Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(19)

I frowned at him, and he frowned right back.

“Cocktail,” I yelled. “Not cock!” My shout drew the attention of the bartender, who looked at me funny.

Well, we aren’t all here for the peen, lady.

“Oh!” He waved to the bartender, who came over after taking a good, long look at him.

Yeah. Didn’t blame her. At all.

“What can I getcha, honey?” she approvingly asked him, a Southern twang to her voice.

“Do you have a drinks menu? Cocktails?”

She reached behind the bar and pulled out two different menus. “Drinks,” she shouted, putting one in front of him. “Cocktails.” She put the other in front of me, her smile bright. “Let me know when y’all’re ready to order.”

West offered a thumbs-up and grabbed the menu. “She’s perky.”

“She wants inside your pants,” I corrected him, picking the cocktail menu up and looking it over.

Hmm. They were basic. Very basic—all of them could have been found in any bar or restaurant in pretty much the entire country. Classics? Sure. But a girl doesn’t always want a classic. Sometimes she wants her mind blown.

“Exactly. Perky.” He flashed me a cocky grin and waved her back over. “I might hire her.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course he would. Never mind that he was... Well, I had no idea how old he was, but he was a businessman and he was as cocky as an eighteen-year-old guy who just got laid for the first time.

He pointed at my menu. “Drink?”

“Oh, uh, mojito, please.” I handed the cocktail menu back to the girl and pulled my phone out of my purse.

West looked at me, amusement dancing across his face. “What are you doing?”

I glanced at the girl mixing my cocktail and leaned up. I rested my hand against his arm to steady myself. “Making a list,” I said right into his ear, my voice slightly raised. “What was the name of this place?”

“Sin Ropa.”

I typed it into the Notes section of my phone, followed by an abbreviated list of cocktails. I sure hoped I’d remember that LIIT wasn’t some fandango slang and translated to Long Island Iced Tea tomorrow.

“Ahhh. You’re right. Does look like you’re texting.”

I grinned and sat back down, dropping my hand from his solid bicep. I saved the note and turned my attention toward one of the stages. The guy on it had a girl in a black, wooden chair that was tipped back. He held it steady with one strong arm as he ground his hips against her, his other hand at the back of his head. I tilted my head to the side as she shamelessly ran her hands all over his body, causing him to move closer. It was...strangely hot, watching it happen to someone else.

“He’s gonna drop her soon,” West said into my ear.

I jumped at the proximity. I hadn’t realized he’d moved so close. “How do you know that?”

“There’s only so long you can hold someone’s body weight combined with the chair’s before you have to either put her down or let her fall.”

Ah. That made sense.

True enough, seconds after West had finished talking, the stripper righted the chair onto four legs and grabbed her hands. He pulled her up and spun her, put her hands on the back of the chair, and grabbed her hips. My eyes widened as he dry-humped her from behind.

Well, dry-humped was a little crude. He kind of...rolled his hips against her ass. Like a dizzy dry-hump.

West laughed so hard that he coughed on the sip of Pepsi he’d just taken. “You look horrified.”

I narrowed my eyes into a frown as I turned my gaze to him. He softened his words with a sexy smile and my drink. I took it from him and sipped hard through the straw.

Hm. It was pretty good.

My gaze traveled across the club. The oddest things were the TV screens around the club. I would have expected them to have music videos or something on, but no. They had a mix of both men and women masturbating. I was both uber creeped out and a little turned on at the very same time.

That definitely wasn’t something I needed to be feeling around West Rykman—turned on.

I dragged my attention back from them and focused instead on the rest of the club. They didn’t seem to be doing much in the way of marketing. There were no special offers on the posters on the walls or the fliers that littered the bar and undoubtedly the tables. Maybe it was because it was Monday, but there was nothing special.

“Ready to go?” West asked, leaning down to me.

“I...” I looked at my glass. It was empty. I guessed I was drinking on the job. “Sure. Let’s go to the next one.”

West motioned the bar girl over and handed her his card. He said something I couldn’t hear, but she nodded. When she returned two minutes later, she gave back his card with more than one strip of receipt.

He looked through them, chuckled, and put it all in his wallet. I raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything as he took my wrist and guided me through and out of the club.

I didn’t realize it was so hot in there until even the sticky, humid Vegas air hit me. Or smoky—hell, it was smoky in there.

I took a deep breath of fresh air and turned to West. “What were you laughing about in there?”

He was still half laughing. “The note she slipped me. ‘When you’re done with her, call me.’ Followed by her number.”