Page 11 of Santa's Mistletoe Playbook

The hospital wasn’t far from the strip club, and Bryson drove like a madman, fishtailing the truck on the slippery streets. He slid into a parking spot and got out, noting the lineup of Harley ‘hogs,’ motorcycle riders who stubbornly rode all winter long. A group of inebriated men stumbled out when he swung the door open. He marched past the beefy bouncer and stood, scanning the crowded room for his buddies and Danica.

He noted a few women doing lap dances at different tables, and one fish-out-of-water dancer caught his eye. Probably because she was the only one wearing a bra and a thong, dancing barefoot.

Stunned, Bryson moved closer to view the spectacle and his heart punched his chest.Holy crap, it’s Danica!

Eyes closed, Danni undulated like the other exotic dancers at a table full of salivating bikers. Now, there was a predicament: should he stomp over and make a scene? Drag his woman away from five leather-clad badasses who’d think nothing of pounding him into an invisible stain on the floor? Probably not a good idea. If he charged over there like a snorting bull, bad things would happen. He had to finesse this somehow.

With one eye on Danica, Bryson stomped over to the table with Monty, Jamin, Benny, and the women draped over the latter two.

“What the hell were you thinking, guys? Why did you bring Danica here?” He curled his hands into fists, tempted to throw enough punches to send them flying.

“Hey, bro, good to see you,” slurred Monty, motioning a beer bottle in Danica’s direction. “She asked a stripper to teach her how to lap dance so she could do it for you.” He swept his arm toward her as if showing Bryson what he’d won behind door number two on a game show.

The song ended, and Danica perched on the lap of the meanest, ugliest dude Bryson had ever seen—an over-sized hairy fella who could use a bra with D cups.

Bryson had to get her away from that slobbering gorilla.

“Excuse me while I get my girlfriend, you morons!” Bryson retrieved his wallet and yanked out a wad of bills, then snatched a bottle of champagne from the table and swaggered over to the bikers. He tossed a few hundred-dollar bills on their table, overrun with beer bottles, while giving them his meanest stink eye. Then he slammed the champagne bottle down hard on the table.

“I’m buying this dancer. She promised me a lap dance,” he said in a tough-guy voice.

Danica swung around, spilling out the top of her pushup bra. “It’s my doctor, honey-bunny!” she slurred happily, heaving herself into Bryson’s arms.

He caught her, but she couldn’t stand without tipping over. He slid his arm around her waist to steady her.

“Sorry, boys, she’s mine.” He couldn’t care less if they protested.

“Take her. She’s a lousy dancer, anyway,” grunted Ugly Guy, his eyes crossing from being extremely shit-faced.

Fortunately, the bikers were too drunk to care much about anything. Bryson hauled Danica back to the table, and Monty handed him her clothes. “You’d better dress her, buddy.”

“Ya think?” Bryson snatched the clothes and sat Danica down.

She hollered, “I love this man! Do you know he’s a doctor? I came to Alaska with him even though I didn’t want to!”

Bryson ignored her slurred words and clenched his jaw as he pulled her sweater down over her head. He stuck her arms through the sleeves like he was dressing a baby. Not that he’d ever done it. Next, he slid her jeans around her ankles and stood her up.

Danica swayed, a glassy sheen on her eyeballs. “I would do anything for you. Do you know that?” she slurred, falling into Bryson. “Do you know how much I love you?” She tapped his nose with her forefinger, wrinkling her face in a comical expression.

Bryson might have laughed had she not broken her promise. He had to get Danica home and dilute the alcohol in her system.

“Stand up,” he ordered her in a gruff tone. “I need to get these pants up.” He got her into the rest of her winter gear and wasn’t gentle about it.

“Hey buddy, go easy on her.” Monty stood and placed a hand on Bryson’s shoulder. “Dude, when Danica took off her clothes, there was nothing we could do?—”

“Don’t give me that!” Bryson shook off his hand. “You could have stopped her! I trusted you morons to take her to dinner, not show her a wild night on the town.”

“I know, but she was having so much fun. She followed the exotic dancers around until they showed her how to lap dance. Then the bikers whistled her over and tucked bills into her thong.” Monty lifted a brow. “She’s actually quite good.”

“Oh, great, my girlfriend got felt up by the Hells Angels!” Bryson gritted his teeth, his anger percolating like lava. “Why did you let her drink? She can’t handle it.”

“You should have told us, dude.” Monty took a pull on his beer.

“I didn’t want to embarrass her,” grumbled Bryson. “As you can see, she goes Tasmanian devil crazy. She has a medical intolerance to alcohol.”

“Never noticed it when I met her before.” Monty set his bottle on the table. A topless stripper sat next to him and pawed his chest.

Danica imitated the stripper, pawing at Bryson. He pushed her hand away.

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