The Player's Club: Scott

by Cathy Yardley

  The crowd roared, and she broke character to smile back at them—a full, delighted smile.

  His eyes narrowed.

  I know that smile.

  Where the hell had he seen her before?

  It wasn’t like he knew a lot of dancers, exotic or otherwise. He watched with the scrutiny of a federal investigator as she twirled and danced, never completely baring anything, putting the tease in striptease. When she rehooked her bra and started to exit the cage, she had the assembled men eating out of her hand. Scott was still unsure of her identity, but he knew right down in his bones that he’d seen that smile before, and he was suddenly compelled to find out who this exotic, amazing woman might be.

  She descended the ladder, making her way through the crowd that was obviously captivated by her, smiling and laughing with the dancer that was replacing her.

  Then her eyes met Scott’s. They widened, a pale, almost silvery blue-gray, large and luminous.

  She smiled. Then slowly, deliberately, she motioned him to follow her.

  AMANDA HAD NEVER FELT like this before. Climbing into the cage, she’d felt like an idiot, an impostor. A fool. She couldn’t copy the stripper gyrations of the woman in the cage next to her. But after a few minutes, with the men jeering and catcalling, something in her just snapped. She remembered the film Gypsy. Somehow, she channeled the playfulness of Natalie Wood with the statuesque beauty of Bettie Page herself.

  She’d stepped in feeling like a fool. She’d gone out feeling like a goddess.

  Now she felt hot and hungry and powerful. Seeing Scott was like putting a torch to a stick of dynamite. She was ready to explode.

  She wanted him. And in her current fierce state, she knew that for once, she was capable of reaching out and taking what she wanted.

  She waited until he followed her, and her eyes scanned the building. Men were hanging out everywhere. There were too many dancers in the hallway where she’d changed.

  Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of a hallway with a door marked Employees Only. She tried the handle. It twisted easily, revealing another hallway, leading to a service closet and an empty lounge with another emergency exit beyond. The lounge and closet were both locked. But the hallway…would do.

  Scott was right behind her.

  “Hi,” he said with that sexy voice of his that caressed her skin like mink.

  She didn’t respond, just smiled and reached for him. She grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer. He reached out, stroking her bare midriff almost hesitantly. She pressed her breasts against his chest.

  He groaned, and then his body pressed her against the wall. A man’s raucous laugh sounded just beyond the door. Half laughing, she tugged him farther along the hallway to an alcove half-filled with boxes, tucked away from any passersby. It was no more than a nook—but it was dark, and more important, it was private.

  She stood on her toes, rubbing her pelvis against his, and she kissed him.

  She could feel his cock already straining against the fabric of his pants, prodding her like a length of hard, hot steel. A nice length, she thought with approval. She went immediately wet. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her flush against him, caressing her. His mouth opened, forcing hers to follow suit. They kissed, tasting and testing, his tongue moving forward. She tangled hers with his, stroking it as her nipples went hard, the diamonds of her bra scratching against his shirt.

  “I want you,” she breathed.

  “You are so sexy,” he murmured back, against her lips. He moved, pressing hot, nipping kisses along her neck, causing her to gasp and shiver against him, one leg moving to caress his leg, her knee hooking on his hip. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  She whimpered when one hand smoothed down her stomach…then reached between her legs, pressing where she most needed pressure.

  “Scott,” she said, her head falling back.

  His hand froze at the juncture of her thighs. “What?”

  She had trouble focusing, but realized he was staring at her. “What?” she echoed, still drowning in sensation.

  “How do you know me?”

  She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to reason. She clutched his hand with her thighs, arching her back so her breasts pressed hard against his chest. He groaned involuntarily, his fingers moving to push her rock-hard clit. She wanted to cry with pleasure. She wanted to strip down, get him inside her.

  He moved his hand away, slowly, reluctantly. “How do you know me?” he asked again, more insistently.

  She sighed. Then, reaching up, she took off the Bettie Page wig and hair stocking, letting her blond hair fall down.

  He stared at her for a long moment, and she felt the buzz start to subside as that feeling of foolishness, of being an impostor, came back.

  “Amanda?”

  She nodded, tilting her chin up defiantly.

  His eyes smoldered. Then he leaned in, kissing her with even more intensity.

  She cried out against his mouth as he crushed her against the wall. Her legs parted, making room for him. He reached down, lifting both legs up, guiding them around his waist as his hips started to rock, slowly and intently, against her core.

  He cupped her breasts, massaging them gently, fanning the flames of her already incandescent need. She twisted, slow and deliberate, against his erection.

  “I want you now,” she said, biting his earlobe. “I want to feel you.”

  He shuddered against her. “Baby,” he said, and his thumbs dipped below the bra, dragging over her rock-hard nipples and making her gasp raggedly. “I am so hard for you.”

  She was on fire. She was going to die. She clawed at his shoulders. “Take my pants off.”

  He paused. “What?”

  “My pants,” she rasped. “Take them off.”

  He released her. She put her platform heels on the floor, and he reached for the snap on her pants. He paused again.

  “Do you have a condom?”

  She didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t care.

  Be reasonable.

  She shook her head.

  He put his forehead gently against hers, and for a second, all they could hear was the muted thudding of the music from the club, and the scratchy, uneven sound of their breathing. He kissed her again, long and hard.

  And released the closure on her pants.

  “I’ve got condoms at my apartment,” she said. “Or…there’s got to be a convenience store somewhere…”

  He stroked her breasts, her hips, kissing her shoulders, her neck, her jawline. “Okay. Let’s—”

  The door at the end of the hallway opened. “Yo! Scott! Pledge Scott, you here? Because if your ass isn’t up in the VIP room in about two minutes, your ass is out of the Club!”

  The door shut with a slam.

  She glanced at him, curiously.

  “I…”

  She smiled, putting a finger to his lips…wiping off the lipstick that had smeared around that gorgeous mouth of his. “Shh. It’s all right.”

  “I hurt, I want you so badly,” he said.

  It made her shudder and moan softly.

  “My window,” she said.

  He frowned.

  “You know where to find me,” she whispered, then turned and walked away on shaky legs.

  4

  “NICE OF YOU TO JOIN US,” Lincoln drawled.

  Scott quickly sat where Lincoln told him to, in front of the crowd of guys. The dancers had left, he noticed…and thinking of the dancers immediately made him think of Amanda.

  Amanda, the neighbor.

  Amanda, the dancer. The striptease artist.

  The girl who had offered him a slice of pie, and then quite a bit more.

  Girl next door, my ass!

  Scott shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Considering he’d already been “hazed” with skydiving, he wasn’t quite sure what they were expecting him to do next. Walk over fire?

  “We always start easy,” Lincoln said.
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  “Gawd,” George heckled from the bar. “The questions? Really?”

  Lincoln silenced him with a cold stare. The rest of the rowdy crowd quieted.

  When Lincoln talks, people listen. What was George doing with this crew, anyway?

  “Easy,” Lincoln repeated, this time with more of an edge. “Just getting to know you. What do you do for a living, Scott?”

  “I’m an analyst,” he said. “I crunch numbers. Forecast. Stuff like that.” Boring stuff like that, he amended mentally.

  “Ah-ah-ah-nerd!” George pretended to sneeze, causing a few drunken guffaws from the guys surrounding him.

  Lincoln looked at the ceiling, as if praying for patience. “Let’s pose a hypothetical,” he said, ignoring George. “You have, say, a month left to live. What would you wish you’d done? What would you regret not doing?”

  Scott blinked. “I don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it, I guess.”

  “Well, don’t think about it too much,” Lincoln said. “Just spit out the first three things that come to mind.”

  Scott frowned. “Sort of a bucket list thing?”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  “All right.” Scott took a deep breath. “I’ve always wanted to do one of those spirit quest things. You know, where you go out to the desert by yourself and just be with nature.”

  He’d barely finished the sentence before George blew a loud raspberry. “Lame!”

  “Damn it, George,” Lincoln snarled, turning to the guy and advancing on him. George actually retreated a little. “Be quiet, or wait outside.”

  “You can’t kick me out,” George said, but he looked quickly at his posse, taking courage from their numbers.

  “Try me.” Lincoln’s voice was low, and his hands were bunched in fists.

  George quieted, even as several of his friends glared at Lincoln.

  “Sorry, where were we?” Lincoln said. “What else would you do, Scott?”

  Scott swallowed hard. George was a jerk, but he had to admit—this was The Player’s Club, not the Self-realization Fellowship. He needed to impress them.

  What would a Player want to do? He racked his brain, thinking of the shady rumors he’d read about them. They liked playing pranks. He sucked at pranks. They went on large-scale adventures.

  They partied like rock stars…

  “I’d, uh, want to crash a huge party,” he said. “Like, something epic.”

  He could’ve sworn Lincoln looked disappointed. The frat boy contingent at the bar, however, hooted with approval.

  “Anything else?” Lincoln said.

  He took a deep breath. What was he missing?

  He closed his eyes, trying to think of what he’d do, if he really knew he was dying. If he wanted to have one last, memorable adventure.

  What would a nonboring person want to do?

  “I’d…I’d run with the bulls. In Pamplona.”

  Lincoln seemed solemn. Then, slowly, he smiled.

  The rest of the room started murmuring and chuckling, punching each other on the shoulder.

  “Do I need to add anything more?” Scott asked, his mind still racing for alternatives.

  “No, that ought to do it,” Lincoln said. “All right. He’s got his three.”

  Scott squinted at him. “What do you mean, my three?”

  “In the next month,” Lincoln said, smiling, “you need to do a vision quest in the Mojave, crash a really epic party and run with the bulls in Pamplona.”

  “Lucky thing it’s in July,” Finn noted. “Good choice, by the way. We haven’t been there in, what, two years?”

  “At least,” Lincoln agreed.

  “How am I supposed to do that?” Scott gaped.

  “Don’t worry,” Finn said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll help. Part of being a Player is helping the pledges. Especially when they’ve got cool challenges.”

  “Yeah, nobody wanted to help me when I said I’d write a novel,” another guy grumbled.

  “You guys are like old ladies,” George said with a swagger. “Me ’n’ the boys are gonna go find some after-hours fun, since you kicked the strippers out.”

  “Fine,” Lincoln said without looking at him.

  “Hey, cuz?” George nudged Finn hard. “Tell your boyfriend not to be so damned touchy.”

  With another raucous burst of laughter, George and about six of the guys left.

  Lincoln sighed. “Finn…”

  “I know,” Finn said. “He doesn’t mean it.”

  “He printed up business cards.” Lincoln grimaced. “I know he’s your cousin, but…”

  “I’ll talk to him.” With that, Finn trotted out.

  “What’s up with them?”

  “Finn and I started this club,” Lincoln said, shrugging. “It’s a long story but, basically, we brought George on kind of early. Let’s just say he has a different vision for the club.”

  “Tappa Kegga Beer meets Bachelor Party?” Scott observed.

  “Exactly. Anyway, it’s important that you don’t tell anyone,” Lincoln said. “They’ll kick you out for less. And I hate to say, but some of the club can be sort of vindictive if they think you’ve used the Club as a way to impress people.”

  “Unless you’re one of George’s crew,” Tucker said.

  “Not a problem.” Scott didn’t want to be part of George’s crew.

  “And you need to complete the challenges in the time frame,” Lincoln finished.

  “I know somebody who runs Vision Quests,” a short guy with a pencil-thin mustache said. “Give me your email, I’ll shoot you his website.”

  “Great.”

  “And you’re going to have a list of people who want to go to Pamplona,” Lincoln said, grinning. “I’ll be there, myself.”

  “What about the party?”

  Lincoln eyed the remaining Players. They laughed.

  “Think you’re on your own with that one,” Lincoln said. “If you wanted to BASE jump from the Hoover Dam, we know people. Crashing a party isn’t really my bag.”

  Tucker ran his tongue around his teeth. “Maybe George has some suggestions.”

  “I’ll manage,” Scott said quickly, causing more laughter.

  “All right. Next meeting’s in a week, same time, same place. And again,” Lincoln said sharply. “Don’t. Tell. Anyone.”

  Scott headed back out to his car, cold, tired and a little blown away. He had one month to go camping out in the Mojave. Crash an epic party. And run with the bulls in Pamplona.

  After his skydiving jaunt last weekend.

  His life had suddenly gotten exponentially more interesting. Who’s the nice guy now, Kayla?

  He glanced at his watch. Three in the morning, and he still had a ways to get home. He yawned. He could really use some sleep.

  Then, as he climbed into his Chevy, he remembered.

  Amanda was at home. Waiting for him. Window open.

  He had another adventure waiting. Wide-awake, he hit the gas and screeched out of the parking lot.

  AT THREE-FORTY, AMANDA finally fell into a fitful, restless sleep. It had taken about an hour to finally calm down. The mental images of what she’d done buzzed around in her head, surreal, like remembering a vivid dream.

  She’d stalked a neighbor to a seedy club in the industrial district.

  Sneaked in with a lie.

  Danced half-naked in a cage.

  Practically had sex in an out-of-the-way corner…

  She shivered. She wasn’t sure if she was shocked, appalled…or thrilled.

  Tossing one way then the other, she imagined that the bed dipped slightly. A man’s weight. She tensed in reflex.

  Then sighed.

  Breathing deeply, she smelled Scott’s scent—a light mix of sandalwood-inspired cologne and a clean, masculine aroma that she imagined she could become addicted to. She curled, imagining his warmth at her back…the heavy, probing feel of his cock, smoothing against her back legs. She moaned softly, yearn
ing.

  His hands roamed over her hips as he nibbled on the back of her neck. By the time he’d sucked a hot kiss where her neck met her collarbone, his hands had finally discovered her breasts, kneading them gently.

  Her moan was more insistent. Her body throbbed with desire.

  I’m not dreaming.

  She rolled over, her eyes picking out his outline in the dim moonlight. He was staring at her. Then he leaned in, kissing her slowly, tempting her lips, teasing out her tongue to tangle with his.

  “Scott,” she breathed, and fit her naked body to his.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” he said against her mouth, his hips rocking against hers.

  “You’re here now.” Which she could barely believe.

  “You left the window open.” He sounded surprised, pleased. Hungry. He reached between them, his fingertips stroking down her stomach before reaching lower. He’d find her wet, she thought. She was slick for him, eager. She parted her thighs as he shuddered.

  “I wanted to do this the first time I saw you,” he said, and she laughed.

  “When I was threatening you with a golf club?”

  His chuckle against her skin was like silk, and he leaned lower, kisses circling her aching, sensitive nipples. He drew one into his mouth, swirling around it with his tongue, and she gasped, arching her back involuntarily, filling his mouth with her. Each pulling suck made the wet heat between her legs pulse, and she rubbed her thighs together, whimpering. She felt the bead of wetness at the head of his cock, tracing against her thigh, and she tried to angle him closer to where she really needed him.

  He pulled away, breathless. “I wanted you,” he repeated, and his eyes looked almost mystical in their intensity, “ever since I saw you in the moonlight.”

  “Scott,” she echoed, and kissed him hard.

  He pulled away long enough to grab a foil packet, and she watched as he rolled on the condom with hands that shook. She knew how he felt. It was still unreal—still dreamlike. But at the same time, she couldn’t think. She could only feel.

  And she felt as if she was on fire.

  When he covered her body with his, she parted her thighs, almost crying with gratitude when she felt the broad tip of his cock pressing into her. Her hand reached down to guide him. Slowly, he stroked along her passage, dueling with her now erect clit.