Page 63 of Wingwoman
I couldn’t help the grin that tipped my lips. “Is that a threat?”
“Not a threat,” she said, standing. “That’s just the damn Texas truth.”
I stood, too, not backing down. “Well, I’m a Texas boy, too, you know. Born and raised. So lemme tell youmydamn Texas truth: I’m not going to hurt your sister. If anything, she’s going to hurt me.”
Julianne’s eyes flicked somewhere over my shoulder, surprise widening those bright blue eyes. “Well for once, Mr. Gabriel, I think we agree on something.”
With the slightest lift of her chin, she gestured across the club. I spun slowly, breath knocked from my gut when I found Hope at the bar, flirting with and practically sitting in one of the stripper’s laps.
Eighteen
HOPE
I had to admit,even though I was dreading this night for weeks, it was turning out…okay. Maggie and Matt were actually really hitting it off from what I could tell.
Dylan, the guy she’d met a few days ago at the bar, had been a good warm-up. But as I suspected, not a love connection. Nonetheless, she had gotten his number. And they’d gone out on a coffee date. It was good practice for her.
And now look at her. She barely even needed my help in knowing how to talk to Matt. For all her concerns, when it came to Matt she seemed easy, breezy, and most importantly, she seemed like herself.
A text from Maxie came through on our group chat with our other bestie, Carrow.
Max:
How’s it going?
I smiled down at my phone as I punched in a quick reply, leaning my elbows on the bar.
Hope:
Surprisingly, it’s kind of fun.
And though cheesy strip clubs definitely weren’t my thing, this one leaned into how ridiculous the acts were. They had themed dances, including but not limited to, Greased Lightning, Top Gun, and Magic Mike knockoffs. In their own way, they were making fun of themselves… which was always something I could get behind.
Find a way to laugh with them.
Carrow:
Good!
Three little dots continued next to her name despite the single word answer. They stopped. Then started again.
Huh. That was weird. Maybe she was texting someone else too?
I looked up as the bartender walked by for the eighth time, ignoring me yet again. I exhaled deeply and plopped down on the stool that opened up.
They were packed, I told myself. He wasn’t ignoring me on purpose.
Maybe this was a sign I should stop drinking? I’d already had more than I’d planned to and if I wanted to be sober enough to drive myself home at the end of the night, I should probably stop drinking now.
The Tom Cruise look-alike stripper from the Top Gun tribute slid next to me at the bar, his bomber jacket brushing my arm.
I smiled up at him briefly and scooted over to make room for him.
“Sorry,” he said, grinning down at me. “Just trying to grab a bottle of water before my next set.”
“They don’t have them backstage for you?”
He snorted. “Backstage consists of a few lockers and some cheap Ikea hanging racks. If we want water, they want us to get it out here so we can flirt with customers.”
