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Damn you, Brock.
Finn turned off his phone, then turned it back on a moment later. He looked down at the device in his hand. On the frozen screen, Gretchen stood in his arms, her green eyes focused on him and a soft smile on her lips. He hit the arrow and brought their frozen images to life. It had been two weeks since he’d held her in his arms, but he could still feel her body pressed against his, and he couldn’t shake the incessant urge to have it there again. He stopped the video.
Before he’d seen the video of their dance, Finn had almost convinced himself Gretchen hadn’t felt as good as he remembered, that she hadn’t grown even more beautiful during their decade apart. But then Brock had sent this damn video and now Finn knew he hadn’t convinced himself of shit. He shifted, trying to relieve the strain of his slacks across his hardening member. Thoughts of Gretchen had had him in a near constant state of arousal for two weeks and frankly it was starting to piss him off.
He looked around the club, taking in the half-dressed patrons and mostly nude dancers, and wondered why he hadn’t taken someone home already. It wasn’t like he was holding out for Gretchen. He’d never have Gretchen. She’d been too good for him ten years ago when he’d turned her away, and she was too good for him now. Whether or not he had sex with someone else wouldn’t change any of that, but it would do a hell of lot toward helping him sate his need for her.
“Someone piss in your cornflakes?” Grant asked.
Finn hadn’t even noticed the bouncer approach. He’d been too busy scanning the room, not for possible threats, but for possible partners.
“What gives?” Grant tried again as he leaned against the wall beside Finn.
Finn sighed. Grant would eventually wear him down anyway. The bouncer would make a damn fine interrogator if he ever decided to try a legit profession.
“I need to get laid,” Finn finally answered the other man.
Grant eyed him. “And you’re looking here? You never sleep with girls from the club.”
Finn could only nod. Grant was right. Finn’s number one, and maybe only, rule was no sleeping with girls from the club, especially those that worked there. Things could get complicated enough working for Carlisle, he didn’t need the added hassle of a woman.
“It’s been a while,” he replied as if that explained his willingness to forget good sense.
Grant turned to look across the club. “Didn’t you go to a wedding or something a couple of weeks ago? I thought groomsmen were guaranteed to get laid at those things.”
Finn snorted out a response that only made Grant’s eyes narrow. That damn wedding was the reason Finn hadn’t been able to sleep for two weeks now.
“It didn’t quite work out,” he told his coworker. “Carlisle’s issues put the brakes on things.”
“Damn,” Grant mumbled. Then with a sly smile he asked, “Bridesmaid?”
If only.Finn shook his head. “Worse. The groom’s little sister.”
Grant’s laugh was quick and loud, as if he’d tried and failed to contain it. Finally, he managed to reign his laughter in. “Carlisle did you a favor.”
Finn nodded. Maybe. Probably. If not for Carlisle’s call interrupting them, he likely would’ve slept with Gretchen that night. And then what? He couldn’t imagine either of them satisfied with one time or even one night. But what could he do,dateGretchen Christensen? The thought should have sounded more ridiculous.
“Earth to Jay.” Grant nudged him with an elbow, using the name Finn went by in Raymond Carlisle’s world, a further reminder of why he and Gretchen could never work.
Finn shook his thoughts free. “Sorry. I was thinking.”
“Yeah,” Grant smirked. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
Finn opened his mouth to respond, but Grant had turned his attention to the other side of the room.
“Damn it,” the man grumbled and pushed away from the wall, his body suddenly tense, all business.
Finn straightened as well but saw nothing threatening. Finally, he followed Grant’s glare to the stage where a woman in black lingerie and a black bandit style mask stood in the low lights.
The corner of Finn’s mouth turned up. “Who’s that and what is she wearing?”
Grant huffed, not nearly as amused as Finn. “That’s Lilah. I guess she’s Zorro tonight.”
Ah.Lilah. The very woman Carlisle had called Finn back to investigate. Finn studied the woman now. She didn’t appear to be a threat, at least not to anything but heart rates and testicles.
She wore black—lacey black bootie shorts that left the bottoms of her tight cheeks exposed and a matching bra that barely contained a pair of full breasts. Her stomach was flat, hard. Finn had the impression Lilah’s lack of body fat came from physical activity and not the lack of food and abundance of drugs that caused many of the other girls to appear malnourished. No, Lilah looked healthy, and she carried her pounds where they counted. Finn’s hand itched to find out if her curves were as soft and lush as they appeared.
