I chuckle. “Hey, think of all the leftover hockey groupies you’ll have access to when Garrett or Logan start playing for the pros.”
That immediately perks him up. “Good point. And look—” He points to the sign “—now you don’t have to leave Boston either. Who needs to move back to Texas when you’ve got cowgirls right here for you?”
“Tempting,” I say dryly, “but I think I’m sticking to my original plan.”
Unless my mom suddenly acquires a taste for the East Coast, I’m moving back to Patterson after I graduate. I’m not sure our small town is a good place to start a business, but I could always try to open something up in Dallas and come home on the weekends. Mom sacrificed a shitload to get me to where I’m at now, and I’m not leaving her alone.
The strip club reeks of sweat, smoke, and desperation. At the front of our group, Hollis’ brother slaps something into the hands of the bouncer, and they have a short conversation.
“No touching. Private dances start at five bills.” He waves a waitress over. “Front row, stage right,” he tells her.
Everyone starts moving.
Everyone but me.
“Got a problem?”
The bouncer’s sharp voice gets me moving. “Nope,” I say easily.
But I kinda do. I have a big problem, in fact. A fucking huge problem.
Because under the heavy eyeliner and the big hair, I recognize the waitress. Hell, I’ve had my hands and mouth all over that exposed skin.
Sabrina’s startled gaze locks with mine. I see all the color drain from her face, which is saying a lot because she didn’t go easy on the blush when she applied her makeup.
“Right this way,” she mumbles. She spins around with a swish of dark hair, but not before I see the flash of warning in her eyes.
Got it. She doesn’t want me telling the guys that we know each other. I don’t blame her. This is probably awkward as fuck for her.
“What kinds of chicks work this joint?” Hollis says as he leers at Sabrina’s incredible backside, which is barely covered by the tiny shorts she’s wearing.
“Hot ones,” Fitzy replies dryly.
That’s an understatement. The girls here are more than hot. They’re goddamn spectacular. Source: my eyeballs.
Tall ones, short ones, curvy ones. Light, dark, and everything in between. But my gaze keeps snapping back to Sabrina, as if it’s attached to an invisible string that’s controlled by her perfect ass.
“I take back every rude thing I said about cowgirls in the parking lot. Any of these girls can ride me.”
Heat curdles in my gut. I don’t like the idea of Hollis—or any of the dudes in this place—getting ridden by Sabrina. She’s mine.
“You okay?” Fitzy asks. “You look pissed.”
I take a breath. “Yeah, sorry. I was thinking about the team.”
He buys that. “That’s enough to make anyone mad. Come on. Let’s get a drink and forget about hockey.”
I nod absently, too mesmerized by the center of Sabrina’s back. It’s completely bare except for one measly string that looks like it would unravel if I blew against the bow. My gaze drops lower, taking in the elegant indentation of her spine, all the way down to the top of her black satin booty shorts.
By the time we arrive at the stage, I’m sporting a semi, which is fucking embarrassing. Getting a hard-on at the mere sight of a girl’s ass isn’t something that’s happened to me since high school.
I force my eyes upward in time to avoid a table full of frat boys. One of them reaches out to slap Sabrina’s ass as she sways by him.
A jolt of rage shoots up my spine. I shove forward, but a bouncer sitting at the base of the stage reaches the punk before I do.
“No touching, asshole.” He hauls the polo-shirted kid to his feet. “Let’s go.”
“Hey, I’m sorry,” the asswipe protests. “It was reflex.”
But the bouncer doesn’t listen and the guy is dragged out anyway. His friends just watch him go.
Hollis grins. “Strict fuckers here.”
“We need that guy on our team,” Fizzy observes.
“No lie.”
Sabrina holds out her hand. “Anything I can get for you boys?” Her voice is barely audible over the loud dance beat blaring through the club.
“Whatever you have on draft.” I keep my eyes fixed above her chin, which is a fucking miracle.
I don’t miss the unhappiness washing over her face. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess she’s embarrassed, and I don’t know how to tell her that where she works doesn’t make a shit’s worth of difference to me.
Brody flops down in the chair next to mine. He rests his forearms on the tabletop and leans forward to watch the half-naked woman dancing five feet away from us. The tall redhead is in the process of wiggling out of her G-string, leaving her in nothing but a leather holster around her waist and two fake guns.
“And for you?”
Hollis’ brother tears his gaze off the naked cowgirl and glances at Sabrina. “Whiskey, neat.”
“Coming right up.”
“Thanks, baby.”
With a strained smile, Sabrina disappears, and somehow I manage not to lunge across the table at Brody. Sabrina’s not his baby. If he calls her that one more time, I’m not sure I’ll be able to restrain myself from beating the living crap out of him.
“She looks familiar,” Hollis yells in my ear. “The waitress. Doesn’t she?”
I shrug. “Don’t know.”
Fitzy turns to study her as she leans forward to take orders at a nearby table. “I guess she looks a little like Olivia Munn?”
“No way. She’s a million times hotter than her,” Hollis declares. Then he shrugs. “Whatever, maybe I don’t know her.”
His brother grins. “I’ll ask her later why she looks familiar. You know, when she’s on her knees in front of me.”
I clench my fists against my thighs. I have to, or I’m going to pound Hollis’ brother into mincemeat and then Hollis will be pissed off. I like Hollis.
Luckily, Brody decides to stop being a creep, as if on some subconscious level he figured out how close I was to straight-up murdering him. He turns to me and says, “Mikey mentioned you’re going to start your own business?”
I nod. “That’s the plan.”
“Got something in mind?”
“I’m kicking around a few ideas, but I haven’t settled on anything yet. I’ve been focused on hockey.”
“Yeah, I hear ya.”
“But once I’m done with school, I’ll evaluate my options.”
“If you need help, let me know. I’ve got a couple ins with some new opportunities. Really ground-floor stuff. I’m not sure how much cash you’ve got, but these investment opportunities aren’t open to the public. One day you’re in for a couple hundred Gs, and three years later you’re a billionaire when Facebook buys you out.” He snaps his fingers as if it’s just that easy.
“Sounds interesting. Maybe I’ll give you a call when I’m ready to make some decisions.” I’m nodding again, but really, I have no plans on calling Brody Hollis for investment advice. I’d rather not get suckered into some pyramid scheme, thank you very much.
Sabrina returns with a tray in her hand, and all my attention instantly belongs to her. She sets down our drinks, standing right at my shoulder. I figure it’s because I’m the least likely to play grab-ass with her and not because she wants to rub her tits across my cheek.
“I’ll be back in a bit to check on you,” she murmurs before darting off.
Jesus. I stare at her in admiration, wishing I could run after her and give her a hug. Serving a bunch of Briar guys—not to mention one she’s slept with—can’t be comfortable for her. She could’ve asked her boss to be switched to another section, but she didn’t. She’s continuing to do her job as if our presence doesn’t affect her at all.
For the next half hour, the guys and I watch the strippers do their thing. Well, the guys watch. Me, I’m wholly focused on Sabrina. I sneak glances at her every other second, barely paying attention to what’s going on around me. I vaguely register laughter and catcalls and snippets of conversation, but my entire world has been reduced to Sabrina James. The sensual sway of her hips as she walks. The high heels that make her long legs look impossibly longer. Every time she walks past our table, I fight the urge to pull her into my lap and kiss her senseless.
“How much does a girl like you cost?” a loud voice slurs from behind me.
“I’m not a dancer.”
My shoulders stiffen when I recognize Sabrina’s voice. The woman on stage has just finished up, and the music volume has dropped a few notches while the next girl gets ready to go on. When I twist around in my chair, I find that the obnoxious frat boys are at it again.
“But you would be if the price was right,” one of the douchecanoes drawls.
“No. I just serve drinks.” From where I sit, I can see the tension in her slender shoulders.
“What if I want more than a drink?” Douchecanoe taunts.
“Trust me, you don’t want to waste your money on me. I’m a terrible dancer.” Her tone is light on the surface, but steely beneath it. “You need anything else?”