by Cari Quinn
Drew placed their order before taking a long swig of his beer. “Pretty sure it’s you getting them wet in the panties. You seen the looks you’ve been getting, my friend?”
“Honestly?” Sawyer averted his gaze from Blonde Number Two as she sashayed toward him and Drew again. The club had a catwalk down the middle of the seating area, and naturally Drew had commanded prime seats. “No.”
“You’re oblivious. Thank you, baby,” Drew said to Pauline, the waitress, after flashing her a big smile. She leaned down to whisper something in his ear—and lick it, if Sawyer wasn’t mistaken—before she sauntered away.
“Here you go, man,” Drew said, sliding a bottle of Rolling Rock across the table, his gaze already firmly on Blonde Number Two as she pursed her lips and shook her ass.
“Are you fucking her?” Sawyer asked, unable to keep the awe out of his voice.
Drew never looked away from the stage. “Who?”
“The waitress. That stripper. About half the women in this club.”
Drew chuckled and uncapped his second beer. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”
“Right now? A lucky one.”
“Please. Types like you are secretly disgusted by my kind.” Drew grinned. “Sometimes not so secretly.”
Sawyer gripped his beer. How many damn times was he going to hear what a sucker he was? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re a good guy, Sawyer.” Drew clapped a hand on his back. “So, what’s the deal? You with someone?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Why do you reply to everything with a question?”
Sawyer shook his head and laughed. “Sorry. Guess I’m touchy lately.”
“See previous question.”
“No. I’m very single.” Sawyer swallowed the last of his beer. “Technically.”
“Ah, there we go.”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s the situation?”
“No situation. It’s just a temporary thing.”
“Yeah?” Drew leaned forward and slipped some money—tens and twenties, from what Sawyer could see—into Blonde Number One’s G-string. She gave him a grateful smile, then bent to shake her bare tits in Drew’s face.
“Thank you, honey,” she purred before stepping back.
“No, thank you.” Drew waited until she’d crossed the stage to murmur to Sawyer, “What that mouth can do to a dick…”
Sawyer coughed, violently.
Drew only laughed. “So why’s it temporary?”
The guy switched gears as easily as an Italian sports car. “It just is.” What the hell. “She’s married,” he added, enjoying Drew’s momentary surprise.
“Married? You? Paint me green and call me impressed.”
It felt good to laugh. This guy was truly something else. “She’s not exactly married. But close enough.”
“Really.” He drew out the word. “Nice. All the sex, none of the strings.”
“Too bad I’m not just in it for that.”
“No?” Drew sounded genuinely pained on his behalf. “That sucks.”
“Tell me about it.”
Cheers erupted around the stage. A new trio of strippers emerged, and this group had two brunettes and a redhead. Flaming red hair that swirled down the woman’s back in fat sausage curls. Not delicate, wispy curls like Layla’s.
Sawyer gulped more beer and winced at the high-pitched whistles erupting around him. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this shit. Though the noise factor eliminated any need for conversation with Drew, so it wasn’t all bad.
At the next lull in the action, Drew turned to him again. A smile stretched across his insolent mouth. If a prototypical bad boy existed, Sawyer was pretty sure the guy sitting next to him would qualify. “So how serious is it with the not-quite-married babe?”
Back to that again. “For me, serious. For her?” Sawyer shrugged and kept his gaze on the currently empty stage. “She’s still engaged, so I guess that tells you.”
“Doesn’t tell me much. Lots of people get married for shit reasons. Just as many stay that way.”
“Not where I’m from,” Sawyer muttered, rotating his beer between his palms.
“Where’s that? A Norman Rockwell painting?”
“Nebraska.”
“Ah. Oh hey, isn’t—” Drew stopped, his brows drawing together. “Oh. Shit.”
Sawyer started to deny the parallel Drew had drawn; then he banked the urge. He hadn’t said anything he shouldn’t, and this wasn’t his secret to hide. There was no ring on his finger. Besides, someone like Drew would understand.
God, he needed someone to understand. To not think he’d made a huge mistake, one he’d probably keep making if only given the chance.
Drew sat back and kicked out his long legs. “Tough spot to be in. Don’t envy you, my friend.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Sawyer rolled his shoulders, certain the ache in them was more due to the chaos in his head than his Skyline shoot that afternoon. He needed a massage. And not by one of the special masseuses in the brochure he’d browsed through at Layla’s. No doctors, even fake ones. No propositions to be said doctor’s relief sex pitcher when he felt like abandoning home plate. “Christ.” He dug his fingers into his gritty eyes and realized something with startling clarity.
More than a massage, he needed to get piss-faced drunk.
“You know what you could use?”
“Is it legal?” Sawyer asked, eyeing Drew’s hand as it disappeared into his back pocket.
Drew chuckled. “Not into that crap anymore, man. It’ll kill you. I’m as clean as a freshly washed thong.” A smirk touched his mouth when he slapped his wallet down on the table. A wallet, Sawyer noted, that bulged with Jacksons. “I meant alcohol. Lots of it. My treat.”
“Are you a mind reader?”
“On occasion. But I’m a man twenty-four/seven, and you look like you’re sorely in need of getting wasted. And I’ll join you, because I can.” He motioned to their new best friend, Pauline. “Darlin’, we want another round. Keep them coming.”
She nodded and bent to whisper into Drew’s ear again. They parted laughing.
“Think you can give me some tips?” Sawyer questioned once they were alone again.
“For what?” Drew braced his arms on either side of his beer bottle and spoke out of one side of his mouth. “If you’re wondering how best to devour the pink, I always start from the inside and fan out. By the time you complete the circuit, they’re dying for your tongue again.”
More coughing. “Jesus, I had no clue what you meant for a minute.”
“I try to keep it clean in mixed company.”
“Yeah, okay, sure. I believe that.” Sawyer watched while Pauline offloaded another round of beers, though he’d yet to dig into his second. Time to remedy that right now.
Prying off the cap, he took a healthy draught and let the warmth of the alcohol seep through his system. Since he so rarely drank under normal circumstances, it took pathetically little to get him buzzing. Tonight, that would be his saving grace.
“Going down on a woman is one of man’s greatest gifts in life.” Drew tossed a grin over his shoulder when a guy at the next table shouted his hearty agreement. “You need to respect the pussy. If it weeps, you know you’ve done your job.”
Even if Sawyer had wanted to be miserable, it just wasn’t possible around Drew. He grinned. “Think I’m good.”
“Sure? Most guys could use help in that area. Well, except me.” Drew saluted the table behind them. “Trust me, I know of what I speak. Never let a lady down yet.”
Suddenly, Sawyer remembered his and Layla’s DVD viewing, and his grin broadened. “So I’ve seen.”
Instead of looking ashamed, Drew’s brows winged up in obvious interest. Well, once he’d dragged his focus from the brunette stripper. “Yeah?”
Sawyer shook his head, feeling like a chump, when the redhead crawled across the stage toward him, obviously looking fo
r some extra in her G-string. She pouted at him and shook her memorable assets about three inches from his face until he relented and shoved a wad of money into her panties. Her skin burned against his fingers, and he yanked them back, his face burning to match when she sashayed away.
Drew smiled like a proud papa. “First time at a strip club?”
“Does it show?”
“A little. You need to find your swagger.”
Sawyer snorted. “Not sure I have any.”
“You’re banging a hot-as-fuck chick, you have swagger.” When Sawyer started to object, Drew held up a hand. “That’s a compliment, and there’s no need to bullshit each other. We can tell it straight. You can trust me.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“In this business, you’ll hear it a lot more before you’re through. But some of us aren’t liars. I’m a lot of things. Not that.” Drew finished off one beer and immediately lit into another. His gusto might’ve been disturbing if they hadn’t cabbed it to the club. “So what’s this about you being privy to my oral skills? Do tell.”
“I saw some of your work.”
Drew’s eyes brightened as if Sawyer had just presented him with a fat check. “Yeah? Which one?”
“I don’t know the name. It was in a pool hall. Stacked blonde, beefy guy.”
Drew smirked around the mouth of his beer. That seemed to be his standard expression. Except when he was making sex eyes at any hot woman who wandered past. “They’re all stacked. That was one of my early movies. You thinking of going that route?”
“No goddamned way. Absolutely fucking not.” Sawyer grimaced, belatedly realizing he was being kind of…well, dickish considering Drew’s former profession. Assuming it really was former. “I mean, it’s cool, and it works for some people, but it’s not my thing. I don’t think I’m really built for it.”
“I beg to differ. At least what I can see. And Layla obviously has no complaints when it comes to you either. I mean professionally,” Drew added slyly.
He wasn’t going to blush. That was so last week’s Sawyer. This week, he was a potentially nude model with swagger. Or its nearest statistical equivalent. “Can you not mention her name?”
“You’d rather I talk about your penis?”
“I’d rather you leave both off the table, if it’s all the same to you.”
Drew toasted him with his beer. “Talking’s overrated. Let’s drink.”
They clinked bottles. “Damn straight. Cheers.”
* * * *
Layla pulled her cotton throw over her legs and relaxed against the arm of the sofa. Aidan had called to say he’d be home late, which wasn’t anything unusual. His suggestion she should “feel free to invite a friend over” might not’ve been, either, had he not been aware that she hadn’t made any friends she felt comfortable inviting over late in the evening. Other than Sawyer.
Which was probably the point.
Not that she was going to take him up on that offer. This was a train to madness, and she had to get off somewhere. She liked Sawyer a lot, and under different circumstances, they could’ve been good friends. Or more. But circumstances weren’t different, and she didn’t intend to sleep with him again unless Aidan was present.
The three of them interacting was one thing. But sneaking off together was wrong. Sanctioned by Aidan or not. Maybe open relationships worked for some. She wasn’t one of them. She’d agreed to be Aidan’s wife, and unless she wanted to break her engagement, she needed to find a way to move past her interest in Sawyer.
She bit her lower lip and studied her cell. But calling him, just to talk, when the DVD she’d rented didn’t work and there was nothing on TV…that didn’t count as breaking her new personal vow.
Yeah, awesome rationalization, Palmer.
Before she could change her mind, she called.
“’Elo?”
“Sawyer?” It sounded like he was in the center of a drunken carnival. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, whaddya want?”
Okay, that was him. “Where are you?”
“Club. Whaddya want?” he repeated as if she hadn’t heard him the first time.
She frowned. Her hearing was just fine, as she was alone in a quiet living room. He was partying it up at some club, as was completely his right to do. She had no right to even question him. “Which one?”
“Bare Nekkid.”
“The strip club?” She couldn’t hide her shock. Sweet Sawyer was playing G-string grab at a place with fully nude dancers? Though obviously he wasn’t that sweet. But still. “Why are you there?” she asked before slapping herself in the forehead.
Dumbass. He was there to ogle bare breasts. And other bare things.
God.
“Drinking. Watching. Laughing. Whatever. I’m busy, Layla.”
Heat prickled along her spine. She deserved this. Every damn bit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”
“No. You shouldn’t have. In fact, you need to stop calling me. Stop lookin’ at me like you love me.” The shock that he’d used the word love rolled through her in a syrupy wave. She couldn’t love him, with her eyes or otherwise. “Stop makin’ this harder on us both.”
She let her head drop back to the couch. How could she argue with the truth? “Okay. Good night.” She clicked off and reached for the remote, her hand going still when her cell rang again.
Sawyer.
“Yeah, hang up on me,” he said, tone gruff. “Figures.”
It sounded marginally quieter now, as if he’d gone off into a corner. “I didn’t hang up on you. But you’re right. I need to stop this. It’s not fair to you or to Aidan.” Or to me.
“Oh yeah, worry about him.” He laughed harshly. “The guy who was willing to ship you off to me like you were a spare quart of milk. And you know what? I almost took him up on the offer. Because I want you that much. Part of me, the part I hate, doesn’t care how I get you.”
Thoughts pinged through her stressed-out brain like the spotlights that were doubtlessly swerving all over the club. What the hell did he mean, Aidan had tried to ship her off? Was he referring to inviting Sawyer into their bed? Or was there more to it?
“Are you drunk?” she demanded. A rhetorical question if she’d ever asked one, judging from his slurred voice.
“So what if I am? It’s not your concern. I’m not your concern.”
“That’s not true.” At his scoff, she sucked in a breath. “You know I care about you, Sawyer. Isn’t that the problem?”
“Yeah, always a problem when you’ve feelings for someone you’re fucking.”
“We’re not fucking now.”
“Is that an invitation?”
She rolled her eyes. “As drunk as you are, you probably couldn’t even get it up.”
“Wanna bet?” he asked softly. “Wanna bet I’m not hard for you right now, just hearing your voice?”
The shiver that went through her robbed her of her ability to speak for a long, fragmented moment. “You’re not driving home, are you?”
“No. We’re getting a cab.”
Relief shot through her that he wasn’t driving, right before the realization he wasn’t alone brought her back to earth. He’d gone out with friends. Or maybe he’d met someone. “I can pick you up if you need a ride.”
“Doctor Anal Retentive asleep or something?”
She laughed, unable to help herself. “No. He’s working.”
“Ah.” Bitterness filled the word. “Of course.”
“I’m not propositioning you. Really,” she said when he snorted, proving his state of intoxication. Sawyer just didn’t seem like a snorter under normal circumstances. “I’m offering as a friend. I’ll just drop you off. That’s all.”
“Will you tuck me in too? Warm me up some milk? Make sure my tootsies are snug under the covers?”
“Your ‘tootsies’ are on their own. I’ll be there shortly.”
“I dunno if we’re ready to go.”
H
e sounded ready. Truthfully, he sounded about five minutes from snoozing against the wall. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Make up your mind before I get there.”
This time when she hung up, he didn’t call back.
She pulled into the alley next to Bare Nekkid half an hour later. Neon pink and blue lights washed over her windshield, and she winced at the sound of high-pitched female laughter drifting in through her cracked window.
Sawyer and his companions, whoever they were, should’ve had enough time to decide if they wanted to stay or not. Hell, maybe they’d already checked into Motel Sixty-Nine.
Right then, two men stumbled into the mouth of the alley. She squinted at their tangled mops of hair—one gold, one dark—tinged with the Day-Glo colors of the club’s lights, and let out a wobbly breath. One of the guys was Sawyer.
She wrenched open her door and shot out of her seat, coming to a halt as her gaze connected with the man holding him up.
Shit. Double shit.
“Well, ‘ahlo there, Layla.” Drew grinned and gave Sawyer a light shove toward her. “Fancy seeing you round these parts.”
His grin became a leer as he glanced between her and Sawyer, who’d yet to so much as look her way. He stared sullenly off into the distance, his sulky mouth wearing a pout she couldn’t help wanting to kiss. Even though he was surly. Even though his posture screamed do not touch. Even though he smelled like beer and had what looked like scratches on his cheek.
“I just—I wanted to make sure you guys got home safe,” she mumbled, knowing it was the lamest save in the history of lame saves.
“Nah. Pretty sure his goods are the only ones you wanna protect.”
Layla frowned. No point in asking what Sawyer had told him, since it could be anything. Her only hope was that one or both of them didn’t remember it in the morning. “Who scratched him?”
“Pissed-off chick,” Drew answered when it became clear Sawyer wouldn’t. “Wasn’t his fault. He got in the middle to try to break it up. He’s not a groper.”
“Good to know.” She risked life and limb and lifted her hand to Sawyer’s cheek. He flinched as if she’d poured alcohol directly into his wounds. “Get in the car. I’ll drive you guys home.”