and into the kitchen.
“Anyone want a beer?” he calls out. The guys mutter a chorus of yeses, even Max. I narrow my eyes at him.
“What?” he shrugs. “It’s Saturday night. Besides, it’s not like it’s going to kill me.”
Sighing, I turn my attention back to Drew as he flops into the armchair.
“Come on in,” I say, the sarcasm dripping off my tongue.
“The door was unlocked,” he replies, his tone defensive.
“So?” I retort. “You don’t just waltz into someone’s home like you own it. What if I’d been wandering around naked?”
He glances at his phone. “Then I’d be concerned, considering I knew the guys were coming and I was running half an hour late. What’s with the mood, Aubs?” His lips tug into that irresistible smile. “That time of the month?”
“Don’t you dare do that, Andrew Ditner,” I gasp. I pick up a coaster from the coffee table and hurl it at his head. “I bet every time a girl doesn’t agree with you that’s what you think.”
“Not true,” he replies, chuckling. “Chicks always agree with me.”
Sam groans and pops open his can. “As fun as watching the sexual tension between you two is,” he begins, crossing one leg over the other, “was there a point to asking us here? You made it sound pretty important, and Laura is pissed I’m missing her friend’s engagement party.”
Max eyes me suspiciously as I clear my throat. I don’t have a response, and the daggers Max is staring at me doesn’t help my unease. It’s been nearly a decade since I’ve been with these guys, and even though I’m still Max’s little sister, I’m an adult just like them. The age difference doesn’t seem to matter as much as it did when I was barely a teenager wanting to tag along with my brother and his hot-ass friends.
“Where’d your accent go, Aubs?” Nash asks, jumping in to help divert the uncomfortable attention given to me. Thank God. “It’s like you’re all American now. You forget about your family down under?”
“You know I could never forget you guys. I had to Americanise, I guess. Do you know how weird it was being the only kid in high school who talked funny?”
“Excuse me,” Sam butts in and stares me down. “We don’t talk funny, they do.”
“You’re right, Sammy. They’re the weirdos,” I agree, taking a sip of my beer.
There’s nothing else to talk about regarding my accent. I could strike up a conversation about University in the States, but somehow, I think Max will see right through it, and my case won’t be helped. I know what I have to do to break up the uncomfortable silence, but I was hoping to let them get a little more drunk before I told them my plan. Oh, well. Here goes nothing.
“So,” I say, glancing at Drew, “we had an idea on how to raise the cash to get Max into the trial.”
“Hold up,” Max interrupts. He looks from Drew to me, confused. “What trial?” I look between Sam and Drew, hoping one of them will share the news with Max. I want to, but I only looked it over for a little while—they have to know much more.
“I did some digging and found a trial you’re perfect for.” Sam rummages around in his bag and pulls out a handful of papers. He tosses them at Max. “It’s like they created this trial just for you.”
We all wait anxiously as Max reads through the information. After each page, he glances up at me, either seeking my approval to continue or cursing me for being a part of this intervention of sorts.
“Guys, I appreciate you looking out for me, but there is no way I can afford this. Just the cost of getting me over there means this is never going to happen.” Max is a contradiction to himself. His eyes have hope in them—like we’ve given him a new lease on life—while his words come out shaky and unsure but mostly guilty. He’s never been a guy to take a handout, and seeing how all the numbers come together, he knows he can’t do it on his own, which means he needs help. If this is going to happen, we’re going to have to strong-arm him into it.
“That’s where our idea comes in.” I glance at Drew, hoping he’ll take the lead. This will sound so much better with him pushing it. Drew rolls his eyes but nods.
“The four of us,” he says, nodding at Sam, Cam, and Nash, “are going to put on a show.”
“What kind of show?” Sam asks.
“The kind of show where we’re going to need you to source us some sparkly G-strings. Preferably ones that will give my dudes some support,” he quips, cupping his balls. I don’t think anyone else in the room catches the sly wink he tosses in my direction. Nor do I think anyone realises I have to shift in my chair. A whole new nervousness settles over me, and the teenage girl inside does backflips while the adult on the outside puts on a front of indifference. God, it’s hard to be in love with someone like Drew.
Wait... Am I still in love with him or am I letting my little girl infatuation leak into my grown life?
“You’re not fucking serious,” Sam laughs. “You think us stripping is going to raise that kind of cash? You really think women will pay good money to see that?”
“Me, yeah. You, they might pay to keep your clothes on,” Drew teases. “Aubrey is pretty sure this will work. She can teach us some routines, and we sell the tickets, making sure everybody knows we are stripping for a cure.” He glances at Max. “Everybody on the peninsula knows Max. They’ll support us.”
“Stripping for a cure,” I repeat, a smile forming on my lips. “That’s great. We should use that as our hook. We can sell merchandise you guys can sign. If we all work together, we can do this. We can approach businesses for support and sponsorship, contact the media. Let’s make this huge. We can do this. We have to.”
Silence fills the room and my heart plummets. They hate the idea. They think it sucks and now we have nothing. I open my mouth to give it one last plea, but Nash speaks before I can.
“I know the dude who owns The Pier Hotel. I bet I can get him to let us do the show there.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen Magic Mike. It can’t be that hard,” Cam interjects, and the crowd quiets and stares, Sam, in particular, giving his brother a hard look. “Really? That’s the last time I offer any input,” Cam states defensively and goes back to nursing his beer.
“You guys would seriously do this for me? It’s not necessary,” Max says, trying to convince his friends otherwise.
“Bro,” all four of them groan in unison.
“Would you put on a banana hammock for me?” Drew as
ks, taking charge of the conversation. Nash, Sam and Cam raise their bottles in solidarity.
“If it came down to it? Absolutely,” Max answers with a laugh and Drew nods solemnly.
“Then it’s settled. Nash is in charge of the venue. Aubrey and Cam are in charge of choreography since they’re the stripper experts. Sam and I will take care of promotion and getting the word out. We’ll all sell tickets. With all the experience we’ve had over the years, we can put our heads together, and there’s no way we can’t succeed!” Drew’s excitement astounds me. I just hope it’s because he gets to have a hand in helping my brother and not because he’ll get to swing his dick, literally, in front of dozens of women showering him with dollars and invitations for after-hours parties.
“You’re going to need a name. Maybe something to the Max?” I offer, and each of them kind of snarl at me, including Max. “Or not…”
“It’ll be weird grinding on some chick with Max’s name on the banner or whatever.” Nash and Cam agree with Sam’s statement. I glance over at Drew for a little assistance, and I can tell he’s thinking. When a smile crosses his lips, and his eyes gleam, I know he’s got the perfect name.
“Men of Mornington,” he proudly blurts out. “Remember that group of old men who would sit outside the shops all day? They started calling us the Boys of Mornington. It’s perfect. This way we’re all included without Max’s name involved.”
“The Men of Mornington.” I test the words, and they’re perfect, just like Drew said. The troublemakers who were the Boys of Mornington all grown up, getting into more trouble? Yeah, there couldn’t be a better name.
“To The Men of Mornington.” Max raises his beer, though I’m very upset he’s drinking with all the meds he’s on, but if there’s a chance he’s going to die, what’s a few beers with friends?
“Here, here,” the guys howl, and I just have to sit back and enjoy the sight. Max, as sick as he is, sits in his chair with the happiest look on his face, surrounded by the best group of friends a guy could have. Seeing how much they truly love him brings me enough joy for a lifetime. I continue to look around and catch Drew looking directly at me. He winks first, and I respond with a wink of my own and mouth “thank you.”
Slow Grind (Men of Mornington Book 1) Page 8
