Page 32 of Stroke of Luck

Laughing, I slide off Paolo’s lap and take the hand of the security guard. “Nope, you already promised me dancing!”

“That was stupid of us,” he mutters as he follows me out.

The outside of the club doesn’t look all that impressive, but I know from others who’ve been here that it’s amazing inside. The first level is a high-end Asian restaurant, but the second floor is where the party’s at. I shiver against the cold wind—my outfit is meant more for a summer day than the middle of March—but inside will be warm and toasty. Enzo pulls me to his side, wrapping me up in his suit coat as we walk up to the entrance. There’s a long line of people waiting for their chance to get in, huddled together talking and taking selfies. I watch as the women catch sight of my men walking up to the bouncer, eye fucking them in all their glory. It’s hard not to be smug when I know they don’t have a chance in hell of even getting noticed.

“Hey sexy mama, you look like you could use someone who can be more fun,” a guy calls out to me, causing Enzo to tighten his hold.

This idiot has nothing on my guys, with his half buttoned shirt, green silk suit, and slicked back hair like he just stepped off the set of Night at the Roxbury. Seeing that he’s caught my attention, he gives me what I’m sure he thinks is a sexy grin, but it just isn’t.

Placing a hand on Enzo’s chest to keep him where he is, I walk over to the man, making sure to infuse extra attitude into my walk. When I reach the man I give him a sultry smile, running my finger down the lapel of his cheap suit. “So what kind of fun are we talking about here, stud?”

The guy’s two buddies jostle him, all proud that they’re luring me away from the men I came with.

“Well sweetheart, I know for a fact that we can keep up better and last longer when it counts. I mean, look at them—all work and no play makes everything dull and boring. You, on the other hand, look like you want to be ridden hard and put back wet and begging for more,” he explains, letting his hand run down my arm, trying to entice me further.

I try to hold back my laughter at his words and how wrong he is. “Goodness me, you sound so confident—here’s the thing though.” I turn so I’m looking back at my guys, who stand just a foot away watching the interaction with murder in their eyes as I wrap my arm around Rico Suave’s shoulders. “See that guy? And the one standing on his left? Well, they are brothers and happen to own this place… I think their hard work has paid off for them, don’t you? Oh, then there’s the two holding hands. They know how to double team a woman like no other. Don’t even get me started on the pure art of sensuality when it’s just the two of them. When I get to watch, it’s…” I pause, giving a chef’s kiss to express the perfection. “Then that leaves Mr. Tall, Dark, and Lethal, who knows the perfect blend of fear and lust to drive a woman mad.”

I hear my new friend gulp as he realizes that he’s fucked up big time. “Where you really lost me, though, is that none of these men would ever leave me wanting more. If I can remember my own name after they are done with me, then they sure as fuck won’t leave until the job’s done. Lucky me—I found five men who can finally keep up with little old me, since one would never be enough.”

Dropping my arm, I take a few steps back, winking and blowing him a kiss as Remo’s body presses against my back. “Better luck next time, stud.”

Remo grabs the front of my throat and tilts my head back to look at him. “That, coniglietto, is not being a good girl.”

“No, but it keeps you from having to kill him,” I challenge.

All I get is a grunt in response as he gives the idiot a glare that probably has him pissing his pants. I yelp as he scoops me up and carries me inside like I’m a child on his hip, making me glad I’m wearing the romper.

“Skittles, you can’t even make it inside the club before finding trouble, can you?” Enzo chides.

“I’m sorry, did you want me to just ignore him? He needed to learn that is not how you treat a lady,” I grumble as we enter the club and take a private elevator up to the second floor.

Enzo tugs on my hair, making sure he has my full attention. “That is our job to handle, not yours, skittles. Although, I have to admit, how you handled it was fucking brilliant.”

Grinning, I snuggle up against Remo. “You can’t take all the fun from me.”

“Baby girl, if that’s what you think is fun, just wait until another woman tries to talk to us,” Othello teases, giving me a wink.

That causes me to snap my head up and glare at him. “Why would that be fun, Othello? Please enlighten me.”

“It hasn’t even happened yet and it’s already fun.”

I feel my hackles rise, knowing he’s trying to provoke me to prove a point. “If you have to bail me out of jail for assaulting someone because you don’t like my approach, that’s on you.”

Othello scoffs, giving me a disapproving look. “No one would dare to arrest you. I would have their badge in a heartbeat.”

Before I can offer my retort on how I feel about that subject, the elevator doors open, and the pounding beat of music engulfs us.

Stepping out of the elevator, Remo sets me down and grasps my hand firmly, leading the way through the sea of bodies. Laser lights shine through the hazy smoke that fills the air, making me feel like I’m in some futuristic rave. A massive mural is painted on one wall, depicting a beautiful Asian woman with CGI effects changing her appearance to fit the music. As we delve deeper, I spot small, cozy booths with people in them sipping on drinks and huddled close to talk.

We come to a set of stairs with a bouncer and a velvet rope blocking the way up. As soon as we’re spotted, the man lifts the rope, allowing us to pass with a nod to Remo and the others. The stairs lead us to a balcony, giving us a perfect view of the dance floor and the DJ playing on the stage. Black velvet couches with tables are scattered about, enough to fit twenty or more people up here if you’re having a party. Before I even have a chance to take it all in, there’s a waitress walking up to us for our drink orders.

“What can I get for you?” she asks, leaning in so I can hear her over the music.

“Whipped vodka with Sprite, please,” I answer as she writes it down on her pad.

“Sure thing, sweets. The name’s Carly, by the way, in case you need anything else.” She smiles, giving me a wink. “Oh, and that romper is fucking hot on you.”

To say that I’m hit on more often by women than men is an understatement. Even though that isn’t my preference, it’s the most flattering thing in the world. A man will lie to you and say you’re pretty to get what they want. Women… we’re brutally honest with each other when it comes to things we like or don’t.