CHAPTER 31 BEN
“Strip club?” Eric asks me.
I’m only a little drunk. I promised Ellie I wouldn’t get into trouble, so I issue an early rejection. “Not for me.”
We’ve been playing poker in some private room under a well-known nightclub, and there’s a strip club within walking distance.
Jack didn’t want to do the usual bachelor party shit like drinking at a club and ending up watching naked ladies dance, instead opting for a night out with the guys that included poker and cigars.
But the night is drawing to a close—at least the bachelor party portion of it—and new offers are coming in.
“Pussy,” Eric mutters. I shrug.
“Any other takers?” he asks.
Cory and Jaxon nod their agreement.
“Not for me,” Jack says. “It’s not like it’s really my last night as a single guy and honestly, strip clubs are more fun when you take your lady with you.”
Luke laughs. “Like you’ve ever gotten Kate into a strip club with you.”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Uh, no, actually. I wouldn’t like to know,” Luke says.
“You’re telling me you’ve never taken Ellie to one?”
Luke shakes his head and chugs the rest of his whiskey. “Nope.”
“Maybe tonight should be your night, then,” Jack says.
He shoots off a quick text, and I wonder whether he’s drunk, too, and if he really thinks it’s a good idea for the women to meet us at a strip club tonight.
At least that means Kaylee will be there.
She’ll keep me out of trouble, and then she can strip for me later.
Except that’s not what goes down. “The ladies are otherwise occupied. Kate decided to splurge for a hotel room so they’re doing some last-minute sleepover.”
“Is Ellie staying?” Luke asks.
Jack nods. “They said the kids are both sleeping at Mom’s house and we should enjoy our night.”
“Then allow me to continue kicking your ass at poker,” Luke challenges.
A strange, antsy feeling washes over me.
I don’t want to play poker. I just want to get home to Kaylee, but it looks like that’s not an option.
Instead, my options seem to be limited to watching brothers duke it out at the poker table or joining the rest of my buddies to continue drinking at a strip club.
A couple other guys here at the party agree to stay, and a few others agree to head out.
“I can’t believe Big, Bad Ben is opting out of a club,” Eric says as he stands. “Didn’t know your girl had you so pussy-whipped.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter, and then I concede because I’m not whipped.
I make my own fucking decisions, and even though Eric’s just taunting me, my decision-making ability notoriously malfunctions when I’m out drinking with my buddies.
“I can drink your ass under the table here or there. Makes no difference to me.” I stand, too.
He grins at me since he got his way, and those of us heading out bid our goodbyes to the groom who’s already married but this party gave us a reason to get drunk together anyway.
I text Kaylee on the way to the club.
Me: Just a heads up that I’m going to a strip club with some of the guys. Tell Ellie I promise to behave myself.
I want to say more—that I’m only going because Eric talked me into it, that I don’t really want to watch anybody dance naked except for her, that I’d rather kick back at home with a movie than go anywhere with Eric right now…but I don’t say any of that.
For one thing, I have no idea who might get a glimpse of her texts, and she’s made it abundantly clear that she wants to keep up the ruse in front of her family. Even through my drunken haze, I know how to respect what a woman wants.
It’s the challenges issued by my buddies that cause me problems.
She doesn’t reply by the time we get to the club, which either tells me she’s sorely disappointed in me or she’s too busy with the ladies to check her messages. We’ll sort it in the morning, I guess.
When I walk into the club, the familiar scent of dirty vanilla mixed with baby powder and shame hits my nostrils. Only tonight, that scent doesn’t bring up anything good. Tonight, it’s a reminder that I shouldn’t be here.
“Ben Olson,” a female voice rasps way too close to my ear as arms come around me from behind.
I turn and look at her. “Kitty,” I say. My eyes widen at Eric, who’s standing beside me. He laughs.
“Care for another private performance?” she asks, indicating that she wants to take me to one of the private rooms to have her way with me.
I chuckle. “You know, it’s a great offer and we certainly had a lot of fun together, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”
She runs her hands along my chest, and if someone in here snaps a picture, surely this won’t look good.
“Oh?” She arches a dark brow at me. “And why not?”
“I’m engaged.”
Her brows lift practically off her forehead. “You? Engaged?”
I chuckle. “Shocking, right? But when you find the right one, not much you can do to fight it.”
“And here I thought I was going to be the right one…”
I shrug. “Sorry.”
Eric takes his shot. “You’re one of the dancers that offers the private rooms?”
She nods as her heavily lidded gaze turns to him. “I sure am, Handsome. Who’s asking?”
“Oh, just one of the stars of the Vegas Aces.”
“Dude,” I say, ribbing him. “Way to name drop.”
Jaxon, Chris, and Cory start laughing at the jab, but it’s not really much of a joke when it’s true. He’s sitting here telling a stripper he plays pro football like it’s going to impress her when her client list is chock full of celebrities and millionaires.
“You boys want a show?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I knew coming here was a bad idea,” I say. “I’m out.”
Eric makes the universal sound that signifies I am whipped by my girl, but all my fucks have taken a hike. I head out front, find a car, and text Kaylee again to let her know I decided to skip the dancing and head straight home.
It’s quiet and lonely when I get home, but I find it to be far better than the quiet loneliness I usually feel when there’s someone beside me in my bed that isn’t Kaylee.
I fall asleep or pass out shortly after I arrive home—I’m not really sure which. I wake when my phone dings with a new message, though I might’ve slept through it if the sun wasn’t starting to stream through the blinds I never closed last night in my semi-drunken state.
Kaylee is not beside me in bed, much to my disappointment, but I knew she was staying the night at the hotel with the girls. I didn’t really expect her to be home this early. And speaking of this early, I grab my phone and see it’s a little after eight.
I click the offending message that woke me.
Calvin: My office at noon.
Ah shit. What now?
I open a browser and do a quick search of my own name because sometimes I find out the latest scandal fastest that way. And for as shitty as this road has been being hounded by Billy Fucking Peters, and then the lies Tatum told the press, this right here is a brand new lie to end all lies.
The first headline shows a post from Twitter written six hours ago.
Vegas exotic dancer allegedly harassed by Aces star tight end Ben Olson.
What the mother fuck?
I didn’t harass anybody. I had a bunch of buddies with me who can vouch for that. I didn’t even stay last night more than a minute or two—instead, I came home and slept it off.
I was a little drunk, but not that drunk. I remember exactly what happened.
I click the headline and it takes me to an article.
A dancer who goes by the name “Kitty” at the renowned Vegas exotic dancers club Honeys is coming forward with her story.
Amanda "Kitty" Howard has a sordid history with Vegas Aces tight end Ben Olson, and now she’s claiming accusations of sexual harassment. In the late hours last night, Olson allegedly entered Honeys with a group of six men. He and Howard exchange words and when she rejected his advances, stating his well-publicized recent engagement to another woman, he didn’t take well to that answer.
“He said some really nasty things to me,” Howard alleges. “He told me if I didn’t take him into a private room and give him what he wanted, he’d make me regret it.”
The article goes on, but I can’t read anymore.
I didn’t even fucking lay a finger on her. If anything, she manhandled me last night.
My stomach twists violently as her lies start to hit me. A strange numbness starts at the top of my head and works its way down to my chest.
I leap out of bed as I pace around my bedroom.
Is she fucking kidding me?
Lots of guys I’ve played with have had accusations like this thrown at them. Sometimes they turn out to be true, and other times, the woman wants something. I’m an easy target since I’ve built a reputation on being with a lot of different women and having a hell of a lot of fun.
Clearly Kitty wants something from me, but I can’t imagine what, and I can’t imagine why she’d possibly do this to me.
Is this because I told her no last night? Because I forgot her name once? Is she still mad about that?
We had fun together. We fucked around, and it was always consensual. But accusations like this don’t just go away. They will follow me. They will damage my reputation. They will cause people I care about to question whether I really did this…to question whether they can really trust me.
I didn’t do this.
Eric was there with me. He had to have heard our entire conversation—I know he did since he was a part of it. He can vouch for me.
I hear the door open and slam downstairs, and I hear more than one female voice shouting. “Ben? Ben!”
Ah fuck.