“Are you fucking kiddin’ me?” I toss the phone on the bed and fall back against my pillows.
My head throbs. This is why I don’t drink often.
Rooster sucks in a sharp breath.
I open my eyes and find him holding my phone in a white-knuckled grip. His jaw’s set in a tight line as he reads the article.
“Don’t bother,” I mutter.
After a few tense minutes of silence, he sets the phone down. “I’m sorry. I never would’ve taken you there if I thought that would happen. It shouldn’t have. They usually keep things under wraps. But last night was nothing but nonstop fuckery. I’m really sorry.”
“I don’t care. I’m a grown-ass woman who can go wherever the hell I dang well please. I wasn’t naked or even topless. Notice it’s all about judging me being there. Barely a mention about Dawson who got a freakin’ lap dance from three girls.”
He winces at the mention of Dawson’s name but I don’t bother to stop my tirade and ask why.
“Like, it’s perfectly acceptable for him to be in a strip club but God forbid I have fun one night. Fuck them. I hate the double-standard more than anything.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I love your spirit but it’s still not the kind of bullshit you need right now. And that’s my fault for gettin’ you mixed up in my club’s business.”
I reach out and rub my hand over his thigh. “I woulda been plenty pissed if you’d gone without me. I saw those girls eyein’ my man and didn’t like it one bit.”
His mouth stretches into a pained smile. “Nothing interested me there. Trust me.”
“Where’d you go, anyway? When Jiggy tore me off the pole, you were gone. Shoot, I barely remember you carrying me out of there and the ride here.”
He groans and scrubs his hands over his face. “I told you I needed to talk to Digger, right?”
“Yup.”
“Well, he asked me to walk one of the girls out to her car. Some guy had been harassing her and he was short on people.”
“Aw, that was sweet of you.”
He peers down at me. “That was like five minutes, max. But she kinda hinted at something related to what I was there to talk to Digger about so I stopped in his office. Had that talk.”
“Get what you needed?”
“Yes and no. When I came out you were sort of out of it. I realized Dawson was missing. Guys said he was still gettin’ a lap dance.” He goes on to explain what’s probably a sanitized version of what went down when he found Dawson.
By the end, I’m sitting upright with my hands covering my mouth. “Oh. My. Lord. I’m dead. I’m so dead. He’s gonna kick me off the tour, isn’t he?”
“No.” He pries one of my hands away from my face. “I talked to him last night. And I’ll talk to him again later today. I won’t let that happen.”
“Is he okay?”
“I think so.”
“Shoot, I remember those girls.” I squeeze my eyes shut trying to recall some details. “They made a beeline straight for him. I even wanted to take a picture and send it to Glenna just to be a bitch.”
He snorts. “Well, you’re not supposed to take pictures inside the club.” He taps my phone. “But obviously that’s bullshit.”
“Oh, yeah! Some guy was taking pictures of me. Jiggy went after him and took his phone. They kicked the guy out.” I reconsider the order of events last night. “It was after I was up on the pole, though. So maybe someone else took the pictures sent to the blog.”
“The whole place is sketchy as fuck and I’m fuckin’ pissed I brought you there.”
Since Rooster can be so hard on himself, I inch closer to wrap myself around him and let him know I’m not mad. “It’s not your fault. Besides Dawson, I think everyone else had an awesome time. I even had fun until I thought I was gonna puke.” I glance at my phone. “I look pretty hot in those pics, so I don’t care. Maybe I’ll tell them I was trying out for a part in a movie, generate some Hollywood buzz for myself.” I squeeze his arm. “That might be fun.”
He grunts and noncommittal noise.
My phone buzzes and I finally pick it up.
Miranda: We need to talk about this.
Another message from her pops up with a link to the same article.
Me: Already read it.
Someone knocks on our door. Rooster slips on his jeans before answering.
“You see this?” Dawson rasps.
“Come on in.” Rooster steps aside.
I glance down, not even sure what I’m wearing. One of Rooster’s T-shirts. Still, I pull the sheet up around me and put my back against the headboard. “Mornin’.”
“Mornin’, Shelby. Sorry to intrude.”
His flat tone’s hard to interpret. Fear flutters through my belly. Is he here to fire me from the tour?