Page 6 of Tripp

Well, that was easy enough.

“You hittin’ that?”

“Not anymore. I should’ve never started shit with her to begin with,” I confessed, taking a healthy swig from my beer.

“Why? She cray?” Hawke asked, grinning because he knew I hated when he talked like some teeny-bopper.

“Cray? Really?” He laughed before hitting my shoulder with his. “To answer your question, Arianna’s probably in the vicinity of crazy, yes, but I never paid much attention to say for a hundred percent.” Finishing off my drink, I gestured for another.

“Same thing, sweetheart?” Carla asked, wiping down the bar in front of us.

Before answering her question, I asked, “Why are you serving drinks tonight? I thought we just hired someone to do that.” Swiping the bottle she’d passed me, I gulped half of it down before she responded.

“She called off. Said her kid was sick or something.” Waving to someone at the far end of the bar, she smiled before leaving to tend to a customer.

I liked Carla. She was an ex-stripper turned manager. Anyone who spent five minutes with her knew she had a good head on her shoulders. Smart. Savvy. Compassionate. She kept the patrons in check with her stern, no-nonsense tone, all while helping the dancers, whether it be with costumes, dance routines, or talking them through a bout of stage fright.

Carla was a powerhouse of a woman. Not in stature, standing at just five foot five, but in personality. She was attractive, although not my type. If I had to guess her age, which I would never do out loud, I’d put her in her early to mid-forties. Her shoulder-length, honey blonde hair was styled into a flattering bob-type hairdo. Thin yet curvy, she definitely caught the attention of many of the men who frequented the club, a fact her husband, Brian, didn’t appreciate. He’d almost knocked out one of the men ogling Carla when the drunken patron decided to get a bit handsy. Luckily, our security stepped in and threw the guy out on his ass before Brian attacked him.

Flinging the bar rag over her shoulder, she slid a shot glass toward Hawke and gave him a wink. He responded with an appreciative nod before throwing back the amber liquid, slamming the glass on the bar when he finished. Carla had a nurturing way about her, and when she’d found out what had happened to Edana, she tried to comfort Hawke in the only way she knew how—by giving him a drink right before he knew he even needed one.

“Hey, I meant to ask you this earlier. How’s the new dancer working out? Any issues?” Finally sitting on the barstool, I rested my right foot on the rung, my left on the ground. Strumming my fingers on the bar top, I patiently waited for her to respond, my eyes taking in the action around the club.

“She’s quite somethin’.” Carla chuckled, the teasing tone to her voice enough to draw my attention back to her. Smiling big, she jerked her chin toward the stage. “In fact, you can see for yourself. She’s up next.”

Tripp

The tone of Carla’s statement had me on edge for a reason I couldn’t explain, except that I knew something was about to change for me very soon.

Apprehension stole the air from my lungs.

Swiveling around, my eyes darted toward the area of the stage I knew the girls emerged from, my posture becoming more rigid with every breath I took. Before I could berate myself for being ridiculous, Craig’s voice, our announcer, crooned through the speakers.

“Call your wives and tell ’em you’ll be late tonight, fellas, because our next dancer is gonna grace us with one more performance. She’s sexy. She’s alluring. She’s temptation incarnate.”

A thunderous roar erupted before he’d even finished speaking, the spotlight hitting the stage and the music pumping from the sound system in time to the appearance of the next dancer.

It was a sensual song, one I never expected to hear in a place like this, but I guess that’s what made her performance unlike any other.

A thin blanket of smoke rolled across the stage, quickly dissipating when the mystery woman appeared. Seduction drifted off her in waves as she walked toward the pole. Every step she took was predatory, the sway of her hips and the confidence in her body language instantly grabbing my attention. Hell, she entranced every fucker in the club. I saw the evidence as I quickly scanned the room.

Hopping off my barstool, my heart pounded faster as I approached the stage. Hawke shouted something behind me, but I couldn’t hear him. My only focus was on her. I had to find out what the invisible pull was drawing me toward her. My breathing accelerated as I moved closer, and I realized right then that I was powerless to stop whatever was happening to me.

When I stopped a few feet from the stage, I finally saw what all the fuss was about. Everyone around me faded into nothingness, the once-deafening shouts from the men muffled. The thrum of the music lessened as my eyes latched onto the woman rocking my world.

She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on, and I’d seen plenty of gorgeous women in my thirty-two years. I had no idea what her name was, however, because Craig’s announcement had been shrouded by the shouts of excited men.

She wore a tiny, white sheer top tied just underneath her full breasts, accompanied by a skirt so short it barely covered her ass. But I guess that was the sole purpose.

Her long red hair fell to the middle of her back, the curls bouncing and moving with every step she took. Her stomach was flat and toned, her legs long and lean. When she turned away from me and bent over I thought I was gonna come in my pants. Her heart-shaped ass was a work of art, and the only thoughts I had were of me sinking my teeth into her soft, pliable flesh.

Before I knew it, I’d advanced closer, surely blocking the view for some of the other patrons. But ask me if I cared. Besides, even if they had a problem with me obstructing their view, they weren’t stupid. If they didn’t know me personally, they could easily see from the cut I wore that I belonged to the club who owned this place. And if that weren’t enough of a deterrent, my sheer size would have them thinking twice about opening their drunken mouths.

Our newest dancer slowly moved around the middle of the stage. Her delicate fingers popped the buttons of her shirt, purposely taking her time for the much-needed buildup, working up every man in the place. Her actions fueled something inside me, an unfamiliar rage simmering deep within. I wanted her performance to be for me and me alone. But the thought was stupid.

She’s a fucking stripper.

Of course her little dance was directed at whoever would throw her money. Another fact which stirred my fury from a simmer to a slight boil.

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