Erik approaches and grins at me cheesily. “Come on, Legend. You haven’t had a lap dance yet. Don’t be a fucking loser.”
The side of my mouth quirks up. “I’ll have one when you have one.”
Erik’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at me. Because one thing I noticed tonight is that Erik hasn’t partaken in the abundance of tits and ass strutting around. There’s no doubt in my mind any of these girls in here are available for a backroom fuck if any of the men in here wanted, but Erik has barely even looked at the women. Instead, he’s walked around, played engaging host of the party and passed out condoms instead of cigars.
Erik isn’t looking engaging because like me, he’s got someone at home. It’s why I suspect Bishop didn’t even bother coming, because it would be a waste of his time. Besides, being recently engaged, I’m not sure Brooke would appreciate him coming to a strip club.
“Well, I’m still as single as they come and I’ll gladly take all the lap dances you fellas don’t want,” Dax says and waves a hundred-dollar bill at the woman who has been dancing in front of him. He crooks his finger and she walks down the stage stairs.
When the stripper reaches us, she points to a chair for Dax to take rather than the stool he’s been sitting on at the edge of the stage. It sits up just a little too high for a good lap dance.
Dax grins and gladly obliges.
Erik and I watch and sip our beers while the woman straddles Dax’s thighs and gyrates all over him. Her top comes off and Dax doesn’t give two fucks about the no-touching rule that is pretty standard in most clubs. His hands go to her huge tits and he squeezes them while he grins up at her. She must like it because she starts rubbing her barely covered pussy on his crotch.
Dax startles a moment and then leans to the side, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He looks at the screen and gives a cheesy grin as he answers it. “Lance…dude, too bad you’re in New York because you are missing the best baby shower in the world. I’ve got a half-naked woman in my lap.”
I’m guessing it’s Lance Miles who is Dax’s best friend from the New York Vipers, although they knew each other long before they became NHL players. They played youth hockey together so they practically grew up together.
The smile on Dax’s face dies, his expression confused and worried at the same time. He bolts up from the chair, nearly tossing the stripper to the ground. Erik lunges forward a bit and catches her under her arms.
“Hey,” she snaps at Dax but he’s already pivoted and headed out of the club with the phone pressed tight to his ear.
Erik releases the stripper and looks at me. I shrug and stand from the stool. I could tell something’s wrong so I follow the path that Dax just took with Erik on my heels.
We leave the private room right into the main body of the strip club and I see Dax across the way, shouldering past people to the exit.
When we push through the doors that lead out into the parking lot, I look left but Erik’s tugging on my shirt, so I look right. Dax is leaning up against the building with the phone still pressed to his ear and his head hanging down.
I hesitate to go nearer because by his body language, it looks like this is a private conversation. However, the hunch of his shoulders and the fact he raises a hand to wipe a tear away from his eye has my feet moving.
Dax raises his head, looks directly at me, and gives a slight shake of his head. His eyes are filled with overwhelming sorrow and I know someone is dead. Perhaps one of his parents. His dad has a heart condition.
It would make sense as Lance practically grew up in the Monahan household, so he definitely could be delivering bad news about one of Dax’s family members.
“I need you to hang tough,” Dax says softly into the phone. “I’m going home now and going to book the first flight I can get on to New York.”
Hang tough?
New York?
Dax’s parents are in Michigan.
He slowly lowers the phone and straightens from the wall. His eyes well up with tears and his voice is so shaky, I can barely understand him.
“Lance is dead,” he manages to say, and he looks like he might crumble.
“What?” I exclaim as I take a giant step forward to take ahold of his arm. Erik comes closer as well.
“That was his sister,” he whispers.
Regan.
I know of her because I played for the Vipers for a season. Lance helped to raise after their parents died in an automobile accident.