For the rest of the night, entry to The Tropics is by invitation only. That way, all the brothers can party their asses off without worrying about watching over the club. And I planned on enjoying that freedom to the fullest with one, or maybe two or three, of the beautiful ladies strutting their stuff.
Shit, it’s my fuckin’ birthday.
I sling my arm around Bolt’s shoulder. “I understand Ricky brought in some extra girls for the night.”
“That’s right.” Bolt nods to Ricky, who manages The Tropics. “And if any of them are good, we’ll keep them on as regulars.”
“Sounds like a sweet plan. Nothing like new faces to keep the money rolling in.” Bolt toasts me with a shot of Jack, and I throw it back.
“Believe me, when this night is over, you’re not gonna be able to see straight.”
“Bring it on, brother. Bring it on.”
Bolt heads toward the back door, and I spy one of the new additions looking lost. Probably looking for the dressing room, and I’m feeling helpful. If the front is as good as the back, my thirtieth birthday would be one to remember.
Earlier, I got a very energetic birthday blowjob from Chantel, and although she’s hot as fuck, sometimes she’s just a little too eager. She’s been putting the pressure on lately, trying real hard to be my old lady, but that’s never gonna happen. Problem is, Chantel isn’t very particular and screws everything in sight, so there is no way I’m dipping my dick into that germ factory, but shit, it’s my birthday, so who am I to turn down her deep throat?
The new girl passes the dressing room door, so I catch upwith her. Seems like this sweet flower needs assistance, and I’m just to one to help.
I rest my hand on her shoulder. “Where you goin’, sweetheart?”
She spins around, eyes wide, and I was right. She looks like she walked out of a Gap commercial. All long legs and narrow waist, with her thick dark hair teasing those perky tits. Happy, happy birthday to me.
CHAPTER 2
MARTINA
I freeze in my tracks as my brain scrambles for a way out, or a way around whoever’s huge palm just landed on my shoulder. Judging by the size of his hand, and the deepness of his voice, this man probably outweighs me by one hundred pounds.
I slowly turn around, half expecting to see a cartel goon, but instead it’s one of the leather-wearing giants from the end of the bar. Weighing the odds, I decide he is the lesser of two evils—until?—
His hard face splits into a grin, a very sexy grin. “I know Ricky hired some new girls, but I gotta say, you are top of the line.”
“Top of the line?” Yeah, I know I should ignore his misogynist comment, but really . . . he makes me sound like a brand-new Lexus.
He blatantly eyes me from head to toe. “Ohhhh, yeah, you are definitely Grade-A.”
Great. I’ve gone from a shiny new car in the showroom to a piece of prime rib.
I shuffle away from him, but he moves with me. “Don’t be afraid; I ain’t gonna bite.”
“Uhhh, I was just looking for the ladies’ room.” When in doubt, always go with what frightens men most—all the workings of the female body.
“Sure, sure.” He points farther down the hallway. “That’s for the public, but you can use the one in the dressing room.”
“Dressing room?”
“Yeah, you passed it back there.” He points behind him. “It’s the second door on the right.” He lets his eyes travel over my black crop top and leggings. “I’m Diesel, and the party tonight is for me. It’s my birthday.”
“Ohhhh, well, happy birthday.”
“Yeah, this birthday is definitely shaping up nicely.” He waves his huge hand over me. “What kinda costume is this?”
“It’s not my costume; it’s?—”
“Well, you better get changed, ‘cause the party’s gonna start soon, and I can’t wait to see what you got to offer.”
I was so close to the back door, I could make a run for it, or I could just play along. Decisions, decisions.
