“You’re a complete prick, and I’m making a formal complaint to the owner,” she snaps, the legs of the stool screeching across the floor as she climbs down.
“Funny, I don’t remember any rule that states assholery is grounds for being written up.”
“Club rules are to be respectful to other members, and you’ve totally disrespected me!” she shrieks.
“You’re not even a member,” I say without looking at her. I swirl the amber-colored liquid in my glass, wishing it would take effect and numb all thoughts in my brain. I turn and smirk. “And I rejected you, sweetheart. It’s not the same thing. Perhaps you should spend your nights reading the dictionary instead of frequenting sex clubs.”
Her nostrils flare. “You aresucha jerk.”
“Never pretended to be anything else.”
“I’m going to report you right now.”
I chuckle. “You do that, babe. I’m sure my uncle will get a kick out of it.”
Her brow puckers. “Your uncle?”
“I’m related to Bennett Mazzone, but be my guest. Write me up. I don’t give a shit.”
She finally storms off, muttering expletives under her breath.
“Making new friends?” Cristian jokes, sliding onto the stool the woman just vacated.
“What are you doing here?” Cristian is currently in a committed relationship, and he hasn’t darkened the doors of Club H in months.
“Rafael called me.”
I turn and glare at the bartender. He shrugs and raises his palms. He’s lucky we have to leave weapons at the front door.
“Is there a reason you’re trying to drown yourself in scotch?” my friend and fellow don asks.
“My dick is broken,” I blurt before draining my drink and reaching for the bottle.
“What?” Cristian grins.
“It’s not funny. I haven’t had sex in weeks, and my dick has shown zero interest tonight in anything or anyone.”
“If you’ve drunk this much,” he says, eyeing the half-empty bottle. “I’m not surprised.”
“I think I screwed up,” I mumble, resting my head on the counter as sudden exhaustion washes over me.
“Let’s get you home, buddy, and you can tell me all about it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Caleb
Iwake the next morning with a thumping headache, and my tongue is flattened to the roof of my mouth. I’m lying on my stomach on my bed, still in my clothes from last night. Lifting my head off the pillow, I groan as splinters of pain stab me in the skull. I roll over onto my back and lift up a little, pleased to see I at least had the sense to take off my socks and shoes.
Or maybe not. I rectify my thought as I spy the glass of water and pain pills on my bedside table. Pulling myself up against the headboard, I knock back the pills, grimacing at the note Cristian left me.
Tell her the truth.
Fuck. I rub at my sore head as I glance at my watch. It’s still way too early to contemplate any of this. I have no clue what crap I spewed last night. I was more inebriated than I realized. I’m unsure how I got home, but I’m guessing my buddy is responsible. Love that dude like a brother.
I’m trying to make myself get up and into the shower when my twin appears in the doorway of my bedroom like a ghostly apparition. “Jesus Christ, Caleb. It smells like a fucking brewery in here.”
I casually flip him the bird as I begin unbuttoning my shirt.
