Filthy Vegas Nights (The Trifecta 3)

But, there’s something about Damien I can’t figure out.

Last night I could tell he needed to let loose. He’s very stern. I wanted to see what would happen if I kissed him. Which is totally out of character for me, seriously. But, there was just something in his eyes. Like he was drowning in work and needed someone to help him out.

And believe me, I’ve been there. Drowning in life.

As for his jeans. Well, I’ve never had sex with a stranger in a car. So, when it was over, I panicked and stole his jeans so he wouldn’t chase after me. Problem solved. I’d never have to see him again.

And then the big ol’ let’s mess with Shayne pendulum swung my way, and what do I do? I walk right into his bar. The bar I’m hoping will provide enough money that I can finally get my life on track.

Not like Damien. He has all his ducks in a row I’m sure. All waddling nicely, in line, not a feather ruffled.

I should’ve left when his emerald green eyes connected with mine. The scowl on his face made him look edgy and sexy as sin. My body responded as soon as I realized who he was, and all it wanted was a repeat of last night maybe in a place with more room.

He’s dangerous.

He’s not a part of my plan.

And he gave me an out. I could’ve easily walked right out when he told me to. But no, I stuck my heels in and fought for this job. Which, I’m sure, is only going to lead to more heartache.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Ugh. The devilish smirk he gave me the moment he saw me will be the death of me. Maybe he’s the one who put the sex starved demon in me in the first place. His little jab about his jeans made my pulse skyrocket, and I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment or something more.

Damien’s been in his office since earlier.

“Sorry about my brother, he's the intense one of the three of us,” Ben says, putting away the vodka bottle I just used.

“Which one are you?”

“The sexy one.”

I laugh, but he’s so wrong. Ben’s not the sexy one. Damien has him beat in every sense of the word. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize who you guys were last night at the bar. I feel like an idiot.”

“Not after tonight,” Axel says with a large smile on his face. “I mean we’ll always be the Trifecta, but we no longer have to dance and entertain all night.”

“You sound happy about that.” I smile at Axel.

He breathes a sigh of relief. “You have no idea.”

“Well, we’ll still dance and entertain, but on our schedule.” Ben says. “So, you obviously don’t hang out in male revue clubs, because you didn’t know who we were, but what do you do for fun?”

I tap my chin. “Work. And more work. And then there’s school. I kind of went a little wild, and now I’m paying for it I guess.”

Emma laughs. “You sound like the exact opposite of Damien.”

The whole group laughs along with her, and I stare off at the staircase Damien went up earlier.

“What are you going to school for?” Clara asks, not looking up from her laptop.

“I’m going for graphic design. My main focus is on website design for large businesses.” All four of them are staring at me like I’m growing money out of my head. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“Oh my god, why didn’t you say something on your application?” Clara asks, abandoning her computer.

“Honestly, I need the money right now, and I know newer graphic designers don’t make too much. Bartending pays the bills. I figure when I’m out of school, and have more time I’ll split my time between bartending and getting my portfolio done.”

“We’ll talk later,” Clara whispers to me as the other bartenders and employees filter into the club.

I’m the only woman among a sea of men. This would be many women’s top fantasy, but all I can think about is Damien.

The club comes alive as the other bartenders and dancers get ready for the grand opening. I hate to admit it, but I’m a little nervous. I mean, what if Damien’s right? What if the women pour into this club and only want drinks made by the male bartenders?

I take a deep breath. You’ve got this Shayne. You can do this.

And stop thinking about Damien’s ass. It’s hard to do, because he’s standing at the top of the staircase, and his tailored-suit pants hug his form perfectly.

I feel like a weirdo gawking at him like a raging fan, but I don’t care. He just looks too good not to stare.

It’s like he knows I’m staring because in the next second his eyes are on me, making the blood in my pulse vibrate.