The Bet (Winslow Brothers 1)

I just hope it lives up to the hype.

Once we reach the end, it opens into a big, wide-open space that’s packed to the brim with clubgoers, and a pretty blond woman dressed in formfitting, all-black attire greets us with a grin.

So I can hear her over the pandemonium, I shove my way to the front of our boisterous group and lean in toward her as she speaks. “If you ladies will follow me, I’ll lead you to your private VIP room.”

Evidently, she’s already been updated by the bouncers of our arrival, and I wave a hand back at the group to follow her lead. Carefully counting off ladies and sending them ahead of me to make sure we all stay together, I make it through all but one when something grabs the back of my coat and drags me in the opposite direction.

“What the—?” I shriek in the pitch of a dying cat. It doesn’t matter, though, because the atmosphere in this place is so dang loud, I don’t think the women of my party would have realized if a bomb went off behind them.

My steps stutter and stammer as I fight to keep myself upright, the scent of my sister’s perfume on my attacker the only thing that keeps me calm.

Before I know it, Belle’s yanking me into the closest women’s restroom. The instant the door shuts behind us, she up and locks the damn thing so no one else can get in.

“Soph, I can’t do it,” she whispers harshly into my ear before backing away toward the sinks and mirrors.

“What are you talking about?”

She’s already shaking her head. “I can’t do it.”

“You can’t do what?”

“I know I said I wanted the whole shebang for my bachelorette party, but I’m done.”

I jerk my head back in surprise. “What do you mean, you’re done?”

“I mean I’m done! I can’t let some greased-up stripper dance up on me in front of everyone!”

I blink several times, open and close my mouth like a fish, raise a finger to speak, and then drop it again. What in the ever-loving hell?

“Sophie,” she says and grabs both of my shoulders. “I’m not joking around. If I have to go sit in that private VIP room while all my friends watch some dude rub his dick on my legs, I’ll freaking shit myself. Or have a heart attack. Or a brain aneurysm. Or—”

“Belle,” I cut her off before she pushes herself into a panic attack. “Take a breath. Calm down.”

“Calm down?” she repeats with stretched-out, crazy eyes. “I can’t calm down! Soon, everyone in that stupid VIP room you rented will be watching me get dry humped by a stripper. I don’t want to be a human pillow or sock or come rag or whatever. I can’t do it. I can’t.”

“I’m pretty sure the politically correct term is exotic dancer, and it’s not like he’s going to jizz in your belly button. That’s what backstage is for.”

“Sophie, now is not the time to be a smartass.”

I snort. “Listen, I don’t want to be a bitch right now, but I feel it’s important that I remind you that you said you wanted this. I remember it distinctly, actually.” I change the pitch of my voice to mock her and continue, repeating her own words back to her. “I just want to get crazy, Sophie. Live it up! This is my last hurrah!”

“I know!” She tosses both of her hands up in the air. “I know. I thought I did. But I don’t. I just want to go home and let John rub my feet.”

“Belle.” A shocked laugh pops from my lungs. “Honey, we can’t go home right now. Everyone came out tonight to celebrate with you, and our limo driver won’t be here for another three hours. Plus, I’m pretty sure Tonya will throw a temper tantrum if she doesn’t get to utilize all those dollar bills she brought with her tonight. You saw them in the limo. She has three hundred of them stuffed into the cavern between her boobs.”

Belle huffs out a sigh and runs a hand through her dark hair. She’s agitated. Nervous. But she’s also starting to consider what I’m explaining. At least, I think she is.

“You have nothing to be freaked out about. For one, you look gorgeous,” I say and turn her around by the shoulders, so she sees her reflection in the mirror. “And two, no one is judging you. Everyone here just wants you to have fun. That’s it. And it’s not like I paid the exotic dancer to give you a happy ending with his penis. Only dancing, I swear,” I tease, trying to swing her emotions all the way back to where they started, but she doesn’t even offer a smile.

Out of the two of us, my sister is the introvert, and I’m more of the extrovert. It’s probably why I’m in the business of event planning and she’s in the business of scouting out models to attend the events. She’s never been fond of being the center of attention, always preferring to be a fly on the wall rather than the focus in the middle of the room. That’s not to say she’s not outspoken with people she’s comfortable with—with Katelynn and her fiancé John and me, she’s a brutal bringer of truth—but with friends and a complete stranger involved? Forget it.