Chapter 7 #2
Frank is already leaning against the front doors when I arrive, suit jacket open, thin black tie hanging loosely around his neck.
Not only is he loud and overly tan, but his cologne enters the room before he does.
He’s a walking stereotype. “Bro,” he says, pulling me into a one-armed hug.
“Tell me this party tonight lives up to the hype.”
I eye the open collar, the gold chain, all of the product he’s applied to that black, unruly hair of his, and the sunglasses he absolutely does not need indoors. “Just try to keep it classy tonight.”
He pauses, then looks down at himself like he’s assessing a crime scene. “Classy? In a place called The Devil’s Playground?”
I lower my voice. “I’m serious. These are my friends. And this building is filled with very important people. You never know when you might cross paths in business. So I need you to behave with a little decorum.”
Frank frowns. “What? You think I’m gonna embarrass you?”
“I think you’re going to be you.” There’s no need to sugarcoat it. Frank knows he’s the wild card amongst my friends. While I’m certain he’ll be on his best behavior, I’m nearly as sure he takes great glee in pushing my buttons.
He slaps my shoulder. “Relax. I’ll only flirt with women who make the first move.”
My eyes flick to a few of the overly flirtatious servers who work here. “That’s not reassuring.”
He grins wider as we start toward the main room. “You’re just mad because I’m better looking. And I’m about to have more fun than you.”
Jesus. I don’t even want to know what that means.
Frank comes to a dead stop so abruptly I nearly walk into his back. “Bro,” he murmurs. “I think my brain just shut down.”
“And that’s new, how?” I follow his gaze without thinking.
A cocktail server is bent over a table, silver tray balanced on one hip as she pours drinks for a trio of suits. The dress clings to her in all the right ways. Smooth lavender fabric stretches over her curves, accentuating her toned ass and thighs.
My mouth goes dry and my dick gets that familiar twitch.
Jesus. What the fuck is happening to me?
I’ve been around more beautiful women than I can count, in and out of this club.
Models, actresses, heiresses, women whose entire personalities are built around being desired.
And yet somehow the sight of this nearly perfect backside has my body humming with electricity in a way none of them have induced.
Except that pink haired new hire I saw the last time I was here.
Frank exhales. “Well, hello, my future wife.”
I grab his arm. “Jesus, Frank. Keep it in your pants.”
He doesn’t even blink. “I’m just appreciating the craftsmanship.”
“This isn’t a car show, dumbass.”
And then she straightens, turns, and the universe decides to mess with me. It’s her.
Cassidy.
Those big blue eyes and that same look of quiet focus I can’t get out of my head. Shit. Did she hear him? All of a sudden, her gaze flicks from Frank… to me. Her brows knit together slightly.
Oh. She definitely heard him.
Frank gives her a lazy grin. “Evening, sweetheart.”
Her shiny lips purse, unimpressed. Then her gaze bounces over to me. Something in her expression shifts. It isn’t anger. At least I don’t think so. Disappointment, maybe?
Fuck. That somehow feels worse.
She says nothing. Just pivots on her heel and walks back toward the bar, shoulders straighter than I’ve seen them since I first laid eyes on her. She may seem skittish working here, but her dignity is fully intact.
Frank watches her go. “Wow. Feisty. I love it.”
I’m still staring. And suddenly very aware of two things. One: my body is doing something incredibly inconvenient. Two: I’m worried this woman thinks I’m as crass as my Trust Me Bro, buddy here. “Congratulations,” I mutter, finally dragging my eyes away. “You just made me look like an asshole.”
Frank slaps my back. “Nah, bro. You did that all on your own.”
Yeah. And now I’m standing in the middle of an exclusive club of high rollers, flustered over a pink-haired server who probably thinks I’m just another entitled dickhead.
Fantastic.
We approach the VIP section. “Hey, guys. You remember my buddy, Frank,” I introduce on the off chance anyone can forget my raucous friend.
The men in attendance respond with a chorus of hellos, to which Frank waves them off.
“Youse guys. Making this jerseyboy feel like a celebrity.” Frank stands a few inches shorter than me, but all of that product in his hair gives him another inch or two of height.
Ben leans toward me and whispers, “Did he think we’d miss he’s from Jersey?”
“No.” I snicker. “Jerseyboy is actually a term for a guy who used to live there but now lives somewhere else. He just feels the need to remind you every chance he gets where he’s from.”
Thirty minutes later, Becket Ryan and Derek Hart are escorted to our tables. After cheers, more introductions, and a second round of scotch, we start to relax into our chairs in anticipation of the main event when I see G playfully slap Frank on the back.
“Genius. Your friend is a genius.” He walks off toward the DJ booth, and I tilt my head, giving Frank a curious stare.
“Been telling this guy for years.” Frank points his thumb over his shoulder in my direction. “Don’t know how he’s the one with all the dough.”
We all chuckle as “Now Or Never” by Pitbull & Bon Jovi starts to thump through the speakers. G walks onto the dance floor, his arms overhead, clapping to the beginning notes of the song.
“Gentlemen, your theme song,” Frank announces, extending his arms in Gianni’s direction.
G is motioning for all of us to join him.
As the lyrics become clearer, it’s evident Frank’s right.
The singer croons about how short life is.
That against all odds, he made it. He sings that just as Frank Sinatra had done before him, he did it his way.
Just as each of the trailblazers in our Boys Club has done.
There could be no better theme song for our group of men. We’ve all amassed an insane amount of money through working hard or shrewd business deals. All while staying true to ourselves.
Doing it our way.
We each dance front and center like we don’t have a care in the world.
Broadie Weston looks adoringly at his beautiful wife as he spins her on the dance floor.
Slick Willy pulls not one but two gorgeous women onto the floor with him, while Gianni spins his doe-eyed assistant, Lala, around.
She seems utterly shocked to be there. The look on her face is almost comical.
Gianni wanders off momentarily, but I’m distracted by Frank’s over-the-top fist-pumping to the beat of the song. I can’t help the snort that escapes at the sight of him. You can take the boy out of Jersey, but you can’t take the Jersey out of the boy.
All of a sudden, a flash of pink swirls in front of me.
Startled, I blink, and there she is. Cassidy.
Staring up at me like she materialized out of thin air.
Her eyes are wide, luminous under the club lights.
Her candy-coated lips are parted like she’s about to say something, but her words are trapped in her throat.
Fuck, it’s taking everything in me not to lean down and drag my tongue across her pouty mouth.
Where did she come from?
For a second, I can’t move. Can’t think. My brain stalls. Like the universe has hit pause and left only her in focus.
“What the hell, man? If you don’t dance with her, I will.” Frank’s voice snaps reality back into place, and my body finally remembers how to function.
My arms are around her before I consciously decide to move, pulling her into me like I’m afraid she might vanish if I hesitate too long.
She fits too well, my cock responding instantly.
Her hands hover for half a second before settling against my chest, and that tiny, uncertain gesture does something dangerous to me.
We sway to the music, slow and uncoordinated.
Neither of us is quite sure who’s leading.
I’m fully aware if I’m not careful, she’ll know the rigid effect she’s having on me.
Now that she’s so close, I can finally appreciate her sweet scent.
Hell, I knew she’d smell like candy. It’s a mix of warm vanilla, sugar, and bad decisions.
All I can think about is how close her mouth is.
How desperately I want to devour those full, pink lips.
Maybe just swipe my tongue along the sugar coating.
How easy it would be to tilt my head, to feel her breath against my jaw.
How much I want to tug at the pin clipped in her updo until her blonde and pink tresses tumble down over her shoulders.
I want to bury my face in her hair and drag my tongue along her neck from her ear to her shoulder.
I’m getting even harder than I was before, just thinking about tasting her.
Everywhere.
I want to know what she feels like without all of the eyes in this room. Without the heavy bass distracting me. Without the rest of the world pressing in around us. Instead, I just hold her.
Fuck me. What is happening right now?