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But I’ve long since given up on the pretense of caring.
“Oh, yum,” Carlos drawls. “Now this is my kind of bachelor party.”
Glancing at the doors, I find a group of good-looking men shrugging off their coats and making use of the rack we have there. They’re all tall, with broad, bulging shoulders. Flannels stretched out tightly across their wide chests, save for the guy wearing a black t-shirt readingGROOMin big, white bold letters across the front. On his buzzed dirty-blond hair, he wears a tiara.
More than half the guys have thick beards of varying lengths, and for whatever reason it has me searching their faces. There’s just something so…Nolan about a couple of them, what with the ripped jeans, work boots, and tattoos.
I find myself wondering, hoping…
“Ah, yours too, I see,” Carlos teases, yanking me from my thoughts.
“Shut up,” I murmur, feeling my cheeks heat when I realize they caught me staring.Pathetic much?
Micah barks a laugh, and Carlos makes an obnoxious cat noise, pretending to claw at me.
Rolling my eyes, I turn away from the door and head toward the table in the corner to see if they need refills.
Back at the bar, I wait for Micah to pour out a round of Cosmo’s.
The lights dim, the music switching over to a haunting bass rhythm that tells me Dana is taking the stage.
“Looks like it’s your lucky night, cutie,” Micah says, nodding behind me.
I follow his gaze over my shoulder to where the bachelor party has taken seats at a booth next to the stage. Right in the middle of my section.
Great.
Some of them gaze at the stage in rapture, while the others talk amongst themselves, seemingly indifferent to the half-naked woman currently sauntering down the stage.
It’s always hit or miss what you’re going to get around here, with it being a queer strip club offering a little bit for anyone and everyone. It’s extremely rare that we get a group of straight cis men though, so I can’t imagine this would be the case now, or that these guys will be an issue.
Still, they’re intimidating.
Well, except for the blond guy wearing a tiara.
“Here, I’ll take these over,” Micah says, stacking the shots around the table. “You go see what they want.”
Nodding, I pull my shoulders back, lift my chin, and make my way around the stage to their table.
“…running late. Be here soon,” I hear a guy finish saying, just as a couple swivel their heads toward me.
The blond in the tiara grins up at me, blue eyes sparkling. “Hi.”
The guy next to him snorts and knocks his shoulder. “Hopeless.”
Clearing my throat, I paste on a small smile, and force myself to relax. I don’t know why these guys have got me so on edge—they’re far from the first hyper-masculine clientele we’ve had.
“Shh, babe, I’m busy,” the blond slurs, sinking into the guy next to him. Around his neck, metal dog tags hang from a chain, catching on the light.
The guy chuckles, stretching an arm around the blond’s back, revealing the matching shirt readingGROOMpeeking out from under his unbuttoned flannel. He blows out dark curls from his eyes, and reaching up, fixes his fiancé’s crown when it starts to teeter. “Can we have a water for this one? He’s a lightweight.”
“Hey!”
“See what you get for pre-gaming.”
The blond scoffs. “Just a couple shots.”
“Yeah, of 151. Idiot,” he says lovingly.
