Page 60 of The Price of Forever

“Start a tab if you want. I’ll pay it. I’m also going to pay for a special…visit, while you’re here.”

Trojan groaned. “Seven, promise me what we’re getting into tonight is legal.”

“Of course it is,” I assured him, stepping aside as a man entered the bathroom. “I would never lead you astray.”

“I’ll determine that when I see where your mystery address takes me.”

“You’ll love it. I promise. But I need something in return: a full report of what happens during your special visit.” My heart hammered, not that Trojan would know. I was desperate to be proven right that Jordan disguised the same feelings I had via that flimsy excuse about “trying out a new routine.” It shouldn’t have even fucking mattered, but I was dying to know if I was the only one feeling the burn of this attraction. I had to know. For science.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, is your fucking phone tapped or are you just being cryptic to piss me off?”

This time, I was the one who cackled. “Maybe a little of both. Truthfully, I just don’t want to be able to hear you judging me once you realize what I have planned for you.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“I’ll see you here, okay?”

Trojan heaved a dramatic sigh, and I hung up on him then sent him the address. He’d give me shit about what I planned for him, but the sheer amount of buttcheeks and tits in this place would quiet him down. There wasn’t much that a neat whiskey and a lap dance couldn’t solve for most men. As long as they weren’t head over heels for a stripper ten years their junior that happened to also be their client’s little sister. Even a lap dance couldn’t help that.

By the time I returned to the main area, Jordan’s show was just beginning. She stepped onto the stage accompanied by a thumping beat, her eyeliner winged, her pouty lips painted a deep burgundy. As expected, the scrap of fabric I’d seen her stuff into her backpack was now stretched across those perfect palm-sized breasts and down over her toned and tiny waist. She wore a black thong bodysuit that looked more like a one-piece bathing suit had lost a fight with a paper shredder. Strips of tasseled fabric splayed out across her muscular ass as she strutted the stage. Once again—as always—I was rooted. Along with every other human with a set of eyes in the building.

I tried to keep to the back wall and scan my surroundings instead of watching the show. After all, I needed to be on the lookout for Trojan. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Not when she was sharing the same airspace as me.

Trojan knew it. I knew it. And I prayed to God Jordan didn’t know it.

I did have a hard-on for this woman. And it wasn’t because she wore outfits that looked like they came pre-shredded or she specialized in wearing floss between her ass cheeks. Those were the last things about her that mattered.

I didn’t want to think about this anymore. I tried to distract myself with thoughts about my business and what came next now that I’d sent the contract to Chico. Once he sent me back the signed contract, we’d start immediately with the first assignment. Something safe—a “babysitting” session in my apartment or similar.

Until I could determine when it was safe to fully hand over her protection to someone else, I’d remain on the job. Dustin hadn’t dared show up recently, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t. And Jordan’s brothers still wanted full-time protection for at least an additional month once she found her own place, until the threat could be reassessed from her new apartment.

Jordan whipped herself around the pole, and the dollar bills rained down. Every time my gaze slid back to her routine and settled there, I forced myself to check my phone or focus on something else.

Trojan showed up just after she cleared the stage. He and I were the same height—six four—but he looked like the burly woodsman to my clean-cut vibe. Since leaving the military, he’d rocked a beard in various stages of growth and even had a whole flannel collection. Tonight, he wore dark jeans and a gray button-up, striking the balance between off-duty bodyguard and out-of-place lumberjack in the city with his full, dark beard.

Our gazes met across the room, and he shook his head at me with narrowed eyes. I fought back my smile. He headed to the bar immediately, and as he leaned against it, I got a text message from him.

TROJAN: A fucking strip club.

SEVEN: I told you I didn’t want you judging me.

TROJAN: Because you’re about to send me on some wild-goose chase for your stripper girlfriend, aren’t you?

SEVEN: She’s not my girlfriend.

TROJAN: So that sounds a lot like a yes to what my mission is. I’m getting a double and tipping 200%. Enjoy the tab later.

Jordan lingered near the front of the stage, playing coy with a few different men. I needed to get Trojan on her schedule before it filled up. I spotted the owner, Eddie, heading to the main lounge area in front of the stage with the tablet in his hand. I flagged him down before he got lost in the crowd.

“Hey, man. Any chance I could book a VIP slot on Sapphire’s schedule?” I almost let it slip that it was for my friend but thought better of it. I didn’t want Jordan to find out I’d sent someone to test her. I wasn’t even supposed to care, much less crave her the way I did.

“Yeah, you get first pick. When you want in?”

“Just put it under Troy,” I said, giving Trojan’s legal name. “Next available is fine.”

Eddie filled in the slot on the tablet, then I slipped him the bills needed to finalize the reservation.

“Don’t mention it to Sapphire, if you can help it,” I added. Her finding out I’d sent a friend would be the worst-case scenario; but her finding out I’d snagged a slot in the first place would raise too many question marks. “It’s kind of a surprise.”

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