Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(56)

It was already busy in there, even for a Monday night, and again, I found myself wondering why they’d hired me. It’d been on Michelle’s schedule for a long time, so I knew that it was coincidence, but still.

Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe it really was just a refresher thing.

I followed Beck to the bar and plopped my butt down onto a stool. Vicky was bouncing at the end of the bar, grinning as she served a group of giggling girls. She was good as she played up to them, pouring their shots like a pro. Beck watched with a grin.

I nudged him. “Behave.”

He smirked at me. “No screwing the staff. But seriously, watch her. You know why she’s so good?”

I shook my head.

“She flirts with the women as well as she does men. And, whether or not women realize it, they like to be flirted with, even by another woman.” He pointed to her, and my gaze followed.

He was right. Vicky was leaning across the bar, smiling, giving the girls her undivided attention.

“They’ll come back to the bar, spend more money, and then, at the end of the night, give her a giant tip. We’re happy because a group of...two, four...seven will spend a lot, and she’ll be happy because that tip will be worth all the hard work.”

“Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time figuring it out.”

“I told you—just because I’m not serious like your lover boy doesn’t mean I don’t notice stuff. I’m the friendly, happy guy, and West is the grumpy, miserable f*ck.”

“He’s not my lover boy. And he’s not miserable. He’s about to strip off his clothes for a bachelorette party, and miserable people don’t get naked and grind their penises in the faces of random women.”

“Ooh, defensive.” He grinned again as Vicky approached us.

“Mia! Beckett. I didn’t know you were coming tonight. West didn’t mention it.” She flicked her blond ponytail over her shoulder and blew some hair out of her eyes. She paused when Beck’s smile didn’t drop. “You didn’t tell him you were coming, did you?”

“I don’t need to tell him. I own half of this place.” He leaned forward, his arms bulging against his black, button-down shirt.

When that combined with the guys stripping on the stage... Well, if West walked out in the next two minutes, there was a high chance my ovaries would combust.

Actually, screw the high chance. It was downright certain.

“Mia. What do you want to drink?” Beck waved his hand in front of my face.

“Oh... Surprise me,” I said to Vicky, flashing her a quick smile before returning to my perusal of the club.

“Up there.” Beck pointed to the same table we’d once occupied for Allie’s bachelorette party.

My gaze landed on the giggling girls who’d been at the bar not so long ago. They were all hot. Ugh, why were they always hot?

“Dunno. Probably the universe thanking us for our service to vaginas everywhere.”

“What?” I blinked at Beck.

“You asked me why they’re always hot.” His mouth pulled up on one side. “I answered.”

“Shit. I didn’t mean to ask that. Not out loud.”

“I guessed. I answered anyway because I’m helpful like that.”

“I noticed,” I muttered under my breath as Vicky placed a cocktail glass filled with a bright-blue liquid in front of me. I sipped it. “I’m going to need another ten of these,” I yelled at her, glaring at Beck.

She laughed, and he did too when he caught me glaring.

Asshole.

“What are you doing?” he asked when I reached inside my purse.

“Paying for my drink,” I replied, slowly looking back up at him.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No. You’re. Not. You’re drinking alcohol from the half of the bar I own, and I’m not charging you.”

I glared at him again.

Beck laughed and leaned down. “Glare all you like, Mia, you’re not paying for it. You need to unwind.”

I could unwind and pay for my own drink, but I could see that it was a losing battle.

Instead of fighting him, I thanked him and gave my best attempt at not watching the bachelorette party table.

I failed. Miserably.

“I’d go use the bathroom if I were you,” Beck said as West came into view. “You look like you’re about to shank somebody and I don’t want to call the cops on you.”

I pursed my lips and hit him with a hard look. Now, he was just being ridiculous. I wasn’t that bad at all. So what if my gaze snapped back to West as though it were connected to him by elastic? So what if I stared at him as he approached the girls with a devastatingly sexy smile on his face and leaned down to whisper in one of their ears?

So what if he untucked his shirt and spun her around in the booth so she was facing outward—and him?

So what if my heart clenched and my stomach uncoiled as he danced, his shirt came off, and she ran her hands over his muscular body?

What could I do? It didn’t matter. It was West’s job. He enjoyed it. It wasn’t my place to be pissed off that he was going to dance all over some other f*cking woman, was it?

No. No, it wasn’t.

It wasn’t my place to be pissed off about her wandering hands, either. He didn’t belong to me. He wasn’t even close. She could give him a blow job if he wanted and it wouldn’t matter.