Every Chance You Get (The Rugby Lovers #3)

Chapter 1

Collision

Jonah

Ithwack the bottle against my palm to get every drop of lotion, before I give up and ask the dressing room, “Does anyone have extra body glitter? I ran out.”

Dylan tosses me his stash and gives me a funny look. “We’re supposed to be firemen for our next set. Why do you want glitter?”

“The older ladies tip better when I wear it.”

He snorts. “That’s because they’re still holding on to their Twilight fantasies.”

“What’s that?”

“Twilight? The teen romance fantasy book-turned-blockbuster hit? It’s got like werewolves and vampires. Do you really not know that movie?”

I hate it when this happens. Yet another movie reference I don’t get.

I chronically disappoint people when they realize I’m serious.

Often I pretend to know what they’re talking about and give them a friendly smile and nod.

It’s amazing how people like you so much more when you’re in on a joke or reference.

Before Dylan can ask any more questions, Robbie bursts through the door with the subtlety of an elephant.

“Who’s feeling lucky?” He waves around a small stack of papers and dances his way to me.

“Jonah,” he croons, and dangles a Mega Millions lottery ticket while seductively sliding down the zipper of his hoodie. “You know you wanna.”

Robbie and I went out briefly a few months ago. After realizing a good portion of my family is queer, I thought I’d try my hand at dating men. So, I downloaded Grindr and had a surprising amount of interest! Who knew so many men were interested in a blond, six-foot-three rugby player stripper?

When I saw Robbie on the app, I got so excited I almost swiped the wrong way. He’s always been super nice, and, like, obviously hot. A total catch.

He understood I was dipping my toes into the gay pool and took things slow. So after three dinner dates, he leaned me against my front door and I ducked down in a fit of giggles, with an alarming sense of NONONO. We called it off with no hard feelings.

Turns out I’m not queer, but not for a lack of trying.

Things may not have worked out with Robbie, but I am a lucky guy.

In my twenty-five years on this earth, I have won two brand new cars, charmed—and stripped—my way through college, I have the ear to play almost any instrument, I can find a four-leaf clover in almost any field, and I have the best family ever.

Sure, it sucks that my mom died when I was a little kid, but I’m fortunate to have a big family: my dad, my two brothers, and two sisters.

Good looks and a captivating smile have taken me far—even with law enforcement. I’ve skirted almost every traffic ticket. Heck, I should have had my license taken away by the state of Pennsylvania by now, but the joke’s on them—I don’t even know where it is.

There was also this one time I called Pabst Blue Ribbon’s customer service hoping they would sponsor our rugby team.

They ended up not only sponsoring us, but sending me and three friends on an all-expenses-paid trip to Las Vegas.

I got a free shirt too! I lost all my money in the casinos, but on the taxi ride to the airport, I found a bag of casino chips worth ten thousand dollars on the floor of the cab.

Pretty sweet trip if you ask me.

“The jackpot is $540 million,” Robbie says, and the next thing I know, I’m handing him a fiver from my stash and slipping the ticket in my wallet.

“Alright, boys,” Kim, our manager, says as she walks into the room.

She hands each of us a firefighter helmet for our routine.

“We have a full house tonight, no thanks to my marketing skills. Ian and Robbie, I want you to take the bachelorette party on stage right. Dylan and Anthony, you’re stage left. Jonah, smackdab in the middle.”

These are our positions after we perform our group dance and we disperse throughout the crowd. Hearing them go wild when we step off stage and seek willing victims is my favorite part of any shift. The energy is sky-high, and the excitement pulsing through the room is unmatched.

I love my job. Who wouldn’t want to work at Strip Tease, America’s only strip club slash hair salon?

No one in my personal life knows I’m a stripper. I’ve always been vague about what I do because my family already thinks I’m a screwup that flits through life banking on good looks.

They’re not entirely wrong, but that’s beside the point.

Stripping is how I’ve paid my bills since college.

It’s how I afford to play rugby. Right now is the off-season, but spring is almost here, and with it, new dues, money for travel.

.. it all adds up. Thankfully I can still swing shifts around rugby and it doesn’t mess with my sleep schedule too much.

The sport I love definitely keeps me in shape for my job, though. Honestly it’s a win-win.

I'm pleasantly surprised when I look out from the stage to find Kim wasn’t lying—the club is at capacity. Her voice comes back to me, reminding me I’ll be front and center once the first part of our group dance is over.

When familiar music plays, my body takes over. Dancing has always come easy for me, the same way playing rugby and making music do. Once my body grabs the rhythm, the choreographed moves feel like an answer. What I lack in book smarts I make up for in musical prowess.

After a couple of sets, I head back to the changing room while Donovan and Jax do some solo work. As they’re wrapping up and collecting their cash, the rest of us get in position on stage.

The lights go out and sirens scream.1

Holding my helmet with one hand and my crotch with the other, I body roll in tandem with the guys and slide my fireman’s suspenders over my shoulders.

I get lost in the cadence and sweat beads across my body.

I’ve never been in better physical shape than I am now, but it’s impossible to get through just one dance without sweat pouring off my body.

A hush falls over the crowd when the music dies off and the lights dim for dramatic effect, but it doesn’t last long.

There are only a few seconds of silence before high-pitched squeals and whistles break through.

Music blares once again, and the five of us rip off our tight white T-shirts, sending on-lookers into riot mode.

With seconds left in our dance before I have to bring someone on stage, I scan the crowd.

Kim always says to pick the bride or groom from stage right so we don’t have to spend time dilly-dallying over who comes up.

She always talks with the group ahead of time to make sure they’re game, but we always get consent in the moment, too.

I expect to find a bride in the bachelorette party that Ian, Robbie, and I are making our way to. What I don’t expect is for the bride in question to be Robyn.

Professional rugby player and social media icon, Robyn Cassidy.

My future sister-in-law.

OH NO.

Standing three feet away, I’m frozen in place as the bachelorette party around us screams and pats her back. But my line of sight catches on my sister Angie sitting right next to her with the same shocked expression.

“Jonah, what the fuck?” Angie screams. “You’re a stripper?”

My skin prickles, and my chest tightens as a wave of heat engulfs me.

I catch Kim, not too far away, give me the Hurry, you’re wasting time flick of her wrist. There’s panic coursing through me as I process being caught in my deceit and the fear of disappointing my boss.

I turn off my thoughts, hoist Robyn over my shoulder, and carry her to the stage.

I just need to do as I’m told.

A stagehand has already placed a chair front and center under the spotlight, and the crowd’s screams have met an all-time high when I set her down. She’s wearing a white cocktail dress, and she’s done up to the nines, but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping over her face and down her chest.

“This is not happening,” she gasps, her eyes blown in disbelief.

Unable to stop myself for fear of reality setting in, I continue my routine and stalk around her chair. “Should I stop?” I ask in all seriousness.

“No.” She places her hands against her flaming cheeks and shakes her head. “This is the funniest and the most awkward thing that has ever happened to me. Proceed.”

I’m glad she finds it funny. Robyn can find humor in almost anything. She’s perfect for my grumpy brother Isaiah and their paramour Dell. I just learned what that means. It’s like another partner, not a punk rock band.

It is pretty funny, isn’t it? Stripping for my future sister-in-law.

Isaiah is going to lose his marbles when he finds out.

Before he was with her, he not-so-secretly pined for her and routinely made death threats toward me for casually mentioning that she was the love of my life.

It was never that serious, but it’s fun to rile up my older brother.

If she’s game, I’m game.

I walk behind her chair, trailing my hand from her elbow, up her bare shoulder and across her back before swiftly coming around and hiking my leg over her lap and sitting.

Like most women who come to the stage, she can barely keep it together.

Her giggling only spurs me on and turns my fear into excitement and pride.

I’ll deal with the rest of my family finding out later.

Right now, I want to make my friend Robyn have the most memorable bachelorette party ever.

Taking her hands, I place them against my bare skin and force her to touch my chest and abdomen. She screams with a mix of nervousness and laughter but allows me to continue. When I move her hands to my unbuttoned pants, she turns her focus on me and tenses.

I lean forward and whisper in her ear, “Don’t worry. I won’t make you touch that. Zay might actually kill me if I did.”

Also, it’s completely against the club’s rules for a patron to touch my dick.

I give her my all and get lost in the high for the next four minutes.

Normally, I see dancing and stripping as nothing more than work.

I understand people come for a show, and many of them are squirming in their seats.

That’s the purpose of this whole setup. What many people don’t understand is the feeling almost never goes both ways.

I’m thinking about my next step and positioning the person in the right way—there’s no time for attraction.

There’s no time to maintain a boner while you’re doing the worm on top of your stage partner and then hoisting them up in the air up-side-down so their face is level with your crotch.

There’s just no time!

When the song fades and Robyn’s stage time ends, I’m in nothing but my gold G-string and sweat.

Because of me, Robyn’s body is covered in glitter, her hair mussed up from me gently grabbing fistfuls of it earlier.

She hugs me on stage, beaming from ear to ear.

I hoist her up one more time and carry her down the stairs to her waiting party.

When I set her down next to my sister, I’m incredibly aware that my ass is hanging out.

Oh well. Angie’s seen me in less.

“I may be scarred for life,” my sister says. “How long have you been doing this?”

I clear my throat and pull at the back of my neck. “Since sophomore year of college.”

“Jonah!” I’m about to shrivel under my oldest sister’s gaze, but she surprises me when she punches my arm and adds, “Look at you sticking to something!”

“Uh, yeah.”

“That’s great!”

“It is?”

“Yes. As long as you like doing it.”

“You’re not going to make fun of me?”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to make fun of you at family dinner tomorrow.”

“That’s fair.” Nothing is off-limits in our family. Once your laundry is out, everyone’s grabbing at it and making it their business.

Robyn grabs my other arm and squeezes it. “Thanks for the best bachelorette party I could have asked for, dude.”

“Jonah,” Kim says as she comes up to us. “I need to steal him away. I’m sorry, ladies.”

“Oh, sure.” Robyn grins. “We’ll see you tomorrow for dinner.”

I give them both a glittery sweat hug and follow Kim backstage.

“Do they know you?” she asks.

“Yeah, they’re my sisters.”

“Oh,” she replies, her tone unsure. “That’s… different.” She leads me to the dressing room and tosses me a fresh tank top and gray sweatpants. “You have a private request.”

1. SOS by Rihanna