Tug (Irreparable 3)

“You looking for someone, bro?”

He jumps. “What? Uh … no.”

Something is off, but I ignore it. “Sit down and enjoy your night. I promise not to let you do anything stupid,” I say, although admittedly, I wouldn’t be disappointed if he did. Then I’d have a chance to get Tori back. There’s that hope that won’t go away.

He makes a face and sits next to Jesse with his back to the stage. Clearly, this isn’t where he wants to be.

I, on the other hand, don’t mind the location a bit, and sit next to Harrison as close to the stage as I can manage.

“What got into him?” I ask, tipping my head at Brady.

Harrison doesn’t answer, as his eyes are glued to the big boobs belonging to the bleached blonde on stage. I smack him on the back of the head. He snaps out of his trance and turns to look at me. “What?”

“Brady? Something’s wrong.”

“He’s fine.” Harrison brings his eyes back around to the blonde.

She smiles when I look up, but it does nothing for me. After Tori, I am done with blondes. They don’t compare, and this one is kind of a skank.

Gabe pours shots for everyone from the giant bottle of tequila on the table. We toast to Brady’s happiness, and the alcohol isn’t responsible for the pain in my chest. His happiness should be mine. Gabe pours Brady another shot. He downs it and appears to be more relaxed than he was when we first walked into the club.

The music stops briefly as the announcers says, “Let’s give it up for Del, everyone.” The blonde shuffles off stage, waving at the crowd.

Jesse and I force Brady to do one more shot with the group. After, he leans back in his chair and waves with his hand, signaling that he’s had enough.

“Not even close, buddy,” Jesse teases him. “This is your last night of freedom, and you aren’t leaving here until your drunk ass has to crawl out.”

A hard rhythm pumps from the speakers as an electronic version of “Purple Rain” by Prince starts to play. The lighting above the girl on stage reflects off the red tinsel threaded in her hair. Her back is to me. My eyes move lower, traveling down her spine to her tight ass, and over fishnet stockings, landing on red patent leather fuck-me heels. My dick reacts immediately. The announcer introduces Monica as water pours from the ceiling, soaking her, and I’m a fucking goner.

Jesse talks in my ear, and I reluctantly turn to face him. He wants to buy Brady a lap dance. As I begin to tell him to go for it, my gaze moves over his shoulder to Brady. He’s tense. His eyes are wide, staring at the stage. I start to answer Jesse again, and feel something sharp penetrate my chest. I turn to a shiny red heel pressed into my sternum. My eyes roam up her leg, which is glistening between the fishnet diamonds with beads of water and sweat. The dancer’s head rests on her knee, her wet dark brown waves cascading down her leg. She slowly lifts her head, and wide brown eyes look at me. Familiar eyes. Her gaze shifts behind me, and I turn to see the scared look on Brady’s face.

Monica, or Maria, jumps to her feet and moves to the other side of the stage. She finishes the dance, and damned if I can pull my eyes off her perfect ass. Her wet hair whips around, and I have visions of her in the shower, naked and slippery.

The song ends, and she runs off stage down a set of stairs on the side. A muscled arm reaches out and grabs her. She fights to free herself, but the man yanks her onto his lap. My blood boils, and I move toward her. The thick air sticks to my skin and smells of body odor. Shoulders bump me, and my foot is stepped on numerous times, but I keep maneuvering through the sweaty crowd until I reach her. I put a hand on the guy’s shoulder. He shoves Maria from his lap and stands. Fuck, he’s big. At six-three, I don’t look up to many people.

“Hey, easy there with the lady,” I say calmly.

“She was leaving without paying up.”

“What?” My eyes move between the giant and, fuck, whatever-her-name-is.

“I paid for the whore.” He grips Maria’s arm and steps close to me, dragging her with him. “She isn’t going anywhere.”

My eyes stare at his broad chest. I step back and ask, “How much?”

“Four hundred.”

I pull a wad of bills from my pocket and strip out eight hundreds. I hand the money to him. “Consider this a refund, now take your fucking hands off her.”

He gives me a hard look, but releases her arm, and I grab it, hauling her away to a corner of the club. Water drips from her hair onto my hand, reminding me of how sexy she looked on stage. She spins around, and my eyes focus on her breasts, bare and perfection. Drops of water sparkle on her skin like diamonds.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks with anger in her tone. “You’re going to get me fired.”

“You’re welcome for saving you from that guy.”

“Who? Jim?” she asks. “He’s a regular and completely harmless.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “You looked scared.”