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I didn’t realize how hard building a play structure actually was. Although, Felicity’s squeal of delight when we let her loose on it was worth it. All I have to do is mingle on the floor for another three hours, and get on stage one more time.
I can do it.
Maybe.
My head pulses from lack of sleep, and catching glimpses of Emma out of the corner of my eye. Her light brown eyes watched me the entire time the distrust evident the way she tracked me with Felicity. She didn’t trust me, and I was aware if I’d done anything she deemed wrong while I worked in her backyard she would have booted me immediately. I hoped the present for Felicity would’ve softened her up some, but the way she dismissed me after the project was complete showed she was just as hard as ever, which is funny because being hard is exactly how I am when she’s around.
The screams of the women bring me back to real life. Willie’s busting at the seams, and there’s a line around the block of eager women not-so-patiently waiting for their turn to get inside. Willie, the owner of the club, at least for another month, has been on a mission to pack the club, wanting to make as much money as he can before he hands the keys over to us. And apparently his solution to fill the club is to have repeat performances of the Trifecta.
Fuck my life.
Three times onstage in one night is unheard of for the Trifecta, and everyone is clamoring to see this epic event.
“Are you ok?” Damien sits next to me, handing me a hot towel to wipe off the baby oil from my chest.
“Just tired.” I can feel him staring at me. He’s using our triplet connection to dig in my mind. “I woke up early to get that play structure for Felicity done before we had to come in tonight, and I didn’t get much sleep. That’s all. I’ll be fine.”
“I call bullshit on that lame excuse,” Ben says, grabbing a heated towel to wipe off. “We both asked you if you wanted us to help and you turned us both down. You wanted to be the hero. Your intentions were not as pure as they appear little brother.”
“Shut up.” Damien flicks his towel just missing Ben as he moves out of the way. “You can’t say anything. We’ve seen you do stupid things for Clara.”
Ben’s whole demeanor changes at the mention of his soon-to-be wife, Clara. “She was worth it.”
“Well, maybe Emma is worth it to Axel.” Damien stares at me.
Ben’s head cocks to the side contemplating what Damien just said. “Ah, I see.”
“Can we not talk about this? Come on we’re supposed to be out mingling with the masses so they don’t riot.” Without waiting for a response, I shove off the couch, throwing my towel in the dirty bin, and head out to the horny hoard.
Ben and Damien laugh behind me and I flip them off, bounding out into the crowd.
“It’s one of the Trifecta.” I hear the murmurs as all eyes turn toward me. Ben and Damien come out to flank me as chaos ensues.
Every bachelorette party has decided to come to Willie’s tonight. I’ve given so many lap dances my hips are screaming at me.
“How you holding up, Axel?” Willie comes over and slaps me on the back when I make my way away from the crowd.
“I’m ready to go home. Tonight's been crazy.”
“Gotta squeeze every last drop before you three take over,” Willie says just as my brothers come up beside me.
“You’re not getting second thoughts?” Damien asks, a fake smile plastered on his face. Damien has been worried Willie’s going to change his mind, killing the deal before we can sign the paperwork. The trademark for the name Trifecta has been taking longer than we expected, and some of the improvements to the club have been held up, making Damien antsy.
Willie shakes his head. “No, I’m not having second thoughts. I knew you boys were going to take over this club the day I discovered you.”
All three of us groan. Clara mentioned to Willie one night that he virtually invented the Trifecta and Willie’s been insufferable ever since.
“The trademark will go through soon, and all the paperwork will work out. Stop worrying, Damien. The Trifecta’s will have their club.”
Another dancer comes in through the door, lipstick smeared across his chest. We stop talking to go our separate ways to get the crowd hyped up. Until everything is official we haven’t told anyone there is going to be an owner change.
“Trifecta’s you’re on in ten.” Phil, the backstage coordinator, puts up both his hands, spreading his fingers wide indicating how much time we have left.
Ben stomps over to the garbage can and pulls out tiny pieces of paper strategically stuck in his shorts. He tosses the paper into the bin with intensity and sheer annoyance. I laugh and Ben looks at me still fishing in his shorts for the last of the papers. “You were right,” Ben says, going back to his task.
