“Because I have it on good authority that the talent at this club is the best, Remington,” Jude insists. “And I’m not going to be known as some titty-licker who’ll go just anywhere, especially not on the special occasion that is your bachelor party.”
I roll my eyes. “Good authority, huh? Don’t tell me, it’s your friend Kyle.”
“I don’t know why you’re saying his name like that, bro,” Jude protests. “He is nothing if not a strip club connoisseur.”
“He should make sure he puts that on his resume,” Ty says with a snort, and at the ungodly noise, all four of us laugh.
Jude has known Kyle since high school, and let’s just say, he’s the kind of guy the FBI comes looking for. Literally. He was out with his friends—not Jude, thank God—one night in Central Park, and he stabbed himself in the leg with a seven-inch K bar knife he was carrying around just for fun at seventeen years old. The FBI closed their investigation on everything after they realized he and his friends had been playing some weird version of “Commando Games” that led to a real-life freak accident when he tripped and fell, but his dad shipped him off to military school after that.
That helped a little, but he’s still not the kind of guy I’d go to for any kind of advice.
“When you get through the tunnel, turn around,” I tell Flynn seriously, sending the occupants of the back seat into an all-out uproar.
I talk over them as they complain. “We can go to a strip club. I’ll give you that much, but I’m not setting foot in any place that kid recommended.”
“Fine,” Jude says with a pout in his voice. I know he wants to say more, but he’s also smart enough to know that I’m already compromising by going to a strip club in the first place. This isn’t a battle he wants to pick.
Needless to say, it takes a little bit of time for Flynn to find a place to turn around and even more to fight our way back through Manhattan traffic, so by the time we park on a side street just a couple blocks away from the new club, I’m more than happy to go inside, just to get something to fucking drink.
My mouth is like a sandy pit of dehydration, and my head is only a few minutes away from starting to pound.
All four of us climb out of the car and start walking at the same time, but it looks very different on some of us. Jude and Ty are so full of endless energy, they practically circle Flynn and me every half a block. Flynn and I are twin pillars of a casual stroll. But instead of getting annoyed, I try my best to let their good time soak into me through my skin.
The truth is, before I met Charlotte, I probably would have been running laps on the sidewalk with them. Jude shuffles to my side, his big, permanent white-toothed smile growing while he waggles blond-hair-veiled blue eyes at me, and I give him a quick shove in the shoulder that makes him run into the brick wall of the building we’re passing. He laughs, and I feel a smile start to creep onto my face.
My brothers really are fun to be around, and after next weekend, it won’t have the same feel ever again. I’ll have a new family of my own to look after.
Resolute, I loosen my shoulders and shake my head. Just enjoy tonight.
I can see across the crosswalk that the line to get into the club is backed up twenty people deep, and my dry mouth calls out to me like a wounded wanderer in the desert.
Thankfully, Taco Bell beckons across the street.
I stutter-step and turn left, ready to cross the street, but Jude catches me by the back of my shirt and stops my momentum.
“Where the hell are you going?” he asks, outraged that I’m changing the plan again, so close to the finish line.
“I’m thirsty. It’s going to be at least half an hour before we get in there. I’m going to get something to fucking drink. You can get in line.”
“No way,” Jude says resolutely. I roll my eyes.
“Jude—”
“No,” he snaps again, turning me around and shoving me out in front of him to bypass the line.
Everyone we walk past pays us little mind—all the way up until the point that we don’t keep walking, but instead stop and watch as Jude strides right up to the bouncer and whispers something in his ear.
He nods, unbelievably, and waves the group of us forward, much to the waiting line’s chagrin.
“Yo, what the fuck?” one guy in front yells, outraged.
I don’t bother to meet his eyes as the bouncer moves the rope and we slide inside.
The music is loud, and the lights are low everywhere but up on the stages. Spotlights sweep and neon lasers strobe as three different women swing around the poles at the ends of their stages, their feet extended out toward the crowd.
They’re all well into the routine, obviously, as their tits are out and bare, their abandoned clothing scattered all over the floor.
Jude and Ty each grab me by one arm, dragging me toward the stage in the center and sitting me down on a chair front and center before occupying the ones right next to me themselves.
Jude’s baby-blue eyes are wide and round like an excited little puppy, and I can’t help but laugh.
“What in the hell did you say to get us in here in front of everyone?” I ask.
“Yeah, that was some shit,” Ty agrees from the other side.
Jude shakes his head and waves me off, never taking his eyes off the stage as the blond woman spins around the pole upside down until her hands hit the floor. She transitions into a handstand, and I have to admit, I’m finding it hard not to watch.
Half naked or not, she’s really fucking athletic.
“Jude, come on. What did you say?” I push.
“Nothing, dude,” he denies again, and while I might have let it go after the first denial, I’m now officially on edge. He’s up to something.
Something cold and hard hits me in the shoulder, and I turn around to find Flynn holding a beer there. Thank God.
“Thanks, man.”
Flynn nods and takes the seat behind me, leaning into the back of it and resting his foot on the back of Ty’s chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
He’s easygoing—I know that about him—but sometimes his ability to compartmentalize his surroundings truly astounds me.
“Pour Some Sugar on Me” hits its final notes as the women onstage crawl around to gather the dollar bills men have placed there in offering. Jude holds a five-dollar bill between his teeth and leans all the way into the edge of the stage as the blonde in front of us crawls toward him.
I have to put my hands on either side of my head to keep it from exploding as she rolls onto her back, leans her head over the edge, and encourages him to place the bill between her bare breasts with his mouth.
Dear God, Jude Winslow is too fucking cute for his own good. Mix that with his happy-go-lucky attitude, and women fucking swoon for him.
I only wish the ridiculousness ended there.
The voice of the emcee comes over the sound system, closing out the dance and inviting Sunshine, Legs, and Heaven to leave the stage.
The woman I can only assume is Sunshine winks at Jude and scoops up the scraps of clothing she’s shed before leaving the stage on a seductive swing of her hips.
I take a deep sigh, but before I can finish, all the available air in the room escapes me.
“Next, we’ve got a special treat, a bachelor here to celebrate his last night of freedom.”