“Did your mother not teach you any manners?” I huff.
“We’re. Fucking. Closed. You’re fucking welcome.”
He takes a step back and starts to slam the door shut when Isabelle quickly pushes me out of the way, jumps forward, and sticks her foot in the doorway to stop the door from closing.
“Excuse me, but as we’ve been trying to tell you, we have an appointment. Tiffany is expecting us, and if you’d be so kind as to show us where she is, we’ll be glad to leave you alone.”
The hulk of a man stares her down, and I half expect Isabelle to scream and run back to our car, considering this man could probably snap her tiny body in half like a twig if he wanted to. But she holds her ground until he finally gives in.
With a grunt, he turns and stalks back into the club, leaving us standing by the open door.
“Holy shit, look at you growing some balls!” Ariel exclaims, patting Isabelle on the back.
“I can’t believe I just did that. I’ve never done something like that in my entire life. I feel like I could do anything right now. I know it’s probably just an adrenaline rush, which is a stress hormone secreted from the adrenal glands on the kidneys and plays a major role in preparing the body for a fight-or-flight reaction in threatening environments, and it will wear off in about five minutes, but it’s so exciting!” Isabelle rambles as Ariel moves forward, grabs her arm, and leads her inside the club.
“Excellent. Then we have five minutes to meet Tiffany, get our instructions, and get you naked, since you’re feeling so free right now,” Ariel states as I follow behind them.
As soon as we come to the end of a long, dark hallway, a room of at least eight thousand square feet opens up in front of us. I’m surprised to see that the inside isn’t as seedy as I expected it to be. There’s a stage all along the far wall, with a black velvet curtain draped down along the back. The center of the stage juts out into a catwalk leading to a small square stage with a pole in the middle. The edges of the stages are lit up with hot pink and soft white lights, the same color lights shine down from the ceiling.
Instead of rickety chairs and beat-up tables, all around the room are small, round, black tables with a hot pink candle in the middle of each one. Each table is surrounded by elegant black-leather club chairs with high arms and deep seats.
“This is the fanciest strip club I’ve ever been to,” Ariel mutters as we continue moving into the club and taking in our surroundings.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Even though I’ve only heard that voice two other times, I’d recognize it anywhere, and so would my stomach, going by the butterflies that are flapping around inside of it as I turn around.
Standing a few feet away in the dimly lit room are PJ, with an annoyed look on his face; the angry bodybuilder glaring at us like he wants to kill us; and another man with a huge smile on his face.
“Well, well, well. Beast told me we had some visitors, but he failed to mention how beautiful they were,” the man with the smile says as he moves in our direction and stops right in front of Ariel, a light from above shining down on him, making it easier to see his features.
He has the same dark hair as PJ, but it’s styled neatly with hair gel. Looking at his clean-shaven face, lovely green eyes, and charcoal suit that fits him like a glove, my immediate thought is that this man is exactly my type.
So why in the world can’t I take my eyes off of PJ? He’s wearing another pair of worn jeans, but instead of a T-shirt, he’s paired it with an untucked, fitted button-down the same vivid blue color as his eyes, worn with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The five o’clock shadow is still present on his face and, just like the other night, I have the urge to run my cheek against it.
I take my eyes off of PJ long enough to watch the man in the suit hold his hand out to Ariel.
“My name’s Eric Sailor. I like long walks on the beach, watching romantic comedies, and snuggling after sex.”
Ariel visibly dry heaves before giving him a bored look.
“Fuck off.”
Eric tips his head back and laughs before shaking his head at her.
“You must be the mouth Beast was talking about,” he says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at Incredible Hulk, still standing next to PJ with his arms crossed and his legs spread in a wide stance.
“I’m sorry, did you say his name is Beast? My goodness, that’s . . . unusual,” I say politely, when what I really want to say is that it’s the most accurate name for a man I’ve ever heard.