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I laugh at her comment. Not until I look away from Stacey do I focus on the people in the VIP areas on our floor, shocked when I get a better look. Sitting next to a group of guys, I spot a man on a leather couch who bears a striking resemblance to Sloan.
I close my eyes and open them once more. It’s him. And he was watching me. He licks his lips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, he pats his knee, as if telling me he wants me to sit on his lap. Either that, or he wants to bend me over his knee. I get wet from the thought of either possibility.
Chapter Six
SLOAN
“Doooccc!” Wyatt throws his hands above his head and slurs, screaming his nickname for me. “Do another shot with me.” He lowers his arms to hook one of them around the back of the stripper at his side. “No, better yet, do a shot off her tits with me.”
I shake my head, a smirk slowly forming on my lips. “Not tonight. We have to go.”
“C’mon,” he hisses. “One for the road. Take the stick out of your ass. What kind of best man turns down strippers on the night of his best friend’s bachelor party?”
I laugh. “The kind that just had ten lap dances and doesn’t want to walk to The Sixth Floor.” Pointing to the front door of the club, I motion to our friends, who will not think twice about leaving us behind.
Wyatt rolls his eyes at me and slumps forward in his usual obnoxious manner, childish theatrics and all. He’s been my best friend since we were kids and insisted we have multiple bachelor parties for his upcoming wedding. Tonight’s bar crawl is one of the many parties I had to plan up for his big day.
I tug on Wyatt’s arm to steer him away from the bar. “I’ll buy you all the shots you can drink before you pass out. Just get in the damn limo. I’m too fucked up to drag your drunk ass down to Penn’s Landing.”
He runs a hand through his sandy blond hair and frowns. “Okay, Dad. You suck all the fun out of everything. That job has turned you into a boring stiff. We can go, but you owe me a shot off a girl’s tits.”
I smirk. “Done. Now, let’s go before I throw you over my shoulder and drag your punk ass out of here.”
He punches me in my arm and laughs. “You gonna show me those old wrestling moves?”
I laugh. “Only if I have to.”
Wyatt whispers something into the stripper’s ear, and she giggles, smacking him playfully on the chest. She flicks her dark hair over her shoulder and rubs her tits on his arms as she plants a kiss on his cheek.
A few minutes later, we stumble out of the strip club, drunk off our asses, and find our friends standing outside the limo. Wyatt runs toward the open door and jumps onto the leather bench. Three of our closest friends climb into the limousine behind him, laughing at his stupidity, and within minutes, the beer is flowing again. We turn up the music, cranking an old rap song through the speakers that bangs against my arm with each thump of the bass.
The driver has to be sick of us by now, especially after the scene Wyatt made two clubs before. He’s taking the end of his freedom a little too far.
“We’re going to The Sixth Floor,” Wyatt yells through the lowered partition, waiting for the driver to nod before he hits the button to raise the glass. He turns to look at me and rubs his hands together, wiggling his eyebrows. “You ready to finish this night off with a bang?”
“Hell, yeah, I’m ready,” I say with a grin that mirrors his. “Dude, save yourself the headache. Call it off now.”
He leans back and kicks up his foot up on the bench. “Karen isn’t that bad.”
“If that were true, you woul
dn’t have done half the shit you did tonight.”
Wyatt slides his hands behind his head, narrowing his eyes at me. “If I have to sleep with one woman for the rest of my life, I need to make up for all the vanilla sex. Wait until it’s your turn, you’ll see.”
“Good luck with that.” I shake my head. “My turn is a long ways away, if ever.”
When the car comes to a stop, Wyatt pounds the rest of his beer and slams the bottle down in the cup holder next to him. The rest of us follow suit and climb out from the limo when the driver opens the door for us. My friends let out a series of grunts and howls. Ryan Hunt, my friend since kindergarten, almost knocks over the driver as he tumbles out of the car.
“Shots! Shots! Shots!” Wyatt shouts, nudging me in the arm hard, as we make our way to the front door. “I get to pick the girl this time.”
“Here,” Ryan says, handing me a few hundred dollar bills. “Buy him whatever he wants.”
“You’d need a lot more money for that.”
Ryan laughs, knowing full well that what Wyatt would want is illegal, not easy to find around here, and ten kinds of wrong.
“Good thing we talked him out of Vegas, or we’d be paying out the ass right now for this shit show.”
