“I did six stripteases before our break.”
“Bloody hell. I only got two. How did you do, Jag?” Kyrone asked, as Jag joined them.
“Four.”
Dylan grinned at them both. “I’m winning then.”
“It’s not a competition,” Jag reminded him.
“You keep telling yourself that. How many stripteases have you done tonight, Hunter?”
“Five.”
Dylan elbowed Jag lightly in the ribs. “Even Hunter’s doing better than you.”
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Hunter asked.
“Jag normally does better than you.”
“Not a competition,” Jag reiterated.
“I don’t even know why you bother trying,” Dylan mused. “I bet the boss would let you live a life of luxury. You’d never need to dance again.”
Jag scowled at him. “I pay my own way.”
“Of course you do.”
“Dylan’s being an arse,” Kyrone said when Jag’s expression became stormy. “He’s sour because Callum’s not interested in him, so he’s taking it out on you.”
“You’re really hard to like sometimes,” Jag muttered to Dylan. “Let’s go before Mac comes looking for us.”
Dylan’s shoulders slumped at Jag’s words. He hadn’t meant to piss his friend off, the last thing he wanted was to push Jag away. He just…wasn’t great at knowing when to shut the hell up. That was probably what had gone wrong with Tattoo Boy. He’d pushed when he should have backed down in good grace. He’d try again, and next time he intended to make a better impression on the sexy barman.
