Stellar Collision (Falling Stars #2.5)

by Sadie Grubor

  "Cheer up, Captain Emo. It's a strip club," Elliott says, holding his hands over his chest. "That means boobies."

  "I've got all the boobs I need right here," I quip, standing behind Mia and cupping both her breasts.

  "Yeah, but those are covered," he retorts, as if I'm the stupid one.

  Inhaling through my nose, I swallow the urge to bitch slap the idiot.

  "Okay," Leeann shouts over our loud asses, "Kara is waiting with the manager. They will be just inside the front entrance to show you to a VIP area."

  The driver opens the doors and Leeann steps back, letting us file out.

  Dale, our security guard for the evening, and the girl's guard, Bill, stand on either side of the entrance and take up the rear once we enter the club.

  "Hello, welcome to the Crazy Horse," a very sleek woman greets. "I'm Michelle, the manager, and we are thrilled to have you all here with us tonight." Her smile is bright and takes up most of her thin face.

  "This is Gage," she gestures to a large man in a Crazy Horse t-shirt, "he's one of our security men. He will be working alongside your personal detail." Her eyes move to the two large men at the back of our group.

  "Right this way," She smiles, motioning for us to follow her.

  "This place kicks serious ass," Kat exclaims, taking in the red, blue, and pink neon lit room.

  Black leather chairs surrounding multiple low tables decorate the zebra-carpeted floors. A large, square stage with five poles juts into the middle of the room, three of the poles occupied by women with pasty-covered tits and exposed asses.

  "Now that takes fucking talent," Kat exclaims, staring at a girl on a small stage working a hula-hoop.

  Focusing harder, I realize its three hoops. The dancer moves them up and down her barely-dressed body as she sways and spins. She manages to move one circle away from the group and brings it up her body until its spinning on her arm.

  "That's Stephanie," Michelle informs. "I don't know how she does it, but she definitely stands out."

  "You have to move your stomach muscles individually," Liza announces, eyes following the hoop dancer. "She’s very impressive."

  "Holy shit," Laney exclaims, and everyone turns back to the poles, where a dancer is holding herself upside down, walking the ceiling.

  "Many of the dancers come with formal training, and not just in dance," the manager states proudly. "Ruth," she nods to the ceiling walker, "is a trained gymnast."

  "She'd fucking have to be," Elliott blurts. "Shit," he calls when Ruth arches her back, drawing her legs down to the pole. Gripping it with her thighs, she releases her hands and spins her body in a seated position.

  "If you'll follow me," Michelle says, urging us to continue.

  We continue walking, but every eye shifts between Stephanie and Ruth.

  "These two bottle service areas are for you." Michelle shows us two sections of black leather booths, tables, and smaller black tables. "If you need anything," she waves her hand toward two scantily clad girls in black, bikini-style outfits, "please just ask Heather and Meryl. They are happy to assist you."

  "I'm going to need a blue drink with a glow stick in it," Serena shouts over the music, planting her ass on one of the bench seats against the wall.

  Elliott follows, sliding in next to her. Laney sits crisscross style in a chair across from them, and Mia leads me to the opposite end of the bench, shoving me in first. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and look around the room.

  I'm reminded of the club where Liza works, Lux Hedonica, but this place is definitely more stripper and less vintage tease.

  "We can do that," the one called Heather responds.

  "What can we get for the rest of you?"

  "Jack, no ice," Jimmy states, taking a seat on one of the leather chairs. Kat slides onto the arm next to him.

  "Bring bottles of water," Jack says, leading Liza to one of the plush chairs, where he sits and pulls her onto his lap.

  "Miss Campbell, is there anything we can get you?" Meryl, the mocha-skinned waitress, steps closer to Liza.

  "Um," Liza mumbles, looking and sounding surprised to be addressed personally.

  "I'm sorry," Michelle interrupts. "Some of the girls saw your show a few weeks ago and most are big fans. Including me," she quickly adds.

  "Oh." Liza blinks a few times, still not used to the fan base Red's been telling her she has. "Thank you, so much. I'm really not sure what I want, so—”

  "I'll send over a few complimentary bottles for you all," Michelle offers, but it's clear the compliments are mostly for Liza. She motions and the servers move off toward the bar.

  "I knew you would be my meal ticket," Jack teases, even though he's staying true to his AA commitment and only drinking water.

  "Honestly…" Michelle moves closer to Liza and leans down, "Miss Campbell, we were hoping you would consider performing with some of our dancers tonight."

  Liza's mouth pops open, but the club manager continues before she gets a peep out.

  "Obviously, you can tell me to take a hike, but I know it would be an honor to have you on stage. Nothing extravagant, of course."

  "She's not a stripper," I growl.

  Michelle's head twists toward me.

  "Of course not, but our girls on the main stage, as you will see for yourself, are performers," she says with some attitude.

  "Ignore him," Mia says. "He's just angry because we made him come."

  "I'm not really sure about—”

  "Read," Jackson orders, holding his phone up to her face.

  Liza glances at the screen and then up to Michelle.

  "I'd be happy to," she says, a smile on her face.

  "Wonderful," Michelle straightens, clapping her hands together. "If you'll just follow me, we can get things worked out backstage."

  Liza slips from Jack's lap, leans over, and plants her lips on his. As she goes to walk away, he slaps her on the ass, earning a squeal.

  "Do your thing, snake charmer," he shouts after her.

  "How the fuck can you stand for a bunch of horny assholes to drool over your woman?" Laney asks, and I have to agree.

  "I want to get on one of those poles," Mia blurts.

  "Like hell you're getting on a pole," I snap.

  Rolling her eyes, she looks over at her sister.

  "Wanna charge the stage with me?"

  "Yes!" Serena exclaims.

  "The only pole you'll be on is mine," Elliott states.

  "You didn't just say that," Kat says, cringing.

  "Fuck yeah, I did," he responds with a shrug.

  "So, back to my question," Laney says over them, shutting everyone up.

  Jackson screws up his face, and says, "Because I know they don't have a fucking chance of getting her."

  "Aren't you sure of yourself?" Kat taunts.

  "You're fucking right I am. Liza's ass is mine. She couldn't get rid of me if she tried."

  "Stalk-her," Serena sings the words.

  Damn, she's so fucking drunk.

  "Call it what you want. I'll just call it fact," Jackson says with a grin. "Besides," he continues, "she fucking loves me."

  The waitresses show up with Jimmy and Serena's drinks, along with two bottles of champagne and a pitcher of margaritas.

  "Well, they did their homework, and did it fast," Jackson says, shaking his head.

  "What?" Mia asks, pouring four flutes with champagne.

  "Liza's favorite drink." He points to the pitcher. "Traditional margaritas."

  "Damn, they're good." Laney whistles low.

  "I'm gonna go see a dancer about her vagina," Kat says, slipping from the arm of Jimmy's chair.

  "In the mood to tag team?" Jimmy calls out to her retreating form.

  Kat gives a thumbs up over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd around the center stage.

  "Whoa, whoa," Elliott booms. "You forgetting about your wife?"

  Jimmy snorts, tossing back his drink. "You mean my soon-to-be ex."

/>   "What the fuck happened there?" Elliott presses.

  "Dude, you didn't say anything. I'm—” Jimmy puts his hand up, cutting Jack off.

  "It's mutual. Things were good, but after she graduated and started her job, shit went downhill."

  "Can't handle a career woman?" Laney asks.

  "Nah, she can't handle me not working nine to five like her." He shrugs. "It became a point of constant tension."

  "Man, I'm sorry—"

  "Don't be,” he cuts me off. “I didn't say anything because right now is about you two."

  He raises his almost empty glass to Mia and me.

  "Lord knows nothing will tear you fucking two apart," he says before draining the remaining liquid.

  "What did you show Liza?" Laney asks, apparently trying to change the subject.

  "Uh," Jack mumbles, shaking his head. "I knew she didn't know what to do. She and Red have been selective about performances and publicity, so I texted Red while the manager was talking."

  "He gave the go ahead?" Laney presses further.

  "More like, and I quote, Get your beautiful ass on that stage and make it your bitch, end quote."

  The girls burst into laughter.

  "That sounds like Red," Jimmy adds, a half smile on his face.

  The music dies down, silencing our conversation. A male announces a special guest performer and cheers erupt from the crowd when they hear Liza’s name.

  Stage lights flicker, ceiling lights swoop from the room toward the stage, and the heavy beat to I Put a Spell On You pumps through the room. The Crazy Horse knows it's a crowd favorite and has over a million views on YouTube the last Sid reported.

  Guitar riffs tear through the air, center stage lights up, and MizLiz stands with one hand on a pole, the other on her hip. Dressed in a dark red leather corset and barely-there underwear, she opens her mouth and captivates the room.

  I've gotta give the girl fucking credit. Liza can flip some damn switch and go from the sweet girl sitting on Jackson's lap to the creature beguiling each person with a bump, grind, arch of her back, and a single note. MizLiz knows how to own a fucking audience.

  Two hours and three attempts by Mia to get on a pole later, I finally have her alone in the back of a taxi. For a brief moment, I think about the first time we were in the back of a cab with her drunk.

  I would definitely be fucking her tonight, just like that first time.

  "What are you grinning about?" she slurs, running her finger over my lips.

  Catching the tip with my tongue, I draw her thin digit into my mouth and suck.

  She sighs, pressing closer to me.

  "I love you so much, Christopher."

  Releasing her finger from between my lips, I cup the side of her face with my hand.

  "I love you too, baby."

  "Marry me, Chris," she says, burying her face in my chest.

  "I am, Mia."

  Wrapping both arms around her thin body, I hold her tight.

  "No," she exclaims, pushing off my chest.

  "What?" I ask with a laugh.

  "Marry me now," she whines.

  "Baby, you'll kick my ass if—”

  "Stop the car," she announces, smacking the back of the driver's seat. "I need a chapel."

  Twisting in the seat, she looks out the window.

  "Mia—”

  "There," she yells, tapping the back of the poor driver's seat over and over.

  The driver pulls beside two parked cars and hits the breaks.

  "Baby, you'll kick my ass if—” I try again, but she spins around, grabs my shirt, and pulls my face to hers.

  "Marry me, Chris," she demands, pressing her lips to mine.

  Pulling back, she focuses on my face as best as her drunk ass can.

  "Tonight, you can fuck your wife."

  Throwing two fifties at the driver, I follow her out of the car and into a random Vegas chapel.

  Tomorrow, I know she's going to freak out, but she did this to herself. I can't be held responsible when she's throwing out words like ‘fuck’ and ‘wife’ in the same sentence.

  Chapter Four

  Mia

  "Oh, God," I groan, covering my head with a pillow.

  An arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against a hard body.

  Chris. His touch and smell is too familiar for me to mistake.

  "I'm going to throw up," I say, my words muffled by the pillow.

  "What do you need?" he asks against my neck.

  "A new head," I groan.

  "There's water and Advil on your nightstand."

  Reaching out, I try feeling around for the items.

  "I'll get them," Chris says, climbing over me.

  The bed shifts and my stomach rolls.

  "Here," he says, forcing me to pull the pillow away.

  "Thanks," I squeak, peeking through one eye.

  Taking the pills from his hand, I pop them into my mouth. Chris already took the lid off the water bottle, so I grab and chug. Hangover task one over, I lean back on the pillows and throw my arm over my face.

  "I'm never drinking again," I whine.

  Chris slides closer, pulling the hem of my shirt up, exposing my stomach. His lips press against my skin.

  "I tried to stop you," he mumbles against my flesh, "but you were hell bent on keeping up with Kat." His lips disappear from my skin. "Who, by the way, should have died from alcohol poisoning long before we left that place."

  "She's always had a crazy tolerance," I say.

  "Tolerance my ass," Chris snorts. "She sold her soul or some shit, ‘cause that ain't normal."

  "Maybe she's a mutant," I suggest with a laugh.

  "Or an alien," he offers.

  "Fuck, I feel like an alien is trying to escape my stomach."

  Pushing off the bed, I stumble into the bathroom and shut the door. After using the toilet, I begin hangover task two.

  The hot water loosens my tense muscles and washes away the night before. Lathering up my skin and hair, I feel the fuzziness in my brain rinse away with the bubbles. As I smooth conditioner into my hair, I think about the previous night.

  Dinner, drinking, dancing, drinking, strip club, Liza performing, drinking, Kat getting a lap dance, drinking, me trying to get on a stripper pole and Chris losing his mind, Elliott fighting Serena's hands away from his crotch—they disappeared soon after—and more drinking. My bachelorette party kicked ass.

  Rinsing my head, the rest of last night's events come to the forefront of my mind.

  I shove open the curtain, climb out of the shower, and throw open the bathroom door. Water drips down my body as I step onto the plush carpet of the hotel bedroom. Christopher lounges on the bed, naked with his hands behind his head, a sheet the only thing covering his groin.

  "Well, hello there, Mrs. Mason," he says, grinning.

  "We got married last night!"

  "Yep," he confirms, sitting up and putting his feet on the floor.

  The sheet slips just a fraction, almost exposing him.

  "Why did you let—?"

  "Don't blame me," he interrupts, pointing to himself. "It was your idea."

  "I know it was my idea, but I was drunk," I growl, crossing my arms over my bare chest.

  Chris rubs his hands over his face.

  "Fuck, Mia, you need to cover up," he groans. "I can't have this conversation with you naked and wet."

  Huffing, I stomp to the bed, yank off the sheet, and wrap it around my body.

  "Is the water still running?" he asks, looking around me toward the bathroom.

  "Focus, Chris," I shout. "We got married last night!"

  "So what?" He shrugs. "It's about fucking time."

  Grabbing my hips, he pulls me between his legs.

  I put my hands on his shoulders, looking down into his eyes.

  "We have a wedding—an expensive fucking wedding—planned, and we just blew it all," I cry. "What about the dress, family, friends—?"

  "What the fuck are you t
alking about?" His hands tighten on my hips.

  "That we got married already and all the plans are ruined."

  "It's not ruined. We're still having the wedding." His eyes narrow.

  "We already got married," I quip.

  "So, we have two goddamn weddings," he growls.

  "Chris," I sigh.

  "Mia, the only thing this changes is our anniversary date."

  He fists the sheet and pulls it away from my body.

  "Now, straddle me like a good little wife and ride your husband."

  Lifting my hand, I place my palm on his forehead and push.

  "You're such an ass," I tease, stepping away from him.

  "Last night, you said I could fuck my wife, but you were too drunk and passed out when we got here." He stands, ready to follow me. "I'm just collecting on your end of the deal."

  "Deal?" I ask with a laugh.

  "You made me marry you so I could fuck you," he explains, taking one step toward me.

  "I did, didn't I?" I purse my lips.

  "Fuck yeah, you did. I put a ring on it. Now, I get to be inside you."

  Lifting my hands, I examine them.

  "Um, the only ring I see is my engagement ring," I correct him with a teasing smile.

  "Of course it is," he quips, stalking toward me. "There's no way I was putting one of those piece of shit bands on your hand."

  Reaching me, he dips down and lifts me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, my legs dangling, and he carries me until my back presses against the wall. Pinning me with his body, he releases my waist and runs his hands along my sides, over my hips, until they wrap under my thighs, lifting me higher.

  Instinctively, I put my legs around him. His hard length throbs against my pussy. Rocking forward, he slips between my lips and rubs all the right places.

  "That feels so good," I gasp.

  "Damn, baby, you're so wet already," he grinds out.

  His head drops to my shoulder, hands sliding to my ass and squeezing.

  "I need to be in you, angel." The words heat my skin.

  "Yes," I agree, sliding the fingers of my right hand into his hair and gripping.

  Chris pulls his hips back and I reach down with my left hand. Grabbing his cock, I press the tip to my entrance and he slams home. We both moan at the welcome intrusion. "What's your name?" Chris asks against my neck before running his tongue ring over my jaw.