Chapter 9
CREW
“You mean to tell me, if I lose this round, I’m the one stripping?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” King replies, his pearly white smile looking a little too cheerful for my liking. “How long’s it been since you played DB, Briggsby? Ages?”
How long has it been? It’s gotta be at least a year.
I throw my head back and chuckle, enjoying the feeling of loosening up more than I probably should. “Long enough for me not to remember the rules.”
There are a million and one other things I should be doing right now, but I needed tonight. Time with the boys…and ladies, while forgetting about all the stressful shit swarming my head.
“Just hump the damn bar stool,” King shouts, the rest of our teammates only egging him on with whistles and pounding of tables. “Must have forgotten how to do it,” Gus attempts to roast me from afar while Jethro cuts in, “Here, let me give you a visual.”
He holds up a hand, hiking his leg against the worn barstool, ready to show me how it’s done. “Now, you remember the thrusting motion, right? Push those hips in, then ou—”
“Enough,” I snap, needing him to stop right fucking now.
A healthy handful of our group is cuddled off to the side of Joe’s Bar, wives seated on their husbands’ laps while the waitress Joe hired for the night, Sabrina, supplies drink refills around the clock.
It makes me wonder why we still play this fucking game.
I’m almost forty, for god’s sake, and although single, it’s not like it once was when all my buddies weren’t wife-d up.
I miss those days.
Now, those whipped motherfuckers aren’t even playing. More like dictating from the sidelines, and they know how we feel about sideline drivers. They can kick rocks.
It’s also not lost on me that Dr. Wilde is much tougher than she looks. Juniper is a badass.
I thought I’d lost my ability to speak when she walked out of the house earlier.
She exudes sexiness. It’s as if each time I see her, her beauty kicks up a notch.
Horrible for my ability to keep my eyes to myself.
All I want to do is stare at her. Her legs in that fucking miniskirt, and the color black she wears like armor outside of work, giving her an aura of unattainability.
Holy, even.
She is an otherworldly level of beautiful.
But while beautiful, she still exudes professionalism. Too much for a midstream ball player like me. Had she caught me a few years back in my prime, there’d be no question about whether she made it into my bed by the end of the night.
But times have changed, and playing Dirty Bingo with my daughter’s pediatrician was not on my personal bingo card this year. As much as my dick would love nothing more than to take Juniper to my place and have a dirty escapade of our own, my mind knows it’s not a good idea.
We’re finally making progress with Addie’s ADHD diagnosis, and although I’m not seeing much change yet—something I need to follow up on—I’m hopeful we will in time.
It’s always about fucking timing.
Which is why I need to lose this round on purpose, because if I don’t, Juniper will likely lose and, in return, be the one stripping on stage.
It’s she and I right now, neck and neck, as King waits to declare the winner. Only problem is, I don’t have a single clue what task her last space entails. But I know for a fact I can’t have a naked Dr. Wilde prancing freely around Joe’s Bar.
No fucking sir, I can not.
The object of the game is to clear as many tasks as possible in order to get bingo on our own individual boards. Most of the time, we work in groups, but seeing as how half our group is on strict no-strip orders, the stakes were lower.
At least, for everyone else.
I need Juniper to win. I’ll take one for the team and get balls-ass naked if I have to. But as for the pretty doc…her clothes stay on.
“Alright, Briggs. Junie. What’s it gonna be? One of you is about to lose,” King tells us, roaring from center stage like our lives depend on this moment.
“Kick his ass, Juniper!” Navy yells from across the bar while I work to tune her out. I can hump a bar stool all day. It’s a matter of if I want to; that’s the question. And no. No, I do not.
I give it my best show and make sure everyone believes in my serious contemplation. “I can’t do it, guys. I’m gonna have to forfeit—”
“I forfeit.” Juniper beats me to it. “You win, Crew. I’ll take my consequence.”
What the…?
That doesn’t sound anything like the woman who all but paraded around the winner’s circle after almost completing her diagonal bingo. She had one square left, and just like that—she forfeits.
I don’t buy it.
King doesn’t pry for questions, but I’m not so nice. “Well, looks like you win, Briggsby. Go sit in luxury while your competitor takes her place on the bar.”
Silence stretches between Juniper and me. We’re less than three feet apart and at separate tables, allowing me to see her panic. I’m transfixed by the way she flips her bingo card over, frantically making sure no one plans to peek.
But I do. What was on her card that made winning something she gave up in record time? You don’t go to med school for ten-plus years and walk away with no stamina or grit. She’s got competition in her blood, just like me.
“Doc,” I deadpan, attempting to get her attention.
“I’m fine,” she warns me. “Go get a drink. I have to dance.” And she turns on her feet, heading to the bar where Penelope, Bodhi’s younger sister, waits for her to join her.
She’s crazy if she thinks I won’t act on my curiosity. Before Juniper reaches Penelope, I grab her bingo card and slip it behind my back, anxious to discover the reason she quit.
“Pick a song, ladies!” King hollers over the background music. “You two beautiful losers get to strip dance for us.”
“I’m out,” Callaway declares, standing to his feet with Kodi beside him.
“Same.” Bodhi stands with Navy, unease written across his face just thinking about his sister stripping on the bar.
“August fucking Graves, you better see yourself out,” Tenley laughs, nodding toward the door. God, these women are almost as batshit protective as their men.
“What? No one wants to stay for the show?” Penelope giggles, holding her hands to the sides in question.
“And then there were six,” King bellows into the microphone. Six of us left, who are sadly single. King, Jethro, Mack, Penelope, Juniper, and me. “Probably should start calling this singles’ night, seeing as how we’re dwindling down quickly.”
“Now, I was sitting here thinking how much I liked this new change of events,” Jethro blurts, and I don’t miss the way his eyes follow Juniper climbing onto the bartop.
My seat halfway from the bar feels cold, or maybe that’s what I tell myself. It’ll distract me from the fire raging through my blood. The contemplation, I should say, of being physically attracted to someone but knowing you shouldn’t be.
At first, it was almost as if dread washed over Juniper’s face the moment she opted out.
But now, from my point of view, she’s the star of the show.
I know better than to look at Penelope St. James, and should feel the same fear with Juniper Wilde, but she’s new to me and a fixation I crave to satisfy.
If I were to let myself slip, tonight would be the night to do it.
Sky-high pointed heels set her apart from Penelope’s casual attire, her mile-long legs the main event. The carving of her strong calf muscles leads to thighs shaped to perfection. Jesus Christ, she’s sexy. I want so badly to flip over the card, but I can’t miss a second of her dance.
“You ready, new girl?” Penelope turns to Juniper on the bar, signaling for King to start the music.
“I’m gonna need a shot for this,” Juniper laughs fiercely, bending down to grab a tequila bottle straight from the shelf and pouring it into her mouth.
“Liquid courage. I like the way you think,” Penelope tells her, opening her mouth wide and throwing her head back, insisting Juniper fill her mouth with clear liquor.
“Okay,” Juniper exhales, setting the bottle back.
I stand no chance of not watching Juniper. Tequila must have missed her mouth at some point, a sheen of liquid falling down her chin and dripping onto her chest. A chest I can almost guarantee will be on display in three minutes, tops.
I should leave right now.
I shimmy in my seat even more, making myself more comfortable. I’m giving myself tonight. I never planned for any of this to happen—Juniper and Dirty Bingo. That was all Tenley’s doing, so if anyone’s to blame, it’s her.
I’m simply guilty by association.
After tonight, we can go back to being professionals—maybe even friends—and never speak of this again. I say that just as “Mony Mony” by Billy Idol blasts from the old juke box, and I fight a groan as Juniper’s head falls back, her long ponytail swaying sideways to the working of her hips.
My stomach is in my throat, and my dick already wants to come out and play. Fuck. This is dangerous. And it just got worse because I should have known this fucking song would lead to an open door for something dirty to be flaunted in my face.
Like whatever squat thing she just did was.
With her heeled feet pointed just slightly to the side, my jaw ticks while Juniper has never looked more at ease, dropping into a squat while her arms tangle behind her head.
The fluid movement is seductive and captivating.
Makes me wanna stand between those pretty legs and see for myself just how perfect she really is.
I’m not the only man in the bar with a working set of eyes, hypnotized by the beautiful women before us. Well, one for me, two for them.
The chorus of the song kicks in, and so does Juniper’s confidence. The hem of her sweater lifts above her head in seconds before she tosses it to the floor.
If only it were actually my birthday, I’d ask for my gift. Because Dr. Wilde in a lacy bra and leather skirt might just be my fantasy dream. Her tits spill from the minimal bra, her toned waist tightening with every turn of her hips.