One
Dalton
I regret this the minute I walk in the door to Vinnie’s. Why did I agree to meeting with Bryce at a strip club? I work in real estate, for fuck’s sake. I don’t need to watch guys dance around while I’m trying to talk contracts.
Bryce’s already at a table near the front of the room, his gaze glued to the dancer on stage. It’s a young guy, probably in his early twenties. His shirt’s abandoned on the stage behind him, and oil glistens on his chest. His eyes are closed, like he’s just listening to the music, and I think might be the only one who can tell it’s simply to shut out the people watching him.
When I take the chair beside Bryce, he glances at me once before turning his face immediately back to the stage. “He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.” I don’t look at the guy again, though. I’ve got nothing against it, but he clearly doesn’t want to be here. I’m not sure if Bryce just isn’t aware of that, or he doesn’t care. I’m leaning toward the latter.
“You should get something to drink,” Bryce says, waving down a guy in tight shorts. “Put it on my tab.”
“Just a water,” I tell the guy, who gives me a nod and a smile before hurrying away.
Bryce’s gaze has zeroed in on the guy on stage again, and irritation builds in my chest.
“So, I’m thinking about the Rosewood property—”
“I can’t concentrate with this guy on stage,” Bryce interrupts. “Wait until he’s done.”
I bite back my initial response, which is to tell him to go fuck himself. I pride myself on always remaining professional, no matter the situation. I haven’t gotten where I am today by losing my temper whenever I’m dealing with someone I really don’t like.
Music continues to pump through the speakers, and I keep my eyes trained on the water glass the server brought me a couple minutes ago. I should never have listened to Arnold when he suggested this guy. But Arnie was my brother’s best friend, and after Colt passed, Arnie was the only one outside of my family who didn’t expect me to stop grieving with time. I indulge Arnie more than I should, but I feel like a part of me owes it to him.
Bryce leans forward suddenly, a bill in his hand. He reaches out and tucks it in the side of the guy’s thong. I catch a flash of the pale, taut skin of the guy’s ass before he moves away.
Bryce relaxes back in his chair and reaches for a cigarette. “Fuck, that kid’s gorgeous.”
He glances at me and barks a laugh. “Look at him, Dalton. Don’t be such a prude.”
My irritation burrows deeper as I do my best to ignore him. How can he not tell that guy up there is fucking miserable? It’s in his body language, the empty look in his eyes. He doesn’t want to be here anymore than I do.
I’m going to kill Arnie for this.
When the guy finally leaves the stage, Bryce grinds his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table between us, then clears his throat. “What were you saying about Rosewood?”
It takes all of my patience to sit there and outline the pros and cons of purchasing the land on Rosewood. Frankly, right now, all I want to do is talk him into buying something completely worthless to match his persona, but I’m nothing if not a professional.
He nods along, asks the right questions. He’s completely different once that guy’s off the stage. Still a complete dick, but at least he’s tolerable now.
I have his full attention for about fifteen minutes, then that same look enters his eye, and he sits up a little straighter.
I glance over my shoulder to see the guy from earlier walking out from a back room. He’s fully dressed now in jeans and a black T-shirt. No trace of oil shines on his skin. He looks cute like that, and I watch as he weaves his way through the crowded floor, careful not to touch anyone.
He seems different from the other dancers here. Or maybe they just hide it better.
“Hey.” Bryce reaches out for the guy as soon as he’s close enough, snaking an arm around his hips to drag him closer. “I missed you last Friday, Romeo.”
The guy blushes, and it’s not just for show. I can feel the discomfort radiating off of him, though he’s trying desperately to hide it.
“I’m sorry,” the dancer says. His voice is pretty and lilting. Something that feels a lot like jealousy roars through my veins. I don’t like him talking to Bryce, not when I know what a jackass he is.
“You gonna make it up to me?” Bryce asks. “Because I want to see you give my friend here a lap dance.”
The dancer’s gaze flicks to me as every muscle in my body tenses. I’d fucking love a lap dance from this guy, but if Bryce thinks it’d happen in front of him, he’s even more delusional than I assumed.
“I’m off the clock,” the dancer says with a little laugh. “Maybe next time.”
