by Penny Wylder
Rich Player
Penny Wylder
Copyright © 2019 Penny Wylder
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.
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Contents
1. Glenn
2. Diamond
3. Glenn
4. Diamond
5. Glenn
6. Diamond
7. Glenn
8. Diamond
9. Glenn
10. Diamond
11. Glenn
12. Diamond
13. Glenn
14. Diamond
15. Glenn
16. Diamond
Epilogue
Wife for Now
Books By Penny Wylder
1
Glenn
It's barely mid-afternoon and First Shot is already packed with people. That's what you get on Labor Day weekend, I guess. There are so many people that every employee I have is in the building and we're still short-staffed. I really shouldn't leave. No matter what plans I have.
Grabbing another glass from behind the bar, I pour a beer from one of the taps and slide it to the waiting customer, who gives me a nod. He's a regular, and I put the beer on his tab. He always clears it by the end of the night. As he walks away from the bar, it feels like three more people take his place. The crowd is a hydra monster clamoring for drinks.
I could call Frankie and Wallace, but they have plans, and even though I know they would come at a moment's notice, I'm not really sure that I want to see them right now. Because they would give me a hard time for what I'm about to do. About what they couldn't—or wouldn't—do.
Besides, they just don’t spend as much time here as they used to. Now that they’re married and not single. I mean, it’s not part of our owner’s agreement that they have to be here, but it used to be a given that they’d be here hanging out, the visible faces of First Shot. Help out when they needed to, hang out with me when there wasn’t a need. Now that just doesn’t happen as much.
It’s not like I don’t see them at all, but things have changed.
My birthday was three days ago. The five of us—Frankie, Annabelle, Wallace, Tia, and me, had a nice dinner. Well, as nice as it can be when you know that the women are judging you. But I don't care. The Dirty Thirty pledge is a point of pride for me. It was the thing that held us together when we were all doing separate things. It's the thing we could connect over when we'd been apart, like when Wallace was in fucking Afghanistan. I'm not going to bail on it just because my friends didn’t have the balls to follow through.
I haven't started it yet. Since I'm the only one doing it, I can take my time, and the plan is to start tonight. I'm going to Nashville, getting myself a nice hotel room, and partying till I can't see straight. I'm sure that I'll end up with someone in my bed. If I'm lucky, I'll end up with more than one someone in bed with me.
But now I’m thinking I should postpone the trip, because this is insane. Granted, First Shot has had crazy crowds ever since we opened. Even with the concept and the business plan, none of the three of us could have anticipated the speed at which we would expand or how its popularity would grow.
But this is probably the biggest crowd I’ve ever seen. I called in back-up, and even had to call the back-up’s back-up. Behind the bar is so crowded with people slinging drinks that we’re practically stepping on each other. The dance floor is packed, and I think we’re probably at our capacity. I haven’t checked, but the line is probably around the block.
I catch eyes with a couple leaning over the bar and lean over to hear their orders. He has to yell for me to here. “Can I get what’s on tap and she wants a vodka cranberry.”
“Coming right up.”
They slide their IDs and cash for the drinks across the bar, and I take both, sliding the IDs back with their drinks. I’m turning to serve the next customer when a hand falls on my shoulder. It’s Brennan, my head bartender. “Get out of here, boss.”
I give him a look. “Are you fucking kidding? I can’t leave with this kind of crowd here. We’re already drowning.”
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “We all know you’ve been planning to take a few days off, and I don’t think you’ve actually taken a day off since this place opened.”
“I have.”
“Holidays don’t count.”
I sigh, glaring at him. “You can’t kick me out Brennan, I’m your boss.”
He laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. “Respectfully, get the hell out of here. Boss. We got this.”
I’m about to protest that the trip can wait, and that maybe this isn’t the best time to take a vacation when Leah, another bartender, turns around and points to the door. “Go. Get the fuck out and enjoy your birthday vacation.”
I laugh, “Fine, I’ll go. Please call me if something goes wrong.”
It’s Leah’s turn to roll her eyes. “Sure.”
I make my way behind the rest of the bartenders to the exit. The bar is in the center of First Shot and it’s circular. That was an important choice when we were designing it, to be equidistant from every part of the bar. I’ve found that people are more likely to buy drinks if they don’t have to fight their way all the way across a crowded room. It’s been good for business.
With a final wave, I turn toward the door. My bag is already packed and in my car, and I’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of me. But it will be worth it. Nashville is five hours away, which is more than far enough to be a little anonymous.
The guys had a point a few months back, that if I fuck my way through half the girls in town, the business could potentially take a hit. So I’m going to start this pledge in a city where there will be no crossover.
As I walk outside, there’s a crazy amount of cheers from the line, which is even longer than I thought it would be and it’s only two o’clock. Like the other guys, I still don’t exactly know what to do with the fact that we’re famous now. Sure, it lets me chase as much pussy as I want, and the money is great too. I have more money than I’ll ever know what to do with.
Since I do the lion’s share of the work in the business, I have the lion’s share of the profit. And even the smaller shares that go to Wallace and Frankie will be more than they can ever spend in their lives. For me, I could quit everything and buy an island and still be absurdly rich.
But being famous was never something that I expected or wanted. I just wanted to buy a bar. I like talking to people, and I like making people feel better about their problems by letting them talk and lowering their inhibitions—but not letting them fall so far they can’t recover.
I had the idea for First Shot when we were in college. I was poor, but I still wanted to get drunk and have fun, and I would have appreciated any little bit of help to get there faster. So I thought, what if everyone’s first shot was free?
It’s not the good stuff, and plenty of people take advantage of the system, but it’s created loyalty, and that, along with the unique concept, is what’s grown the brand.
Frankie and I both played college ball, but I liked the partying culture of it way more than I actually liked playing the game. So I spent a lot more time doing that. It’s not really a surprise that I’ve ended as the proprietor of a bar.
> I wave to the people in line as I walk to my car, and they wave back. A few women blow kisses, and I make a note of what they look like. If they’re in town for the weekend visiting and I run into them later, they may be good options too.
All the options are good.
I put the car into gear and drive out of Green Hills and onto the highway toward Nashville. I’m going to get this done. I don’t understand the logic of either Frankie or Wallace. They’re fucking nuts. They were so close to dipping their dicks in so much pussy they wouldn’t be able to breathe. I’m secure enough to say that they’re both attractive men. So why would they give it up for one woman?
I don’t care; no sex is that good. Nothing can possibly equal the freedom to go out and fuck whoever you want as many times as you want. The possibilities are endless. Besides, I’m not an animal. When I sleep with a woman, I make sure to show her a good time. She’s going to have one of the best nights of her life. I’m not doing this just to dip my dick in different women. No, this is about experiences.
And yet those two claim they’re happy going home to their wives, but they’re not the ones that had a threesome last weekend—with twins who were visiting town. And now that they’ve shackled themselves, that will never be them.
Honestly, nothing can compare to two women sucking your dick at the same time, and it’s an experience I’m pretty determined to repeat. Unlike being a groomsman in both their weddings, which I really don’t plan on doing again any time soon, no matter how many jokes they make about it.
They can go home to their boring lives and I’ll have all the free and single and beautiful women to myself. More for me.
I roll down the windows, turn up the music, and break the speed limit.
This club is insane. I’ve been to Nashville plenty of times, but never here. Now I’m thinking that that was a mistake. It has a couple of levels, with multiple dance areas and enough lights to rival a concert stadium. The layout is clever, with bars situated throughout the space and a centralized system that allows your tab to follow you from floor to floor.
If I weren’t here to get absolutely drunk out of my mind, I’d want to meet the owner and congratulate him on a really great space and what seems to be big success. Hell, I may look him up later.
In the meantime, I came to dance. And I came to drink. I buy a shot and toss it back, savoring the burn down my throat before going out to the dance floor. I’ve never had a problem finding people to dance with, and this evening is no exception.
A sexy as fuck redhead slides up to me, spinning and pinning her ass against me. She’s got curves for days, and the way she’s grinding against me feels damn good. Hell, if I play my cards right, I could cross off a few notches tonight. One in the club bathroom before finding another one or two to take back to my room.
I didn’t skimp on the room either. I got a massive suite on one of the highest floors of the hotel. I could throw a kickass party there. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow.
She turns towards me, dragging her body across mine, and I’m so here for it. Hell yeah. She’s so fucking hot, I can’t believe that she’s the first woman that I’m dancing with tonight. Even if I don’t fuck her, I can imagine her on her knees giving my cock a good suck. Coming down her throat sounds really good right now.
Does that count for the pledge? I hadn’t even thought of it. But I might have to, because she’s looking at me like she might want to eat me right here on the dance floor. And I would let her.
There’s a flash of movement beyond her that catches my eyes. We’re surrounded by movement, but this seems strange. I look harder, trying to find what drew my attention, and it’s there. Years of bartending are sending my instincts soaring right now.
Another woman, this one just as gorgeous as the one I’m dancing with now, but completely different. She’s tall and lithe, with black hair that flows straight down her back. She’s wearing a top cropped off to show her toned stomach, and there’s a tiny bit of glitter on her skin that’s reflecting off the club lights.
God, I could imagine licking that glitter off her skin and seeing how far it’s spread beneath her clothes. But as gorgeous as she is, she’s not what caught my attention. It’s the guy dancing with her. She’s pushing him away, but he’s pushing right back. But not only that, he’s got his hand on his dick and he’s trying to push it onto her.
This is not a ‘I’m going to dance with you’ move. It’s a ‘I’m going to try to fuck you whether you want me to or not, and I don’t care’ move.
Anyone can say anything they want about the way that I sleep around, but I would never, ever, force myself on anyone. Anyone who comes to bed with me is there because she wants to be there, and no other reason. I don’t sleep with people who’ve said no, or have had so much to drink that they can’t say yes.
The woman pushes him away, and I’m satisfied. I go back to dancing with the redhead, but only for a second, because he’s following her through the crowd, forcing himself close to her, rubbing on her again.
Fuck.
It’ll take me too long to find a bouncer or a bartender who can throw this guy out on his ass before something worse happens. Smiling at the redhead, I say, “Excuse me,” before pushing through the crowd toward the creep. The dark-haired woman is on the move again, trying to get away, and this time she’s moving right toward me. Am I the only person in here who’s seeing what’s going on? Or am I the only one who’s willing to do anything about it? If the answer to either of those questions is yes, it’s unacceptable.
I aim toward her, and we nearly collide. I slip my hand around her bare waist and turn, putting myself between her and the guy that’s following her. She struggles for a second, and I let her go. “Dance with me,” I say quickly.
“No,” she says, glancing behind me.
I put my hand on her arm and catch her eye so that she’s looking at me, and I swing my eyes back toward her follower. “Dance with me, just for a little while.”
Her body relaxes, and I see that she understands. Nodding, she lets me slip closer. “Okay.”
I pull her against me. Not so close that she’s going to feel like I’m a creep, but close enough that it looks possessive. “Are you all right?” I ask in her ear.
“Yeah,” she says. “Thanks. I was trying to get him to leave me alone. And this last time I was headed for the door.”
I see the guy come around, approaching her from the opposite direction, and I spin us so that I’m between them again. “I thought about that, and I thought that this would be faster. But get a good look at him,” I say, “because he’s definitely getting thrown out of here. If it’s not you, it’s going to be someone else.”
She smiles. “We could dance toward the edge of the dancefloor.”
“Good plan.”
I turn us again as the guy tries a third angle of attack. Turning so that I’m facing him, I just shake my head. And because I’m feeling a little brazen, I give him a small smile while I do it. The rage on his face is well worth it. When I turn back to her, I put my hands on her hips. “Make it convincing.”
And she does. Arching her back, she rolls her hips with mine, and smiles at me as we dance our way to the side of the crowd. I glance back for just a second, and he’s still coming, moving through the dancers to our side, and the look on his face is murder. I’ve seen it before in First Shot, and if I have a chance to stop it before it gets there, I do.
This is a man who feels entitled to someone that doesn’t belong to him. He’s drunk, and unless he gets thrown out, he’s probably going to hurt someone. I’m not going to let that happen if I can help it.
“Let’s go.” I grab her hand and pull her the last few feet out of the crowd and toward the doors where there are several large bouncers. If this guy is as pissed as I think he is, he’s going to follow us anyway.
I’m right.
I stop short in front of one of them, and she doesn’t waste any time. “Excuse me,” she says. “That man there has
been harassing me and trying to touch me inappropriately.”
The bouncer raises an eyebrow and looks at me. “And this guy?”
“He helped me get out of the crowd.”
I nod. “Guy was following her, and it was about to escalate. In fact, it might escalate right now.”
The creep walks up behind us and grabs the woman’s shoulder. His face is seething with rage. “How dare you walk away from me. You think you can just dance with me and change your mind and dance with someone else? You bitch. You owe me a dance.”
She makes a face. “I don’t owe you shit. This is a dance club. I can dance with whoever I want to, and I was never actually dancing with you. In case no one ever told you this, walking up and putting your dick on someone isn’t dancing.”
He tries to pull her back toward the dance floor, which is a stupid move, considering all the bouncers are now looking at him. Either this guy has absolutely no sense of self-preservation or he’s blasted out of his fucking mind. Possibly both.
The bouncer grabs the guy’s wrist and twists. “I think that’s enough,” he says. “You’re clearly not able to respect the wishes of the club’s patrons, and we have a zero-tolerance policy for harassment. That means that we’re going to take your information and your picture and you’re never going to be let back in here again. I hope it was worth it.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” the guy says, his mouth hanging open. “You’re going to let this bitch kick me out? She practically begged me to dance with her, and I didn’t want to. Then she suddenly sees this asshole and changes her mind. You can’t kick me out cause some bitch is flaky.”