CHAPTER 1
Thanks, beer.
I mean, that’s really the best explanation for why I thought it would be a good idea to start making out with the woman currently gyrating on my lap.
My buddy Jack invited me over for some drunken cornhole in his backyard, and somehow we ended up at a strip club. It’s not that unusual given the fact that we usually end up to watch ladies dance after drinking together, but he’s supposed to be behaving himself.
I, on the other hand, am free as a bird—at least that’s what the beer told me.
And that’s why I’m ignoring the no touching rule. We’re in a private room. The only people in here are Jack, his new assistant who is also our designated driver, the stripper currently giving me a lap dance, and me.
No cameras.
Nobody to blab it to the media.
I’m just about to snap the tiny string barely covering her nipples off her body when I hear Jack’s loud voice thunder into my ear. “Olson!”
I pull back from the dancer, gently pushing her shoulder a little to give her the hint that we need to take a break. “What?” I demand through the haze of drunkenness.
“Get her number and take her home later,” he says.
“You know as well as I do it’s a bad idea to do this here.
” He raises a brow at me, and I roll my eyes.
He’s right, and I know this even through the haze.
There are laws in place for this exact type of thing.
In fact, kissing her right now is considered a misdemeanor even though she initiated it.
If someone were to catch me breaking the rules back here, I could get in trouble—and not just with the law. The big boss’s favorite threat is to cut playing time, so Jack’s not just trying to save my ass. He’s saving our team since I’m the leading receiver among tight ends in the league.
“He’s right,” I slur to the dancer whose name I have yet to catch. “Are you interested in continuing this after your shift?”
She licks her lips and shoves her tits closer to my face. “I’d love to.”
Right, then. I pull my phone out of my pocket and close one eye in a feeble attempt to focus. “What’s your number?”
She laughs and takes my phone out of my hands, typing in her name—which happens to be Kitty—and number for me. Is that a given name or a stage name?
Then she sends herself a text from me that says, “Kitty likes to fuck.”
Well, she’s nothing if not forward about her intentions with me.
“Ben likes to fuck, too,” I slur, and she laughs.
“I’ll text you when I get off.”
I bury my face between her tits. “Nah. Text me when your shift’s over. Then I will get you off.”
“Deal,” she says.
Jack drags me out of the club after that, and we’re quiet on the way home.
I start to regret my actions just the tiniest bit as the haze of drunkenness begins its inevitable fade and a headache takes its place.
Not regret-regret, but that feeling that someday I should start to make better life choices hits me in the gut.
My Gramma wouldn’t be proud of what I was just doing.
But on the other hand…I was having fun, and what the fuck good is life if you’re not living it with joy?
“Thanks for thinking of my rep,” I say to Jack once we’re almost back to his place. “You know I would’ve taken her right there.”
“It was all Kia,” Jack says, referring to our driver by the nickname he gave her.
“Thanks, Kate,” I say, using her real name.
She presses her lips together. “My services apparently extend to any of Jack’s friends on the Aces,” she says.
I laugh and catch a Lyft back home, and when I walk in the door, my Golden Retriever Buddy races over to me and practically knocks me down so he can lick my face. I give him some attention and food before I pass out on the couch for a few hours.
I’m jolted from sleep as my phone vibrates where I left it on my chest. It’s a little after midnight, and I can’t stay out long since I have early plans tomorrow, but when a stripper calls…well, if you’re Ben Olson, you pick up the fucking call. Or text, as the case may be.
I can catch my beauty rest when I’m old. I’m not ignoring a booty call from someone who literally shakes her booty for a living on a stage.
Kitty: Off work and ready to finish what we started.
The message was sent a half hour ago. Apparently I slept through the first fifteen times my phone vibrated on my chest since it reminds me every two minutes that I have a message until I read it.
Me: Where should I meet you?
Kitty: Your place?
Yeah…no. Not happening.
I’m not really a bring her back here kind of guy. There are way too many expectations that come with that, and I’m just in this for a good time. Nothing more, nothing less.
I need to express that while letting her down gently. I don’t want to miss my window, but on the other hand, I have an early morning since I rented a houseboat on Lake Mead for the next couple days and I’ve got a twenty-four hour party planned with some close friends.
And by close friends, I don’t mean the stripper I just met tonight.
I’m sure she’s lovely, but I’m not giving out invitations.
The headache that inevitably comes hours after drinking too much beer is starting to edge its way in, but it’s nothing a little spooge release won’t cure.
Me: Let’s meet in a neutral zone. Where are you now?
Kitty: Still at Honeys.
Me: Stay there. I’ll pick you up. I know a place.
She writes back, but I’m already arranging a ride since I shouldn’t drive. I’m back at Honeys an easy twenty minutes later, my location arranged, and her hand is perched on her hip and her eyebrow is raised.
“You know a place?” she asks.
I raise both brows and smirk then hold out a hand. “Right this way, Kitty Cat,” I say.
She sets her hand in mine begrudgingly, and mere moments later I’ve got her perched up against a wall in a private room at a nightclub nearby as I shove my cock into her. A buddy owns the place, and it’s walking distance from Honeys.
She claws at my back, and it’s definitely fun and I’m having a good time…but I’m not really in the moment.
Making out with a stripper during her working hours with the suggestion of sex being on the table is one thing. It’s a little bit of a thrill. Every guy wants to think he’s got a shot with the stripper after the show ends.
But actually getting that shot…it’s sort of like looking forward to an event for months and months only to have it not quite meet your expectations. Prom, for example.
Or that one Christmas when your parents decided to play nice so you could celebrate with both of them on one day instead of split between two. What a fucking disastrous nightmare that turned out to be.
I keep hammering away at her, and she seems to be into it. Her tits bounce in my face, and I grab a nipple between my teeth. She whimpers at the pain-lined pleasure, and I do it again, harder this time.
It’s good. All sex is good sex, a trait it shares with beer, pizza, or hot wings. I’ve never fucked a cunt I didn’t like…but something’s off here.
Maybe it’s because I didn’t make my expectations clear from the start. The haze of beer was my first obstacle, and then the haze of sleep. I should’ve just stayed home.
I finish before she does then get her off by jamming some fingers into her until she comes. I set her down, tuck myself back in, and dispose of the condom while she fixes her clothes.
“Mm, that was amazing,” she says, lashes fluttering, and I’m waiting for the inevitable next question as she links her arms around my neck and presses a kiss near my throat. “When can I see you again?”
I offer her a tight smile. “I had fun, too, Kitty Cat. But I’m not really looking for anything more than fun.”
She curls her fingers into my hair. “Neither am I, Big Ben. You have nothing to worry about.”
I feel a little stab of relief at that, but I’ve heard those words before. Rarely are they true.