The First Rule of Hook-Ups (Breakup Bash)

by Nina Crespo

  “The guy we had problems with in the VIP section is under control. The rest of his boys in the bachelor party are tipping extra to make up for the beef he caused.”

  “Good. Make sure they stay in line.” The guy in question had grabbed one of the servers, going beyond trouble and crossing into the territory of pure asshole. No one disrespected the staff, not on his watch. “If the guy screws up again, he and his friends are gone.”

  “Got it.”

  The opening lyrics of a popular rap song brought a larger crowd to the dance floor.

  “Rafe.” Shannon’s voice came through the earpiece. “I need you in the West. Now.”

  Surprise. Something was up with the Breakup Bash? What could possibly go wrong with endless rounds of alcohol and a room full of people with an axe to grind? “On my way.” He hustled through the lobby, then down the red carpeted corridor.

  He’d wanted to take a pass on booking the party at the club, but Shannon had insisted it would boost business. She’d believed the attendees would wander from the West to the East, searching to pair up with someone for a good time.

  Sure they would. A wry huff escaped him. He’d read what was printed on the party favors. I Got Problems but My Ex Isn’t One of Them. The Breakup Diet—Two Hundred Pounds of Ugly Weight Gone and Counting. Then there was the broken heart-shaped cake. It featured a marzipan figure of a woman booting a man off an island. Her red stiletto appeared so far up the male figure’s ass, that if the couple had been real, the poor guy would have tasted her shoe size.

  He nodded to the bouncer at the door and stepped into the room.

  Shannon saw him right away. As she hurried from the bar, her ebony ponytail swung behind her shoulders. She carried off the dark slacks and bronze shirt they wore as management like a glossy fashion statement, but her expression was all business. “We have a problem. Only four of the Hunks are here.”

  “Where are the rest?”

  “Stuck in traffic on their way back from another gig.” Her light brown eyes narrowed with a frown. “I can’t believe their manager screwed us like this. He knows their performances here take priority.”

  But double-booking shows brought in more money, and greed was a strong motivator. If the Hunks’ manager believed the group’s long-time association with the club entitled him to endless generosity, he was making a huge mistake.

  Rafe led the way as they moved along the perimeter past a corner bar. “The guys that are here can start the show off. Tell them to pull something together.”

  She released a derisive snort. “They’re all new, and one of them is so nervous, he’s tossed his cookies twice.” She glanced at her gold bangle watch. “We’ve already delayed the show for thirty minutes. The event organizers are worried because the crowd is growing restless. Free food and champagne will only appease them for so long.”

  As if they’d heard her greatest fear, the audience started chanting for the men to come on stage.

  “This is a disaster.” Shannon threw up her hands. “I’m the one who recommended the Hunks. We’ll get blamed for ruining the event. You have to do something.” Her direct stare held more than a suggestion.

  “Wait a minute. You want me to suit up again as a Hunk?”

  “You did it seven months ago, and I know you enjoyed it.”

  Women screaming for him. Seducing the audience with just his eyes and a smile. Hell yeah, being up there had brought back the rush he’d loved so much when he was younger. “That was to settle our bet. I retired from performing five years ago. Besides, we have a full house. One of us has to keep an eye on the East.”

  “We can turn floor operations over to Xan for the night. But I understand if you don’t want to do it. Working it in your thirties isn’t as easy as it was when you were in your twenties. You’re not up to performing on short notice.”

  Not up to performing? At thirty-two, he could still make up a dance routine in his sleep.

  Shannon blinked with the same neutral expression she wore when she had a winning poker hand.

  He wasn’t falling for it. Raphael the Dream Maker had officially retired. Again. Now he was just Rafe Dumond, club owner. “I’m not going on stage.”

  “Please, Rafe.” Shannon squeezed his arm. “We just have to keep the crowd satisfied until the rest of the group arrives. It shouldn’t be long. Practically everyone here is posting on social media. A bunch of negative reviews will really screw up our reputation.”

  Women at a nearby table struck sexy poses for a group photo.

  Shannon was right. Hashtag eventfail was the last thing they needed tied to the club. “Tell the DJ to stall with more line dances and giveaways. I need at least twenty minutes with the guys to come up with a new opening. After that, we can fill in with solos.”

  “We?” Shannon followed him out. “So you’re dancing a routine, too?”

  “Fuck no.” He removed the headset and handed it to her. “The days of me wearing a G-string are over. I’m their MC.”

  Chapter Two

  Nat chair danced and tossed condom packages to Alexa.

  With an eye roll, Alexa stuffed one in the small purse attached to a gold chain circling the waist of her purple minidress. “Fine. I took one. Now will you leave me alone?”

  “I’ll think about it.” The gleam in Nat’s eyes was all smart-ass. “Everyone’s raving about the cake on the buffet. Maybe that’s what’s holding up Cori. It shouldn’t take this long to find champagne. I’m going after her. You coming?”

  A remix of a familiar group dance song blasted through the speakers.

  The rhythmic beat prompted Alexa out of her seat. “Nope, but bring me something back.”

  Alexa joined the crowd forming up in lines on the floor. She mimicked the other dancers and stepped to the left then back. Nat needed to stop obsessing over getting her laid. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to move on, but the two disastrous encounters she’d had since the failed wedding were enough.

  The first, a blind date with the son of a woman her mother went to yoga with, had been as much fun as watching paint dry. The up-and-coming bank executive had been obsessed with driving her around in his new Tesla and bragging about his power to hire and fire employees. The cute guy she ran into at the gym every morning seemed like a better choice. Nice smile. Deep, sexy voice. Bonus points: he didn’t talk about his job nonstop, had his own apartment, and smelled good even after a workout. Then she’d kissed him. Nothing. Nada. Not even a spark.

  As Alexa danced, she put a little more sass into her hips. Soon her fantasies with her battery-operated boyfriend wouldn’t be enough to cut it. She needed the real deal—a hot, toe-curling orgasm. Too bad a man was required for that type of satisfaction. She stepped on a flyer advertising the Hot Body Hunks. An image of Raphael the Dream Maker, dancing shirtless, appeared in her mind, a stellar pack of abs emerging as easily as his sexy grin. Her most naughty vibrator fantasies often included him. Who was she kidding? They always included him. Exploring his smokin’ body, for real, would knock the lust dust from her vagina.

  The DJ spoke over the music. “All right ladies, I’ve got prizes. The first one is for a spa day package.”

  That sounded wonderful. Alexa dug a red ticket stub from her purse.

  The number called didn’t match it.

  Maybe Nat or Cori had gotten lucky. She wove through the crowd on the dance floor and scooted past chairs. An empty table greeted her. Where were they? Were they checking their tickets? She sat down and sent a text to Nat and Cori about the drawing.

  The answers Busy and OK buzzed in simultaneously.

  Another number was announced for an all-expense paid weekend at a resort in Virginia Beach.

  No one jumped up. Another ticket was drawn, and a jubilant winner claimed the trip.

  Seriously? Nat or Cori probably hadn’t even checked their tickets. They might have even won. If they weren’t interested, she, at least, could have used a vacation on the beach before heading to Seattle.
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  “Ladies. It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for.”

  Excited shouts erupted.

  “Come on. You can do better than that. Let the guys know you’re out there. Raise it up for the Hot Body Hunks.”

  A driving bass guitar riff reverberated through her chair.

  The room lights dimmed, and the curtain rose.

  A column of violet light backlit the semi-clear screen on the stage. The partially shadowed figures of four Hunks dressed in suits, heads bowed, wearing fedoras appeared.

  Heavy percussion combined with the bass, and the performers synchronized the staccato movements of their heads, torsos, and hips.

  The audience clapped to the beat.

  The partition lifted, and the lights grew brighter, illuminating the Hunks in gray suits, snowy white shirts, and black neckties.

  The track morphed into an up-tempo pop song, and the guys tossed their dark fedoras. As the men strutted forward, they slipped off their jackets and flung them aside. Sleeveless button-downs showcased their muscular arms. A few sexy dance moves later, they stripped off the ties.

  Swept up in the excitement, Alexa stood and shouted.

  The performers answered the women’s cheers by dropping to the floor. As the men rose and lowered themselves to inches above the ground, they undulated their hips.

  They were like selections on the perfect tasting menu. Blond haired, lean and muscular. Ginger haired with an engaging smile. Another of the entertainers had dark hair that was buzzed low, and he sported intriguing tribal arm tats. The last one had a shaved head and was built like a Greek god.

  Alexa fanned herself. Nat and Cori had no idea what they were missing. Where were they?

  The guys jumped up and ripped open their shirts, revealing white tank tops. They slipped off the button-downs, and as they gyrated their hips, they lifted their shirts, providing teasing glimpses of their chests and abs.

  She joined the groans of disappointment in the entertainers not showing more skin.

  The men flashed knowing smiles. They hopped off the stage and gave a few lucky women brief lap dances.

  Images drifted in, taking Alexa back to her bachelorette party. She’d hopped on Raphael’s lap more than once during the game and had taken advantage of every opportunity to touch and caress his sculpted chest and abs.

  One by one, the Hunks returned to the stage.

  Another performer, dressed like the four, joined them.

  Raphael. Alexa’s heart sped up. He’d cut his hair, but he was still hot as hell with a close fade.

  All the guys executed the choreographed steps, but his moves were delivered with a confidence that riveted attention.

  A woman behind Alexa shrieked. “That’s him. That’s the one I was telling you about. The Dream Maker.”

  Alexa couldn’t take her eyes off him. If the theory that the way a man worked his assets on stage indicated how he’d perform under the sheets was true, Raphael’s moves translated into screaming, throat-raw ecstasy.

  The men crossed their arms over their chests and froze, ending on cue with the music.

  Raphael strolled forward. His bicep bulged as he adjusted his headset. He stopped near the edge of the stage and scanned the audience. His confident, all-male grin elicited screams. “One sorry bastard failed to satisfy you, but the Hot Body Hunks are here to please. Are you ready for that?”

  The women’s shouts of “yes” filled the room.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I think you need a little incentive. Are. You. Ready?”

  As he articulated the question, the Hunks behind him tore off their tank tops to even louder cheers.

  “Take it off! Take it off!”

  The chant was directed at Raphael, but he feigned confusion. The chanting grew rowdier, and he pointed to himself.

  Screams reverberated.

  He tore his shirt off, revealing his ripped torso, and pandemonium erupted.

  Moisture dried up in Alexa’s mouth. Damn! His abs were meant to be worshiped, stroked, kissed, filled with chocolate, and licked clean.

  His gaze drifted her direction.

  Did he recognize her? Heated tingles engulfed Alexa, and her heart rate doubled.

  He focused back on the audience. “Enjoy the show.”

  Chapter Three

  Backstage, Lance, the newest member of the Hunks, stood bent over his black cowboy boots. “I can’t do this.”

  “You can.” Rafe gripped the ginger-haired entertainer by the shoulder and hauled him up. “What did I tell you?”

  The twenty-year-old dressed in jeans, a blue western-style shirt, and a black cowboy hat sucked in a breath and straightened. “You said to find three women in the crowd and make a connection.”

  “Exactly. One in the center and one on each side of the room. Block everyone else out and pretend that you’re just dancing for them. Mid solo, pick someone and bring them on stage. Put all your energy into pleasing her. Check out Flynn.”

  The blond dancer was currently performing shirtless in a pair of flesh-colored leg tights that left little to the imagination.

  A brunette stood, arms spread, tied to poles in the middle of the stage. She remained mesmerized by his ballet-style moves choreographed to a hip-hop version of Beethoven’s Für Elise.

  Flynn danced up behind the woman. He stroked her from her shoulders to her wrists to unknot two of the many pastel scarves binding her to the poles.

  “Okay. Got it.” Lance took off his hat and tossed it on one of the large, plastic hay bales stacked against the wall. “I’ll be back.” He bolted down the hallway and into the dressing room.

  “Hurry up. You’re on next.” Tension hummed through Rafe. His temples pounded. They didn’t have time for this.

  Shannon walked up beside him. “I’ve got an update on the Hunks.”

  “Are they pulling into the parking lot?”

  “They’re still twenty minutes away, maybe more with downtown traffic.”

  Traffic. Of course. Just what they didn’t need. “When Lance finishes, I’ll promote the bar then announce a fifteen-minute intermission. That should buy us some time.” He glanced out at the audience.

  Alexa sat alone at the table, front and center, facing the stage.

  He hadn’t imagined seeing her walk through the club earlier. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. When he’d danced for her months ago, she’d tempted him into violating one of the rules of the show. It was something he’d never done during his entire seven years as a male entertainer—he’d kissed her on the lips instead of on the cheek. Champagne and strawberries.

  A long, cold shower that night hadn’t helped him forget how she’d tasted or how her dress had ridden up when she’d straddled him in the chair, revealing more of her satiny smooth skin. Recalling her soft caresses as he lay in bed alone that night had made him ache. Hell, his cock was starting to swell, even now. Once the rest of the Hunks arrived, one of them was bound to single her out for a special solo. She’d sit on some other guy’s lap tonight. He wasn’t sticking around for that.

  Besides, he had to get back to club business. He’d run the entry stats to see if they could let in additional people and not violate the fire code. After that, he’d check in with Xan. Then he’d visit the booths and talk to the VIPs. Any mundane, normal task that would put distance between him and Alexa.

  Shannon glanced to the hallway. “Lance’s face was almost green. How did he make it into the group if he’s so nervous about dancing alone?”

  “I have no idea. When I was running things, the new guys popped their cherry on a solo two weeks after they were hired. If they couldn’t cut it, I let them go. Lance has talent. When I laid out the new steps for the intro, he got it on the first try and taught the routine to the other three. If it were up to me, I’d get him involved with the choreography side of things. Maybe he’d gain confidence and eventually learn to handle a solo. Right now, he’s just taking up space.”

  “Sounds like y
ou miss being in charge of them.”

  “No. I’m glad I don’t have the responsibility of coming up with new material, managing the performance schedule, keeping the guys in line. They wore me down to the point where I didn’t enjoy being a part of it.”

  Before he’d quit the Hunks five years ago, he’d also started to mentally check out during performances. The shows had become repetitive and boring to him. Most nights, he’d fought to keep his mind from wandering to his side hustle as a handyman and the next remodeling or repair job.

  He’d leveled up by hiring a small crew. Running it full time once he quit the Hunks had seemed like a smooth career transition. Then Shannon had approached him about her friend wanting to sell Club Escapade. Despite having to let go of the handyman gig, and nearly emptying out his bank account, it had felt like the right risk. No, he didn’t miss performing, but earlier on stage, the rush had come back, especially when he’d spotted Alexa staring up at him.

  Shannon smirked as she took in his black construction-style boots, jeans, and bare torso covered by a black leather vest. “Well, everyone out there is definitely in love with you. Sure you don’t feel like stripping down to your briefs for old times’ sake?”

  “I feel like putting on a shirt.” He’d slipped one on after the opening, but when he went back out to announce the first performance, the women wouldn’t have it. They’d insisted he take it off, and he’d obeyed the primary rule of satisfying the audience: Give them what they want.

  Flynn untied the last two scarves binding the woman, then he swept her up in his arms.

  The music faded, and wild screams and applause rose.

  Flynn set down the woman, who was flushed and smiling, near the steps leading off the stage.

  The semi-clear screen lowered. A bar-back they’d commandeered dismantled the props while the DJ entertained the crowd.

  Rafe snagged Flynn as he jogged by carrying the scarves. “Get Lance. He’s in the dressing room.”

  “On it.” A moment later the blond performer popped his head out of the room. “He’s not going to make it.”