“Nice wheels,” I remark, gesturing to the shiny silver car ahead of us.
“He leases it,” Hollis informs me. “He likes to act like a big shot, but he’s really not.”
“Gee,” Fitzy drawls from the driver’s seat. “Sound like anyone you know?”
That gets him a middle finger from our teammate. “Dude. I’m more of a big shot than your pansy ass. You didn’t even get laid on your birthday this week.”
“I wasn’t looking to get laid. Trust me, if I was, you wouldn’t have seen me at all that night.”
“We barely saw you, anyway! You went home early to play video games!”
“To demo the game I designed,” the other guy corrects. “I don’t see you doing anything productive with your time.”
“Actually using my dick is very productive, thank you very much.”
I hide a grin. It always boggles my mind how these two could be such close friends. Hollis is a loud-mouthed bro with only one thing on the brain—chicks—while Fitzy is serious and intense with only one thing on his brain—gaming. Or maybe two things, seeing as the guy loves getting tattooed. Somehow they make the friendship work, though it seems like it’s mostly through bickering and flipping each other off.
We pull into a gravel driveway and park in the spot next to Brody’s. His Audi doesn’t look out of place with the rest of the cars, but it doesn’t fit the bar, either. A neon sign over the nondescript building blazes with the words “Boots & Chutes,” which are positioned underneath a half-naked girl riding a bull.
Hollis gapes at the sign. “Seriously? A western-theme titty bar in Boston? This is gonna suck.” He looks like he wants to punch his brother.
“Aren’t you Miss Mary Sunshine.” Brody throws an arm around Hollis and waves for us to come forward. “You babies wanted pussy—well, here you are.”
“Is this what happens after you get out of college? You have to pay for pussy?” Hollis hangs his head. “I’m never leaving Briar, bro. Ever.”
I chuckle. “Hey, think of all the leftover hockey groupies you’ll have access to when Garrett or Logan start playing for the pros.”
That immediately perks him up. “Good point. And look—” He points to the sign “—now you don’t have to leave Boston either. Who needs to move back to Texas when you’ve got cowgirls right here for you?”
“Tempting,” I say dryly, “but I think I’m sticking to my original plan.”
Unless my mom suddenly acquires a taste for the East Coast, I’m moving back to Patterson after I graduate. I’m not sure our small town is a good place to start a business, but I could always try to open something up in Dallas and come home on the weekends. Mom sacrificed a shitload to get me to where I’m at now, and I’m not leaving her alone.
The strip club reeks of sweat, smoke, and desperation. At the front of our group, Hollis’ brother slaps something into the hands of the bouncer, and they have a short conversation.
“No touching. Private dances start at five bills.” He waves a waitress over. “Front row, stage right,” he tells her.
Everyone starts moving.
Everyone but me.
“Got a problem?”
The bouncer’s sharp voice gets me moving. “Nope,” I say easily.
But I kinda do. I have a big problem, in fact. A fucking huge problem.
Because under the heavy eyeliner and the big hair, I recognize the waitress. Hell, I’ve had my hands and mouth all over that exposed skin.
Sabrina’s startled gaze locks with mine. I see all the color drain from her face, which is saying a lot because she didn’t go easy on the blush when she applied her makeup.
“Right this way,” she mumbles. She spins around with a swish of dark hair, but not before I see the flash of warning in her eyes.
Got it. She doesn’t want me telling the guys that we know each other. I don’t blame her. This is probably awkward as fuck for her.
“What kinds of chicks work this joint?” Hollis says as he leers at Sabrina’s incredible backside, which is barely covered by the tiny shorts she’s wearing.
“Hot ones,” Fitzy replies dryly.
That’s an understatement. The girls here are more than hot. They’re goddamn spectacular. Source: my eyeballs.
Tall ones, short ones, curvy ones. Light, dark, and everything in between. But my gaze keeps snapping back to Sabrina, as if it’s attached to an invisible string that’s controlled by her perfect ass.