“He’s an asshole.” Maxie squares her shoulders.
“He’s a man.” It is the only explanation.
We’d arrived just in time to see Chantel’s act as she strutted, wiggled and gyrated her body while Diesel stood by like a cartoon wolf with his tongue hanging out. Then, to top it off, just before she leaves the stage, she leans over, swaying her outrageously large tits in his face, and, holy fuck, I think his eyes crossed.
“I like the way you blame the entire male population.” Marisol laughs around her words.
“Just speaking from experience.” My father left my mother with two small children, and Eduardo is a complete fuck-up, so it’s the only logical conclusion. Blame it on the entire male population. Much easier and very satisfying.
Francesca and Tanya head for the bar, and the three of us get a table. When a waitress appears, Marisol orders, “I’ll have a lemon drop martini.” She points to Maxie. “She’ll have a bourbon on the rocks.” Then to me. “And she’ll have the specialty margarita.”
The waitress jots it all down and disappears into the crowd.
“I can’t believe they serve such nice drinks at a strip club.” I look around the room, appraising my surroundings, easy now that I don’t have to get up on stage. “Actually, this is way nicer than most strip clubs.”
“When they bought the place, it was almost falling down. They did mega renovations, then, when I took over as bar manager, I suggested something other than shots and beer. Of course, they were against it until they noticed more women joining the men, and even some of the men like a good dirty martini. They liked the extra revenue, and they’ve even gotten behind the better brands of liquor.” Marisol leans in and nods tothe prospect bartending. “I know margaritas are your favorite, but they probably won’t be as good as mine.”
Maxie cranes her neck toward the bar. “I don’t know about that. They’ve got that prospect, Jared, behind the bar.”
I look in the same direction. “He’s cute.”
“Cute?” Maxie scoffs. “He’s got a body like Brad Pitt inFight Cluband the eyes of Jason Momoa, dark and dangerous. He’s way past cute.”
I have to agree with her. The guy is gorgeous in all the best ways.
“Do I need to tell Blood about your crush on the prospect?” Marisol jokes.
As if on cue, Blood and Smoke appear at the table. Blood places a large hand on Maxie’s back, then leans in for a kiss that should be outlawed in public. Marisol wraps her arms around Smoke’s waist and gazes up at him like he’s the only man in the room.
I admit to being happy for them, and a little bit jealous, but at the same time afraid of what they have going on. Not too confusing.
“You ladies look amazing.” Smoke smiles down at Marisol. “I’m assuming this is your usual Friday night with the girls, and men aren’t invited.”
“You guessed right, handsome.”
“All right, make us suffer, but you know the rules.”
“Anybody comes on to us, and all bets are off,” Marisol repeats the words like she’s said them a hundred times.
Blood pulls Maxie to him. “Same rules apply to you, babe.”
I’m amazed at the gentle way Blood touches Maxie. Totally out of character from the ogre he portrays in the gym.
Each man dives in for one more kiss, and then they retreat.
“You ladies are very lucky.”
“True.” Maxie’s gaze follows Blood, then it shifts, and she gets another look in her eyes.
“Ohhh, I never like when she gets that look in her eyes.” Marisol shakes her head. “It usually means I’ll have a headache in the morning with no recollection of getting up on stage and singing.”
“What’s this now?” I’m intrigued that put-together, always-in-control Marisol has a wild hair.
“Nothing.” Marisol dismisses her words with a flip of her hand.
“It wasn’t nothing.” Maxie laughs. “And just for the record, you have a bangin’ voice.”
The waitress places our drinks on the table, and Marisol and Maxie hold up their glasses. “Here’s to the newest addition to The Royal Harlots.”
