Whipped (Hitched #2)(14)

Not a lot of talking happens in the car. Instead, I sit in the front and blast the radio, drowning out any words that might pull the story of what happened from me. I'm just not ready to talk about it. Honestly, I'm still lost in that moment and unsure how I feel.

We drop Kacie off first. Her breasts are about to burst with milk, she informs us, making Tate gag dramatically. Brothers. Then Zoe, who once again looks depressed to be going home. Seriously, girl, dump that *, I mentally plead with her.

And then I'm alone with Tate, who turns off the music and forbids me from turning it back on.

"Spill, Vi. What happened?"

"I f*cked Lachlan," I say without preamble. Tate laughs, and I punch him in the shoulder. "This is so not funny."

"It kinda is. This isn't a crisis. This is a good thing. If I were gay I'd have done him after that dance," he says.

"Yeah, well, you're not living with him, are you? I have to face him every day now, and I don't know what to say to him." I turn to look at my other best friend. He's gorgeous and knows it. Opposite in looks to Kacie, ironically, with dark hair but those same piercing blue eyes as his sister. "You're a womanizer who sleeps with anyone with tits, maybe you can help me with this."

"Well, when you put it so nicely…"

"You know what I mean. Lach is a player. I need to know what he'd be expecting right now."

Tate shrugs. "Vi, I'm always honest with the women I'm with, and from what you've said, it sounds like he is too. So just be honest. Tell him what you want. If this was a one-time thing for you, then tell him you don't want anything more with him."

He glances over at me as I fidget with a seat-belt that was just fine left alone, and raises an eyebrow.

"Unless you do want more?"





CHAPTER 8





LACH


I'm a male stripper.

I'm not ashamed of it. I turn girls on five nights a week. With a stare. With a sway of the hips. Then I take them home and f*ck their brains out. If I ever see them again, it's only for sex.

At least it used to be. Tonight was different.

Tonight I wanted more.

After Vi left, I collapsed in my makeup chair. Now, as my buddies change and prepare for a night of partying, I plan my next move. Nothing comes to mind. I come to a conclusion.

I'm f*cked.

I broke the roommate agreement.

Vi isn't interested in a f*ckbuddy. I've never been anything else. High school was a series of one-night stands. And stripping, well… Women love hooking up with a stripper. Dating said stripper as he seduces different women each night, not so much. My buddy Ricky made the monogamous stripper thing work. It's possible with the right girl. But that's not Vi. And honestly, that's not me.

My contract's over in a few months.

Because as much as I love dancing and making women drool—and trust me, it's a lot—I love helping people more. I know what it's like to need a hand. My parents didn't help. Dad spent his nights meeting his high school buddies at bars and hooking up with college girls. Mom spent her nights cuddled up with a bottle of gin and watching reruns of her favorite 'stories.' She said Dad was stuck in the glory days. He said Mom was an ugly old bitch. They both called me a dumbass. Which I was. I almost ended up in juvie. But I didn't.

Because of Darrel. He caught me selling weed. I was trying to make an extra buck. He showed me a better way. He taught me how to dance. He kept an eye on me. He didn't set me on the best path. But it was a better one. Did he become a dick later? Yes. Was he using me from the start? Maybe.

But I'll always be grateful for his help. With it, I made a lot of money. And now, I'm ready to give back.

So I'm opening a youth center. Name pending. I'm making it the best I can. If I have to tour again for the money, I might. But I don't want to.

I want to spend my days teaching kids, and my nights cuddling with Vi.

Much to my own amazement, I'm ready to be boyfriend material.

Now how the f*ck do I go about it?



"Hey, Ricky. How'd you and Martha meet?"

He flips on a sleeveless jacket and strokes his blond goatee. He's the oldest member of the Aussie Posse. Another couple of years, and he'll be too old. He plans to sell custom furniture. I'm glad the guy has a wife. Some days, I think he's got it better than any of us.

"We met at a woodworking class." He polishes his glasses. He doesn't wear them during the show. "It took me a week to ask her out. I gave her a necklace I made. She said 'why not?'"

Duke leaves his chair, slaps Ricky on the shoulder. "Still don't know why you did that, buddy." His black beard runs up the side of his face, wolverine style. He's a huge guy. Bigger than me. He has the second largest number of solos. When my contract is over, he'll take my place.

Ricky chuckles. "All I know is, every night I fall asleep with the woman of my dreams."

Duke grins. "I fall asleep with two."

Ricky nods, smiling. He's used to this kind of taunting. The guys don't get why he'd settle down when there's a fresh * to f*ck each night. I’m starting to side more with Ricky now, though.

"Don't worry, Ricky," I say. "Duke gets two girls a night, but they all leave him the next day. Wonder why?"