Connor
Andie asked if she could have the night off to catch up with friends, so I muttered some bullshit about having other dinner plans.
I didn’t actually have plans because why would I make plans to eat somewhere else when Andie is the world’s best cook? I’ve not eaten this well in my entire life. I’ve had to start working out daily so I don’t morph into a contented, well-fed blob of a man.
Ronan was available to eat, so I met him at the diner run by McMahon’s crew near the club. The man ate ridiculously quickly, and now he’s hurrying me along as we stride toward Oracle.
“You got places to be, Ronan?” I snicker as he shoots me a glare.
“Aye, I do, Lucky. Move yer arse.”
Smirking, I keep pace with him. He turns down the back alley, and my eyebrows shoot up.
“What’s wrong with the front door?”
“We’re late.”
Late for what? It’s a fucking strip club. It’s my night off the tables, so I have nowhere to be. Surely the club isn’t going to fall into ruin if Ronan is away for a few hours to have dinner?
I’m going to take a wild guess that this is about the fact he doesn’t like it when he isn’t here to see his little blonde stripper perform and glare at all the other men who might so much as glance in her direction.
“What, have you missed the start of Fiona’s set?”
Ronan shoots me a nasty look, picking up the pace as my lips twitch. Yeah. He’s missed the start of her set. No wonder we’ve come in the back entrance to get there quicker.
Stepping through the back door, it swings shut behind us as we stride along the corridor, making for the entrance to the VIP room, where Ronan’s eyes are laser-focused. When we get there, we can’t walk through as there’s a traffic jam. Paddy and Niall are standing at the door, peeking out it. That’s strange enough for comment.
“Hiding from someone, lads?” I smirk at them. Paddy flashes me a grin that says we caught them in the act.
“We’ve been banned from girl’s night,” he grumbles, turning his attention back through the crack in the door. That makes sense. It’sgirl’snight. The clue’s in the name. These two are clingy bastards.
“And so ye’re standing here spying on them?” Ronan snaps. “Meanwhile, I’m missing Fiona’s set, so, if ye don’t mind….”
He gestures to the door, but neither of them moves.
“Aye, I don’t think ye need to worry about glaring at men looking at her tonight,” Niall rumbles, his eyes still glued on whatever they’re watching. “I think any other lad is too scared to get close. Jaysus feck, what’re they doing now?”
He shoves his head closer to the door.
“I think they’re making it rain on her,” Paddy replies, squinting into the lounge. “The lass has about two minutes to get off that chair before she hurts herself, or I’m going to fetch her off it myself.”
I have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about. I don’t get a chance to ask because Ronan takes matters into his own hands. Reaching past them, he jerks the door open so we can see through.
Niall and Paddy snap their heads back just in time to not get clocked in the faces, and we all stare into the VIP room. What the fuck?
Their wives, Lauren and Mellie, are dressed for a night out, standing on top of their chairs, showering Ronan’s little blonde stripper with dollar bills while she writhes on the stage floor.
They’re not the only two at the table. My eyes drop to Andie, seated on one of the gold and black brocade chairs.
She pounds back a glass of whiskey like a fucking pro, climbing onto her chair as I watch. My brain malfunctions. Jesus fuck. The lass is wearing the tightest little black dress known to man, with cutouts on the sides showcasing creamy flesh, tits on display, and a skirt finishing right below her ass cheeks.
My mouth is drier than the Sahara Desert. The lass has legs for days. She shouldn’t be dressed like that at a strip club, especially notthisstrip club. It’s asking for the wrong kind of attention.
She’s with Lauren, which means Paddy knew what she was wearing before she arrived. My fingers itch, and I clench them into fists. Did he not think to mention she should dress more carefully to come here?
I understand immediately what Paddy meant about the chair. In her sky-high black stilettos, Andie wobbles on the chair as she gets up. Christ. I’m ready to stride in, pluck her off the damn thing, and set her back on solid ground where it’s fucking safer.
Finding her balance, Andie raises the stack of cash she’s holding and also starts to make it rain.