Page 118 of The Winslow Brothers

Me: My assistant might kill me if I skip out on this wedding reception. The bride is a bit of a lunatic.

After I send that message, a question that’s been floating around inside my head for a while makes its way to the forefront of my mind.

Me: Speaking of Club Craze, I have a question for you.

Jude: And what’s that, babe?

Me: Why were you the exotic dancer on the night of my sister’s bachelorette? As I know now, your job is a whole lot more managerial in nature than that.

Jude: Because I can’t resist a bet.

Me: A bet?

Jude: Yep. With Maverick. The guy who was supposed to dance for your sister’s party. He’s a cocky little shit, and I was in the mood to prove myself as the better dancer.

Me: Did you win?

Jude: Technically, yes.

Me: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Jude: It means, yes, I did win the bet, which revolved around bringing in more tips than Maverick—most of it was thanks to a tall, handsy chick at your sister’s party who shoved like three hundred bucks in my underwear.

I laugh.That wasdefinitely Tonya

Jude: But a gentleman like me never kisses and tells—or, in your case, never makes a fake bride-to-beorgasm during an exotic dance and tells—so I didn’t actually claim the money I was rightfully entitled to.

I don’t know why that revelation makes me feel good, but it does.

Although, there’s also a part of me that isn’t too thrilled over the idea of Jude stripping for other women. Especially when I think about what that dance of his did tome.

Me: And how often do you take bets like that?

Jude: HA. Once and only once, babe. Now, go tell your assistant that you have a very important Secret Club meeting, but you’ll be back before she even misses you.

Me: You’re nuts, sir.

Jude: Nah, babe. I just miss your sweet-as-fuck pussy, and I’m very determined in my support of you earning all those badges.

Damn, he makes it so hard to say no. With my phone pressed to my chest, I glance around the kitchen and see that everything is still in order. And when I step back through the door and into the main venue area, I note that Julie looks relaxed and hasn’t developed that weird vein in her forehead that only comes when she’s about to lose her fucking mind.

But can I really sneak out of here for an hour?

Oh yes, you can, and you’re already figuring out how you will.

Next thing I know, I’m sending a text confirmation that showcases my possible lunacy.

Me: What’s your address?

Sophie

“Damn, baby, you look good all dressed up for work,” Jude says the instant I step foot into his apartment. “Like a fuckhot librarian or something.”

I glance down at my cream silk blouse and formfitting blush pencil skirt and jacket and laugh.

But also, I’m too inquisitive to see what Jude’s apartment looks like not to shift my focus and walk around his place a little.

It’s big. Bigger than mine. Clean, sophisticated, and minimalist in style, the smartly decorated space matches him to a T. It’s a bachelor pad, so to speak, but it’s also very cozy.

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