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“Contest?” the salt-and-pepper-haired bartender asked with a lift of his brow. “What contest, sweetheart?”
I rolled my eyes at his use of an endearment with my wife, but before I could open my mouth to correct anyone, Cassie snatched the paper out of my hands and held it out to him. “The wet T-shirt contest. See, you advertised for it right here.”
Old Pepper took the paper and studied it closely for a moment before frowning. “This paper’s from March, darlin’. We don’t have any of this shit going on right now. As you can see,” he continued and pointedly glanced around the very empty pub, “there’s not much of anything going on right now. It’s October. All the tourist excitement won’t start up again until spring.”
Like lightning, Cassie’s smile turned upside down into a sad, mopey little expression that made my chest deflate. I scowled at the guy, annoyed that he’d been so blunt while breaking the news. She’d hung her hopes and dreams on this thing, and he’d fucking crushed them without a care in the world.
Well, screw that. If my wife wanted a wet T-shirt contest, I was going to give her one.
“How about we just set up our own contest?” I suggested, hitting Pepper with the hard stare. “So what if there’s only one contestant. You want a contest, baby. You’re gonna get one.”
“Really?” Cassie cried, turning around and launching herself toward me. “You mean it?”
I nodded. “What my wife wants, my wife gets.”
Pepper looked Cassie up and down, seemingly noticing for the first time just how hot my wife was. I scowled harder, but he didn’t pay me any mind.
Which was pretty fucking ballsy of him, to be honest. It wasn’t like I was a little fucking guy. I towered over him by a mile, and with one fist to his face, I could ensure that he never served another customer at Gill’s bar again.
Still, I didn’t need to get so irrationally jealous. Not every man could handle a woman like Cassie, and I knew it. The two of us were kindred spirits, meant for each other. She’d chop off that guy’s dick all on her own if he tried something funny with her.
“I can set up a playlist and some water jugs for you if you want, darlin’. Won’t bother me a bit if you want to get a l’il wild and crazy.”
I rolled my eyes and snorted. “Set them up.”
Cassie bounced up and down again, and Pepper’s eyes cut to the good stuff—my wife’s fucking tits.
“Now!” I commanded sharply.
Jerking his eyes away from my babies, he jumped into action and grabbed a couple pitchers from the top of the bar to start filling them with water from the tap. I kind of hoped it wasn’t too cold, but from my experience with wet T-shirt contests, that was kind of the point. The colder the water, the tighter the nipples peaked.
Old Pepper just didn’t know that my nipples would be the ones he was turning into ice picks.
And to be honest, I kind of delighted in that fact.
If Cassie didn’t see the need to tell him, neither did I. He’d find out when I got up there and started swinging my dick around like a helicopter.
Cassie clapped her hands together and followed along as Pepper left the back of the bar and carried the jugs of water up onto the stage. There was already a stool up there in the back, and he brought it forward to create a little setup with a vase and a couple cheap flowers too.
He was really pulling all out the stops, and I’d be sure to tell him thanks after I shimmied my nads in his face.
“Any kind of playlist in particular you have in mind, sweetheart?” he asked my wife, shaking his hips playfully. Oh man, Pepper sure was going to be disappointed, and I could not wait.
Cassie glanced back at me and chewed on her lip, and I tilted my head to the side. The pregnancy hormones really must have been throwing her off, because in my book, I would have thought there could only be one option for us.
Finally, it hit her, and we said the name together in sync. “Britney.”
I winked at her. She giggled.
“The best Britney Spears playlist you’ve got,” Cassie elaborated for Pepper, and he smirked.
“I think I’ve got just the ticket.”
He hopped off the stage quickly, running over to the stereo system and setting it to play. I escorted Cassie to a table in the front, as close to the stage as possible, and “I’m a Slave 4 U”played its first chords as I settled her into a chair.
I glanced down at the white T-shirt and shortie shorts she’d set me up with this morning and laughed. “You’ve been planning this all day, haven’t you? That’s why you made me wear this.”
She nodded excitedly. “Pretty great, huh?”
