The Men of Laguna

by Kim Karr

  “Pussy,” he mutters.

  “Shaming me isn’t going to work. You’ve met Cam, and you know he’d kick my ass if I let his little sister go back to my house alone in the rain.”

  Amelia makes a small noise of disgust. I don’t dare look at her.

  “Then bring her along.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Sure you can. In fact, Gigi will be much cooler with this whole thing if she finds out some chick came along to keep Chase in line.”

  “I’ll go,” Amelia says, “as long as it’s cool with Chase.”

  “He won’t mind,” Rick says.

  My neck flips back and forth between the two of them. “Are you sure?” Amelia asks.

  Rick is overeager and I’m biting back the urge to punch him. “Yes. Absolutely. Chase is not planning to do anything. Trust me. He’s way too in love with Gigi to risk anything. He’s only going along with this for us guys.”

  I blink at Amelia. “I’m not taking you to a strip club.”

  “Why not?” she pouts. “It’s not like I haven’t seen tits and ass before. And besides, I’ve been inside a strip club more than once.”

  I narrow my eyes at her.

  “I have.”

  Rick starts walking backward, giving us some privacy. “That’s enough, Amelia,” I say through gritted teeth.

  A set of headlights pulls up the circular driveway, and she leans close and whispers into my ear where and why she’s been to a strip club.

  Our car pulls up and the guy rolls his window down. “You Brooklyn James?”

  “Yeah, just a sec,” I tell him, raising a finger and looking at her. Is she playing me? I have no fucking idea. Either way, I give Rick a slight wave of my hand. “Have fun, buddy. I’ll catch you all the next time.”

  Rick is still walking backward. “P-uu-ss-yy,” he calls.

  I shake my head. “Fuck you, dude.”

  “I’m going with you,” Amelia calls to Rick.

  Rick motions to her. “Come on, sweetheart, the cars are waiting.”

  My eyes dart to Amelia. “Get in this car. We’re going home.”

  Before I can blink, she’s striding toward Rick. “You can go home; I’m going to the strip club.”

  I want to scream so loud right now, but instead I reach in my pocket and hand the driver a twenty through the open window. “Looks like we got another ride,” I tell him, “but thanks anyway.”

  Hustling, I catch up with Amelia and grab her arm, yanking her toward me. “What the hell are you doing?”

  For an endless moment, our eyes lock. Her gray ones more like glittering, shimmering pools of something that looks an awful like trouble. Mine so full of confusion, torn between right and wrong, I find myself having to step back.

  Finally, she answers me. “What does it look like I’m doing? Going along so you don’t miss out.”

  “I won’t be missing out on anything. Now, let’s go catch another ride.”

  “No. Not going to work. I’m still going with Rick.”

  “Shit,” I swear under my breath.

  “It will be fun,” she says, walking faster to catch up with Rick, and then she turns around and adds, “I promise.”

  I’ve heard that before.

  14

  Moulin Rouge

  Amelia

  The kind of girl a guy is looking for in a strip club is their unicorn.

  I get that.

  She doesn’t exist in real life. Actually, she doesn’t exist in the club once the lights are turned on, either.

  It’s all an illusion of sexiness.

  A fantasy.

  I know this because like I had told Brooklyn at The Cliff, I’ve been in a strip club more than once looking for my brother Brandon. Whenever he didn’t show up to family functions because he couldn’t handle the stress he felt in the presence of our father, I knew he would be at Sapphire.

  One day in the very early hours of the morning of a very long night, he had confessed this to me.

  I never told Cam I knew where he was. I would simply say I was going looking for Brandon, and in turn, Cam would go looking, too.

  It was wrong to allow him to waste his time, but Cam would never let me set foot in there, and I knew Brandon would be more likely to come home with me than with Cam.

  Brandon never wanted Cam to see him any way but as a real Waters, a credit to the family.

  I not only knew this, I understood it.

  Understood him.

  For the first time in a long time, when I think of Brandon, I don’t feel any lingering sadness. Any lingering guilt. Any lingering anything.

  Maybe it’s being out of the city.

  Maybe it’s time passing.

  Maybe it’s my situation.

  Or maybe it’s the feeling that I’m free of something I didn’t even know was shackling me—that unwanted tie to my father. Whatever the reason, I’m holding onto this feeling, and doing my best to not let the past bring me down.

  The car pulls up to the strip club, and I blink away the memories. Brooklyn is sitting next to me, so close that our thighs are touching, and for once he hasn’t moved away.

  Feeling the strangest flutter of excitement, I lean forward to look through the front window at the building. It is huge and there doesn’t appear to be anything else around us. This place is pretty much in the middle of nowhere.

  When I sit back, I look over at Brooklyn, who is strumming his fingers nervously on his pants. “Relax, will you?”

  He shakes his head. “Your brother is going to fucking kill me.”

  I lean a little closer and kiss his cheek. “Then we won’t tell my brother.”

  His intake of breath can’t be denied. “That’s probably not the best idea either,” he mumbles.

  Struck by just how worried he is, I reconsider my earlier decision. “I’ll do whatever you want,” I whisper, hating that his night will be ruined because he’s worried about his friendship with my brother. “Do you want me to go home? I will.”

  Again, he shakes his head no.

  “Do you want to have the driver take us both home? That’s fine too—whatever you want.”

  This time he gives me no response.

  For me, at least, in the darkness, everything seems so much easier, simpler. I shouldn’t have put him in this situation. I should have known better.

  There’s a weighted silence between us. As the other guys talk shit, Brooklyn really seems to contemplate the situation I’ve put him in.

  Then, when the door opens, and he steps out and he holds out his hand for me to join him, I know he’s decided that we will both stay.

  Still, I don’t move right away.

  “Come on, it will be fun,” he prompts with a rueful laugh, and I know he’s mocking me, but I don’t care, and feeling free, I finally step out.

  Following me, the other guys get out of the car we all drove in, but the car with Chase has yet to arrive. There is no rain here, just a dampness left clinging to the air. Together we huddle under one of the streetlights near the entrance walkway to wait.

  I listen to Rick, who is the loudest, as he spouts off about how he likes coming here but prefers full nudity. He goes on to say he doesn’t understand why strip clubs with full nudity don’t allow alcohol.

  Seriously, now, that isn’t too hard to figure out. If the men get carried away, the amount of bouncer coverage needed would be too expensive.

  Unimpressed with the others’ responses, I tune the conversation out. Brooklyn isn’t talking; instead he’s looking at me. The weight of his gaze so heavy, I have to turn away.

  Taking a closer look at the building, I have to say it looks an awful lot like the Roman Coliseum. The bricks look old. There are columns to support an archway at the entrance. Statues of life-size lions are on either side of it, and benches, too, for sitting.

  Snap.

  Click.

  In my head, I take a photo to remember it by since I don’t have my camera with me. I could
use my phone camera, but I’m not sure the guys would think that is cool. In fact, I know they wouldn’t.

  Headlights sweep the space in which we are standing and Chase’s car pulls up. Once the four men get out, it is clear that unlike the men in our car, this group drank the entire trip here.

  The men are swaying and laughing, and I begin to wonder if I made a mistake thinking it was okay that I come here. Somehow, being part of a big group of carousing guys watching topless girls in thongs dance seems very different from me tagging along so Brooklyn wouldn’t miss this outing with his friends.

  “Come on, let’s go inside!” Rick shouts.

  Everyone follows, Brooklyn close to my side. I’m unsure if I imagine his hand on the small of my back and don’t want to look behind in case I’m wrong, or maybe in case I’m right.

  Suddenly, my stomach starts jumping nervously, and I stumble a bit when the door opens, caught off guard more than anything.

  Music and light spills out, along with a bunch of rowdy guys holding one of their buddies up as they walk toward the parking lot.

  “That’s going to be you, Chase, my man,” Rick croons, pointing to the guy with his head down and drool on his chin.

  “You okay?” Brooklyn’s warm breath is in my ear, and I’m now certain his hand is on my back, almost possessively.

  A thrill runs through me.

  Looks like I’m out of the friend zone.

  Just as we cross the threshold from outside to inside, feeling nervous, I glance up to see his blue eyes peering at me, and I instantly feel a little better with him by my side. “Yes, sure.”

  “Welcome to The Venetian Gentlemen’s Club,” says a rather gruff voice from behind the counter. The voice belongs to a buff man with a goatee wearing a black shirt and a red-striped tie.

  The heavy thumping bass is enough to pound the pulse in my wrists and throat. The song “Birthday Cake” is playing.

  From the song to the lighting to the antechamber-like entrance, the air is nothing short of provocative.

  Rick leans over the counter and talks to the host or bouncer, or whatever he is. All I can hear are the words private hostesses among a mouthful of others. The guy nods, smiles, takes whatever money Rick slips his way, and then talks into the microphone around his ear.

  Our party consists of eight guys and me. Clearly the man behind the counter is not surprised to see me, as he doesn’t hesitate one bit when stamping my hand with the word Elite and slipping me a small packet, about the size of a condom foil pack, marked Stamp Remover.

  Ahhh…for those who don’t want anyone to know where they have been.

  The host hands Rick stacks of dollar bills, and Rick hands them out, giving me a wink when he places a stack in my hands.

  Admittedly, my reluctance has returned; still, there is no backing out. Within seconds, we are moving through the antechamber and into the club, where everyone looks around, including me.

  Sapphire was much more elegant. More upscale, I’d say. They had a champagne lounge and everything was blue, except the floors, which were brown and white and art deco in style. This place is no dive, just not as nicely decorated or laid out, and much more crowded.

  Flashing lasers bisect the different stages in purples, pinks, greens, and blues. There are two floors with an elevator. The main floor has a large stage in the center with VIP rooms surrounding it—for private dances, would be my guess. There is also a full bar, and smaller stages are scattered here and there, with large, comfortable leather sofas just beyond them for viewing. I heard the guys talking on the ride over that the Elite VIP rooms are on the top floor.

  At Sapphire, I know for a fact, the Elite packages cost a minimum of $150,000, and included an overnight suite and transportation from any location in the United States. What else was included, I never asked Brandon. I didn’t want to know. Anyway, I am not entirely certain Elite doesn’t mean something else here, but I’m certain I am about to find out soon.

  The main stage appears to be where all the action is. It is filled with poles set around the perimeter—how many I’m not sure, but there appear to be around a dozen. There are chairs positioned below each pole for the men to sit, and there are also three unoccupied, taller poles, clustered together in the middle of it all.

  Cages are also set around the room here and there. In them, practically nude girls are dancing, bending over, giving even more of a show than the girls at the poles, as they are wearing even less bottom coverage. However, there is no seating around the cages. The men are standing and slipping money in through the bars.

  I also notice that unlike at Sapphire, no pasties are worn here. Breasts are fully bared and come in all shapes and sizes.

  Mere seconds later, an exotic-looking girl with a completely sheer top and the biggest grapefruit-like breasts I’ve ever seen walks up to us. In addition to her see-through blouse, she is dressed in fishnets and is wearing short shorts. She has a bottle of chilled Grey Goose in each hand, and when she greets Rick, she lifts both bottles. Obviously knowing what to do, he tilts his head and opens his mouth wide. As she pours vodka down his throat, some splashes onto her top and her nipples peak into steel points.

  I’m not going to lie—I’m a little turned on. I’m not into women, but the whole sex vibe in here is already getting to me.

  Soon the greeting moves to the rest of us, and I assume the stripper is saving Chase for last on purpose.

  “Hi, hon,” she says to me, and immediately Brooklyn moves even closer, his hand on my back replaced by his front—his entire front. “I’m Venus. Are you two together?” she asks, glancing from me to him.

  Just as I am about to say no, he blurts out, “Yes.”

  This girl is my age, Brooklyn’s age, and drop-dead gorgeous, with the longest dark hair and deepest, reddest lips.

  Just as she did with the rest of the guys we are here with, she raises the bottles, but this time she aligns one over my mouth and one over Brooklyn’s very pretty mouth.

  His hand goes to my hip as he moves to the side.

  Electric.

  Sparks of energy swirl around us.

  Hot.

  Hungry.

  For a long moment, I can’t move—the possibilities of what might lie ahead somehow palpable, and I don’t mean between Venus and me, either.

  Venus flutters her eyelashes. “Ready, hon?”

  Snapping out of it, I tip my head and let the cool liquid hit the back of my throat. When I lower my chin, the room seems to spin a little, and not from the Goose. I think it might be because now Brooklyn moved even closer, leaving not even an inch of space between us. His hard body pressed almost snug against me that for a moment, I have the most absurd thought that we are two puzzle pieces come together.

  Venus doesn’t stick around like she did with the other men, but that might be because neither Brooklyn nor I are looking at her; we are looking at each other.

  He licks his lips.

  I lick mine.

  “You okay?” he breathes hot and heavy in my ear.

  The slight buzz of alcohol has me grinning over my shoulder at him. “Better than okay.”

  The blur of Chase being dragged away sparks my curiosity. Venus has him by the collar of his white shirt. It’s then I notice that he and all the guys except Brooklyn have ditched their ties and jackets.

  “She’s yours, buddy,” Rick shouts to Chase.

  Perplexed, I look at Brooklyn. “What does that mean?”

  He dips his chin. When he does, his constant five-o’clock shadow is so close to my ear that I can practically feel the delicious prickle of it. “With the Elite package, a girl is assigned to each party member. She was assigned to him.”

  Not a girl—a stripper. I swallow, not entirely certain what that means for me. I really don’t want my own girl.

  “We’re together,” he adds, as if reading my mind.

  I blink. “Oh.” And I don’t ask what that means either, because I’m not sure I want to know right now. T
he thought of another woman’s hands on him makes me see green. I should have thought this out more before jumping in headfirst.

  Clapping redirects my focus. Venus is climbing up on a small stage in the corner near the entrance, and in turn, we all follow. This stage isn’t like the others. It has a chair on it. Just a single chair, and the lights show off the dancer, making her and him the only attraction. Under the lights, I can see that Venus is athletic looking, and that her perfectly round breasts sit up high on her chest.

  She also has perfectly sized pink nipples, like so pink I’m pretty certain she must have some kind of makeup on them.

  As she points to the chair, the lights dim and she makes Chase sit before she turns toward us, putting her ass to his face. It’s not large and not small, just a perfect shape that looks great on her body.

  The music changes and it’s her cue to start moving. First thing she does is sit down on him. With her ass in his lap, she slowly presses it into his groin, and I gasp. Everyone has their eyes glued to the stage, and I turn to Brooklyn, who is also watching, and whisper, “What is going on? I’ve never seen something like this before.”

  His hot breath is in my ear. “Us guys have this tradition for the groom to get his first lap dance in front of everyone.”

  “Oh,” I say again, and try not to laugh. They obviously want to put the groom-to-be on the spot.

  I mean, come on, there is no way Chase can’t be getting hard. Especially when she slowly leans back with her shoulders into his chest and wraps her left arm around his neck. This gives him the perfect view of her supple breasts. And with each move, she is still pulsing her ass on his lap—on his cock, to be more exact.

  I swallow the noise my throat tries to make, and I’m frozen. Can’t move. They aren’t naked, but I swear it’s like watching two people have sex in the flesh, not on screen like one of Carter’s porn flicks, and definitely not two men.

  This is hot.

  Erotic.

  Provocative.

  I become hypnotized by what is taking place up onstage. If that makes me a pervert, so be it, but practically watching porn in the flesh is mesmerizing.

  The chorus changes and Venus stands up to turn around. Now she is facing Chase, and from our side view, I can see the sweet, subtle grin she gives him. Slowly she straddles his lap, one knee on each side of him.