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#CRUSH
Kally Ash
What happens on a Bachelorette night, stays on a Bachelorette night...
Right?
1
Brody attached the black bow tie around his neck and straightened the thing out. It felt too tight, but he’d bulked up a little in the last few months, so that was always good. He may have ruined his football career by being an idiot, but at least he was still strong. The rehab following the crash had been gruelling, but his desire to walk again was stronger than anything else that could be thrown at him.
There was a knock on the door. “Yo, Brody. You ready, man?”
He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway. “Yeah, man,” he said to Derek, clapping palms with the guy.
“It’s a bachelorette party, Brody.” He grinned. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
Fuck yeah, he did. Women who were looking to hook up because nothing said sexual freedom like one of their own tying the knot. Derek was your typical man-whore so he’d tap at least one here at the Nightingale, then take another two home.
Brody wasn’t like that. He never slept with any of the women that pawed at him on nights like this. He never took advantage of the champagne that overflowed their glasses. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested, because he fucking was—he just had personal standards. He didn’t drink anymore, and he didn’t want any girl who wanted to bed him to have their judgement impaired by alcohol either.
Yeah, he was a fucking saint.
On the other side of the staff door, he heard the shrill shouts of women ready to start their night. He looked at his reflection, brushing his hands over the front of his black slacks. That was all he had on, save for the bow tie. At first, he hadn’t liked the idea of being a slab of meat for women to drool over, but he got over that really quickly when he made almost five hundred dollars in tips on his first night. After that, he didn’t look back. It was money he desperately needed.
“Gentlemen, how are we this evening?”
Brody looked up to find Ethan Har
ris, owner of the Nightingale, standing off to one side. He had his arms folded over his chest, his suit perfectly tailored, right down to the high-gloss shine of his shoes.
“Great, Mr. Harris.”
“If you gentlemen need to take a break, take it. If you need to let off some steam”—he paused, looking pointedly at Derek—“there’s a private bathroom in the VIP area.”
Derek held out his hand to Ethan. “You know me too well.”
“Be discreet and good luck tonight.” He turned and walked out the door and into the hall.
Brody turned to Derek, holding out his fist. His friend pounded it with a grin. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Derek disappeared out the door, but Brody took a moment to let out a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the onslaught of roving hands, blatant come-ons and outright groping of his ass and his dick. Nothing was sacred as far as bachelorette parties were concerned.
Lia sipped on her water and looked around the bar. She’d only ever been there once before—when she’d come in to check it out and make sure it was going to work for her sister’s bachelorette party. The Nightingale was one of the most popular clubs in West Hollywood—second only to Temptation. From out of the hallway that led to the bathrooms, Ethan Harris—the owner of the club—appeared looking sharp in his suit. He walked straight towards the bar, talking briefly to the blonde bartender before wandering around the club itself. If she could’ve gotten that guy alone, she’d probably let him do whatever he wanted…
At least that’s what she told herself. In reality, she was too timid to ever approach a man like him. For anything.
“Lia!” her sister yelled too closely to her ear. She wrapped her arm over her shoulder and pulled her in close. “Thank you so much for organizing this,” she slurred into her ear.
Lia smiled. “No problems, Bella. What are sisters for if not to get you drunk?”
Bella tossed her gorgeous blonde hair over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You’re the best!”
Stumbling away, she swung her hips over to her friends who were already on the dance floor. Lia sat back in the booth and jogged the straw in her drink. Going out to clubs and drinking wasn’t really her scene, but for her sister, she would make the effort.
Movement in her periphery had her looking back in the direction of the hallway that led down to the bathrooms. Her breath left her on a sharp exhale as two topless waiters emerged. One had skin the color of dark chocolate, his body stacked with muscle. His expression was relaxed—cocky even—like he really enjoyed his job. But it was the other guy who caught and captured her attention. A little taller than the first guy, his skin was tanned like warm toffee. His stomach was ribbed with muscles, his shoulders and arms much the same. His hips narrowed down into that V men seemed to get, his black slacks hiding what would’ve no doubt been thighs equally as muscular.
He was laughing at something the other guy said, his face open and easy. With black hair and green eyes, he looked exactly like a guy she used to know. Well, she didn’t use to know him. It was more like she watched him from afar. His name was Brody Riker and he was the guy she measured all others against. QB of their high school, he was that unobtainable guy and also the one who never knew she existed.
