Page 4 of The Playboy

“You want to know why?” Declan asked from the seat across from mine. “Because Hannah would have me by the balls if she caught wind that a woman was straddling me, naked. She doesn’t care if I go, she would care, however, if I got a lap dance.” He ran his hand over the side of his beard. “I enjoy my balls far too much to lose them—or her.”

There were two stripper poles between us, strobe lights flashing throughout the bus, music blasting to the point where it was difficult to hear one another.

But Camden, who sat next to me, had heard his future brother-in-law and laughed at Declan’s response, regarding Camden’s twin sister. “Hannah would do far worse than just have you by the balls if she found out you got a lap dance.”

“So would Oaklyn, you fool,” Declan shot back.

“Which is why I did no more than just look,” Camden replied. “Something Oaklyn has no issues with.”

Camden had been with his girl for a decent amount of time—a relationship I’d seen coming for years even though he denied it. Hell, I’d even helped move that duo along since the idiot had been too dense to realize how much he wanted her.

Declan had fought settling down with Hannah—he couldn’t seem to sort his feelings—when we all knew that bastard was in deep.

Each of the Dalton brothers had had interesting buildups to their relationships as well.

And then there were my brothers and me—single as fuck and the only three fellas of the group who had partaken in a lap dance.

I looked at Camden. “You’re telling me Oaklyn is cool with what went down tonight?”

“She’s realistic about the expectations of a bachelor party,” Camden said. “So, yeah, she’s okay with it. Does she love it?” He chuckled. “I doubt it. Would any womanloveit?”

“She won’t ask all the questions and want to know every detail that happened tonight, and that won’t lead to any heated discussions or cold shoulders or no fucking in your immediate future?”

“Theno fuckingpart?Daaamn,” Cooper said from my other side. He grabbed his crotch. “My dick hurts, just thinking about that.”

Camden took a drink from his red Solo cup, filled with vodka and soda, like mine. “I’m positive the questions will come. As for the fighting”—he whistled out a breath—“I hope the fuck not. I’d told her what was going to go down tonight, and I stayed true to my word.”

But I could still hear the dread.

“Here’s what I can tell you,” Declan replied. “Strip clubs are always a touchy subject whether you do the right thing or not. You just have to approach the conversation at the right time. Like after I get home and make her breakfast in bed. I don’t talk about it now or while I’m away—absence will ultimately lead to a fight because she’s missing me.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Camden agreed.

“And whether they scream or give you the cold shoulder or hold out on sex, they’re definitely going to bury you with words,” I confirmed.

Declan’s and Camden’s girlfriends were best friends. Hannah was a litigator. If anyone knew their way around an argument, it was her.

Camden’s head hung down. “You’re right about that. And when our women are pissed”—he guzzled the rest of his drink—“whoooa.”

“That kind of anger turns me on, and it’s why I fell in love with Hannah,” Declan said, now rubbing his hands together. “But when it’s aimed toward me? Fuck.”

Jesus, I was glad I didn’t have to deal with any of that bullshit.

The must-have conversations that you knew would lead to fights. The ignoring, the cold shoulders, the days that would pass where you didn’t get laid.

Fuck all of that.

Since I’d made the playboy pact seven years ago, I was living the life I wanted.

Everything—and I meant, everything—was fucking perfect.

I took a sip, nodding toward the rest of the group—all in different stages of conversation, their expressions and gestures telling me the liquor had kicked in. “It’s good to have you all out here.”

Although I wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, Camden replied, “Why? Don’t tell me you’ve been lonely.”

Cooper and Brady laughed.

“My baby brother? Lonely?” Brady rolled up his sleeves, revealing his newest Patek Philippe—a watch that probably cost more than my Porsche. “Come on. Everyone in this bus knows that for someone like Macon, that’s impossible.”

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