by Lane Hart
When she comes back, there’s a piece of paper in her hand that she holds out to me. It could be a grocery list for all I care. “Here,” she says when I don’t take it.
“Fold it up,” I instruct her.
“Huh?”
“Fold it up,” I repeat.
She looks at me like I’m crazy but folds the paper in half. “Is that good?”
“Yes,” I answer. “You know what to do with it,” I say while glancing down at my open belt buckle.
“What? No way! I’m not sticking it down there!”
“Sorry, but that’s the only method for which a stripper can accept your money. It’s in the rule book.”
“You are so full of shit,” she tells me with a bark of laughter, which while technically true, is not something anyone else would dare say to me.
“Are you a stripper?” I ask.
She scoffs. “No.”
“Then you don’t know our ways, do you?”
“Ugh! Take the money and go!” she exclaims while waving the check in front of my chest.
“Gladly. Just as soon as you complete the transaction as required.”
“I can’t believe you,” she huffs. Finally, she steps toward me and then crams the paper down into my waistband, crumpling it up as it scrapes my pelvis. Looking up at me right in the eye, Charlotte then shoves her fingertips inside to push it deeper until the paper hits the base of my hard cock and her knuckles brush my pubes.
“Is that good?” she asks when she removes her hand.
“Eh, it could’ve been better,” I reply as I fish the check out and then tuck it down the front of her shirt quickly before she even knows what’s happening. I don’t cop a feel even though I want to. It’s simply a drop and retreat move that still has her gasping and her bright blue eyes widening in surprise.
“Actually,” I start. “Since I came on the wrong night, it’s only fair to give you a discount. You can keep the check.”
“You…I should report you to your boss!” she challenges through gritted teeth.
“You could, or you could come see me tomorrow night at Fluid. It’s the nightclub on the boardwalk.”
“I know what Fluid is.”
“Good. So I’ll see you there? I’ll put your name on the VIP list along with your four guests.”
“What? No!”
“Have a nice night and see you tomorrow,” I tell her confidently even though there’s no way in hell she’ll show up.
“Wait!” she calls out before I reach the doorway, making my boots squeak to a stop on the linoleum. “Nice try with the smooth invite, but you don’t even know my name to put it on some VIP list.”
“Whatever you say…Charlotte,” I reply before I leave her standing there stunned.
Chapter Four
Charlotte
* * *
He knows my name.
How the hell does the stripper know my name?
Oh, right. I made the reservations with his agency, and then Tessa said my name when she was telling him I needed to get laid and asking how much it would cost.
He was smooth, I’ll give him that. And hot. Very, very hot. But just one look at that man, not to mention what he does for a living, and it’s obvious that he goes through women faster than I burn through pints of ice cream.
When I head back into the living room, the women are all gushing over the biker-stripper.
“Thank you, Charlotte!” a drunken Tessa says when she comes over and throws her arms around my neck, placing a kiss on my cheek. “You’re the best maid of honor ever! He was just…ah, so perfect.”
“Really? Because he was nothing like Paul,” I point out.
“Paul is a wonderful man and easy on the eyes,” Tessa agrees. “But that man was sex on a stick,” she adds to which the other ladies all agree.
I start to mention his invite to the club tomorrow night, but there’s no reason to get them all excited when the guy probably won’t even remember us tomorrow.
“Well, I’m glad you all enjoyed the evening’s entertainment. But I think it’s time for me to head to bed.”
“Aww, you’re a party pooper,” Bev says, which is ironic since she’s by far the oldest of our group and should be the most serious.
“I’m tired!” I tell them as they gather around the bar to pour out more of the fruity drink mix. “And you all have had way too much to drink tonight. I hope you don’t regret it tomorrow.”
“To no regrets,” Tessa says as she holds up her cup and the others tap it with theirs.
“We’ll see about that tomorrow,” I mutter with a shake of my head and a smile before I head off to bed.
And if anyone asked, I would totally deny that I spent the entire night dreaming about a certain tattooed biker.
The next morning, I let myself sleep in ‘til eleven before rolling out of bed and going to the kitchen to fix a big cup of coffee.
I’m not all that surprised that the house is still quiet while everyone else sleeps in.
One by one they come as I sit on the back deck, taking in the view as each woman joins me, all of them looking like they got into a cat fight and lost.
“I hate to be the one to say I told you so…” I start once everyone is awake. “But I think I told you so.”
“No regrets,” Tessa mutters while lifting her coffee mug about an inch in the air, but no one else chimes in.
“How about I fix you all a big homemade dinner tonight to cheer you up?” I offer.
“Dinner…dinner would be good,” Sydney agrees with a big gulp. “I don’t think I can eat any lunch.”
“Agreed,” Bev says. “Thanks, Charlotte.”
“It’s the least I can do since I’m the only one not hungover,” I tease them, making them all groan as I get up to go back inside to take stock of what ingredients we still have and what I’ll need to grab at the grocery store.
The rest of the day is a blur of mixing, frying and baking before everyone sits down to eat the southern comfort food I made. They’ve all had time to take another nap, get showers, and put on a change of clothes, making them look almost normal again.
“Thanks for this, Charlotte,” Tessa says as she digs into her macaroni and cheese. “It’s delicious! And exactly what my yucky stomach needed.”
“It was my pleasure,” I say with my fork poised to finally dig in. “I hope you all enjoy it so much that you’ll handle the clean-up,” I joke just as the doorbell rings.
“Who could that be?” Tessa asks.
“No idea, but I’ll get it!” I tell them. “Go ahead and eat up,” I instruct them as I hurry to the door with a feeling of déjà vu.
A small, teeny tiny sliver of hope that it’s the hot biker-stripper again bubbles up inside before I yank the side door open…and find a policeman on the other side of the screen. The disappointment pops the bubble with more force than I expected.
“Can I help you?” I ask the officer.
“We received a call,” he says with a stern face that splits into a huge grin. “A call that a bunch of wild women wanted to party tonight!”
“Huh?” I mutter when I open the screen to let him inside.
His smile falters as he strolls inside and then he whispers, “I’m the stripper you girls hired.”
“What? No way,” I say as I study his lean frame, about half the size of the previous man. “Your biker guy showed up last night. And yeah, we were surprised he was a night early, but we rolled with it.”
“What biker guy?” the man asks.
“Tall, thick, black leather vest with like a skull patch or something on the back,” I quickly describe him. “Looked very authentic and was well endowed.”
The man in the police costume blinks silently at me. “Ma’am, I’m the only person on the roster during the off-season, and I don’t have a biker costume.”
“Well, you should probably check with your boss because he sent the biker.”
Pulling his phone from his back pocket, he puts it
to his ear and holds up a finger. “Yo, Ralph. How’s it going? Yeah, I’m at the Tidewater beach house, and the gal here says you sent a biker for them last night.” He grins. “Here, let me let you tell her that I’m the only man on the payroll.” When he holds the phone out toward me, I take it because now I’m incredibly confused.
“Hello?” I say to the unknown man on the phone.
“Is this Charlotte Newsom?”
“Yes.”
“Hi Charlotte. This is Ralph, the guy who set up your appointment for tonight with Duke. So you say a biker showed up last night?”
“Yes, he did.”
“A biker as in motorcycle or bicycle?”
“Motorcycle, obviously,” I mutter. “Who wants to see a bicyclist strip?”
“And this biker, he took off his clothes and danced?”
“Ah, yeah, that is what strippers usually do, right?” I remark with a roll of my eyes. Jeez, these guys are dense.
“We don’t have any biker costumes, motorcycle or bicyclist, doll. What did he look like?”
“Like I told your guy, he was tall and muscular in black leather with like a big white skull patch on the back and some smaller patches on the front, you know, just like the guys wore on the Sons of Anarchy.”
“Oh shit,” Ralph mutters. “Was the skull a bearded king by chance?”
“Bearded king skull…” I repeat as I squeeze my eyes shut to think about it. “There was a crown on its head, and yeah, I guess there was a beard, maybe some crossed scepters too.”
“Oh shit,” the stripper echoes his boss and takes a step away from me.
“What did he look like?” Ralph asks.
“I told you, tall, muscular…”
“No, doll. Hair color? Any tattoos?”
“Oh, right. His hair was like a reddish-brown, curly and he had that same skull guy tattooed on his back along with some other stuff. Nice touch with adding those for authenticity…”
“Doll, that wasn’t a stripper. I believe the guy you’re describing is named Roman, the president of the Savage Kings MC. Give the phone back to Duke! I’ll send you a full refund. So, so sorry for the confusion!”
“Okay?” I mutter while giving the man his phone. He speaks quietly to his boss while looking at me with concern filling his eyes, like a doctor about to tell you that your condition is terminal.
When he hangs up the phone, he says, “Do you have any photos from last night?”
“Ah, yeah, I think so,” I admit with only a slight blush on my cheeks. A man that sexy doesn’t come around very often. “Just a second.”
I go and grab my phone from the charger in the kitchen. On the walk back, I pull up my camera roll and scroll through to a picture more focused on the biker’s face rather than his various body parts.
“This is him,” I say, holding up the screen for him to see.
“Whoa!” he exclaims. “It is him! Come to think of it, don’t the Savage Kings own this house?”
“Um, I don’t know who the Savage Kings are, but I rented it from a realty company.”
“That’s…I’m outta here,” he says. “Good luck, and lock the doors!”
“What?” I say as he rushes out of the house, the screen slamming behind him. I push it open to yell after him, “Who are the Savage Kings?”
“The bikers who run this city!” he yells back as he hurries down the wooden steps. “They own a ton of shit, hotels, bars, clubs.”
“Clubs?” I repeat. Like the one he invited me to tonight?
“Yeah, like Fluid, the nightclub down on the boardwalk. See ya!” the guy calls back before he disappears.
“Who was that?” Tessa asks when she comes over to the open door.
“That was…” I start, unsure how to explain this. “Last night, the biker, he wasn’t a stripper.”
“Sure he was! He was hot, he took off his clothes, and he did some dirty, dirty dancing for us.”
“Yeah, he did all that stripper stuff, but he wasn’t from the company, so what the heck was he doing here?” I ask aloud.
“Well, what did he say when he showed up?”
“Um, I think he started with, ‘I believe you know why I’m here’, and then it snowballed from there until I told him to go get naked. Do you think I bullied some guy into taking his clothes off for us?”
“Huh. No clue,” she says while chewing on the corner of her bottom lip before breaking into a grin. “But if he is not a stripper, then he missed his calling in life.”
“Apparently he’s a real biker, like in a motorcycle club.”
“So his ink was real? Damnnn. That makes him even hotter.”
Biting on my thumbnail, I finally admit to her, “He invited me, us, to his club tonight.”
“Shut up!” she exclaims.
“He said he would put my name on the VIP list.”
“How did he know your name?” Tessa asks.
“I guess he remembered it from when you were asking him to sleep with me for money!”
“Oh, right. Sorry! I was toasted,” she says with a giggle. “So, are we going out tonight or what?”
“It’s already late...”
“Charlotte, honey. It’s only nine-thirty on a Friday night. We could all be ready in an hour, and I bet the place doesn’t even get going until after midnight.”
“I don’t know,” I start.
“Stop thinking! No excuses, girl. We are going out!” she declares. “It’s my bachelorette weekend, and I want to dance. Ladies, get your hair and makeup done, because we’re going out dancing!” she yells as she jogs off to tell the rest of our group.
Well, the bride-to-be wants it; and as the maid-of-honor, I’m bound to her wishes.
And yeah, I’m a little excited about the possibility of seeing the biker again, mostly because I want him to explain what the heck happened last night and why he was really here before I strong-armed him into taking off his clothes.
Roman
* * *
I’m leaning on the bar between Marcus and Winston waiting on a refill when one of the twins, either Cannon or Conrad, taps me on the shoulder. “Hey, prez, that woman you wanted us to put on the VIP list just showed up with her friends.” It has to be Conrad; even though he and his brother are physically identical, Cannon has a voice that booms across the entire club. His brother is more soft-spoken.
“Thanks, Conrad.” I nod to him as I turn to look around the club. It doesn’t take me long to spot Charlotte. She stalks right up to me at the bar, having apparently followed Conrad directly to me.
“Hey! You came!” I say in shock as a smile spreads across my face. I feel it start to slip as soon as the woman starts speaking.
“Why did you pretend to be a stripper?” Charlotte demands when she pokes me in the chest. Marcus and Winston nearly spray their beers before they both start coughing and choking on them. “Well? Answer me!” she demands.
Before I can figure out how to explain, she turns to the guys and says, “I have pictures. You all want to see them?”
I snatch her phone from her hand to stop her before she can present it to Marcus or Winston. My boys don’t need to ever see that much of me.
“Aw, let us see, prez,” Marcus whines, but I ignore him.
“Give me my phone back and answer my question!” Charlotte shouts over the music.
“Come on,” I tell her, grabbing her wrist to try and pull her out on the deck. Of course, she immediately resists, practically grinding her heels into the hardwood floor to root herself. “Please?” I ask through gritted teeth. “Sort of hard to talk in here!” I explain.
Her blue eyes blaze in anger, but she finally caves and lets me drag her outside.
The salty spring air blowing off the ocean is cool and refreshing, but it won’t be long before it’s hot and suffocating, the beaches overcrowded with sweating, partying, seas of humanity.
“So? Who are you?” Charlotte asks when I go over and rest my back against the rail and cross my arms ove
r my chest.
“Roman McNamara,” I answer.
“And? Why did you come over late last night?”
Finally, I admit the truth to her. “I own the beach house you’re staying in. Well, the MC owns it, and I’m sort of responsible for any afterhours shit. A guy named Ernie lives next door and wanted me to ask you all to keep it down.”
“Oh,” she replies. “So does that mean, did you, um, know my husband by chance? He’s the one who made the annual reservations about five years ago, before he…”
“Yeah, I knew Adam for a long time,” I answer.
“How? Did you serve in the Marines too? Were you friends?”
“Yep.” I lift my t-shirt sleeve to show her the tattoo on my upper arm. “Second Battalion, Second Marines. The Warlords,” I confirm.
“Wow,” she mutters, before doing the last thing I expected. She actually reaches up and rubs her fingertips over my ink, touching me for the first time without my prodding as she outlines the sword on my insignia.
“He talked about you,” I tell her. “But he definitely underplayed how beautiful you are.”
“Is that right?” she asks, lowering her hand with a grin that says she thinks I’m putting on the moves. I suppose I am. She’s an amazing woman who deserves to be loved and adored. I hate that she’s sad and lonely even after all these years. If only she knew…
“That’s right,” I reply. Spotting a waitress nearby with a tray of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila in her off hand, I motion her to come over. “Let me get two shots,” I tell her.
“Five dollars,” she says automatically before her eyes shift from Charlotte to me and she catches her breath sharply. “Oh, sorry, Mr. McNamara, sir, I didn’t mean…”
“Easy, easy,” I interrupt her. “I’m out here on the back porch in the shadows, there’s no way you could tell it was me.” I drop a twenty on her tray and grab two of the shot glasses. “Leave the bottle with me and go get another at the bar. The twenty is for you, tell Verek or the bartender that I took your bottle.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The waitress practically bows, bringing her tray down low before her as she backs away.
