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CHAPTER10
Nixon
“Mom’s going to kill us,”I grumble, walking into her strip club. Oh, I’m sorry, not a strip club—a club of exotic dancers. Whatever, these women barely have any clothes on, and I’ve seen tits here.
“Relax, Nix.” Everett claps a hand on my back as he smiles at all the women.
“I thought you liked men.”
He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head at me. “I like people, Nix.”
So, pansexual. Good to know.
We make our way to the balcony so we can stay hidden in case Mom does show up. Half-naked women parade around, carrying drinks. The walls are a deep maroon velvet overlaid with black lace. Black tile covers the floor, black stages with strings of white lights outlining them. The balcony seats are soft in maroon leather, velvet curtains casting a shadow for those who want to see but not be seen. The lights dim, and I slouch down in my chair.
I wasn’t unhappy to be here, far from it. It’s just that my relationship with Mom has been kind of rocky since she found Holly in my room. It was weird, Monroe was always in my room and Mom didn’t care. So why the fuck does she care now? I’m eighteen, damn it. A goddamn hot-blooded man. “Welcome, we have a very special treat for you tonight.” The announcer brings my attention to the stage. She wears a flowy red dress and bright blue hair. She looks like a fucking American flag. She backs away and a curtain pulls up, slowly revealing—
I spit my Coke out when I see who’s on the stage.
“Aww, shit,” Everett whispers as I sit up straighter.
That stupid fucking “Ride” song comes on as Monroe shakes her ass to the beat. An irrational urge to cover her up and carry her off the stage hits me. Loud, crazy screams break my gaze from my ex-best friend. At the front of the stage is our moms. All of them. “Fuck,” I whisper, hitting Everett and pointing.
He just smirks. Really, dude?
My eyes swing back to Monroe. She twists her head, hands buried in her hair. My dick stirs and I readjust myself, not even trying to hide it. Why the fuck did my mom bring her here? My fists clench around the armrests as catcalls bounce off the walls and people cheer. Monroe bows with a huge smile on her face. She was great. She’s always been an amazing dancer, but I could strangle my mom for teaching her that dance. It’s not like she’ll ever get to be a dancer, she had to run the oil business with me. It’s written in our bloodlines. She also has a seat on the BurBay Banks board. She was stuck in this town just like the rest of us. This dream of dancing was just that. A dream.
Pushing from my seat, I stalk down the stairs and head out the exit. I sit in my car, staring off into nothing as anger rises in my chest. I punch the steering wheel. Of course, it goes off and drags the attention of all the bystanders my way.
What the fuck am I doing? I am confused, my mind at war with itself. I want Holly, I want Monroe. Maybe I could have both? I shake the idea from my head because one, that’s ridiculous, and two, Monroe hates me.
I drive aimlessly around town for hours until I make it home, no less confused than I had been earlier.
And then, my feet carry me to our hangout.Knowing it’s a bad idea, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Monroe
Tonight has been exhilarating. I don’t want to sound crazy but having every man's eyes on me as I danced gave me a thrill I never experienced before. I slip on my short sleep shorts with kisses on them. My dad hates them, but he also paid for them, so he can get over it. It has a lace tank top to match, a cream color that glows against my deeply tanned skin. Grabbing my headphones, I make my way past the rose garden and waterfall pond to our—no, my—clubhouse. I like to work on my routines out here sometimes. A change of scenery can replenish the mind.
I notice the light is on and my stomach drops. No one should be out here. I quietly open the door to see Nixon laid out on the couch. A bottle of something clear gripped between his strong fingers. His veiny arms flexing with the grip. His chest is bare, and I find myself counting his beautiful, sculpted abs that lay proudly under his golden skin. His hair is a delicious mess as if he’d been assaulting it with his fingers. His long, dark lashes fan across his cheeks as his eyes lay closed. He has on Nikegray sweatpants and his feet are bare. Butterflies mixed with hatred wreak havoc in my stomach, my body so aware of his the energy is suffocating.
His eyes flick open, rewarding me with lusty bright greens. “Ma fille,” he whispers low.
My heart beats rapidly against my chest and my skin warms, prickling. He hasn’t used my nickname in so long, it makes my skin break out in goosebumps. As if the simple name slipping from his lips wraps around my body, submerging me in lust. His plush lips break into a boyish smile, dimples popping on his cheeks. Stupid, stupid dimples. “Nix.” My voice cracks. “What are you doing here?”
He stands, eyes hooded as he walks to me. Like I’m his next meal. His prey for the taking. God, I wish that were true. His feet bump mine as I come face-to-face with his strong chest. Looking up, I meet his eyes again. Lust, longing, and something a little dark meet me. “I came to see you.” His voice is rough. A temptation of smoky lust threating to pull me deeper, to set me on fire. “I saw you tonight.” Amazement and a slight edge is mixed in his tone. I frown in confusion. “At my mom’s strip—exotic dancing club.” He rolls his eyes at that.
“Oh.” He leans down into my neck. His teeth penetrates my sensitive skin, and something between a groan and a moan falls from my lips. Warmth spreading through my stomach.
“It’s been a while since I marked what’s mine,” he whispers, kissing his mark. The way he says mine, as if it were the simple truth, makes my chest ache.
My head falls back to the door as his arms cage me in. “I’m not yours anymore,” I say breathlessly.
He lets out a rough chuckle. “Oh, ma fille, you’ll always be mine,” he rasps, his lips inching closer to mine. “Today, tomorrow, ten years from now. You’re mine,” he growls.
My breath hitches when he gets even closer. His lips lightly touch mine and a zap of energy shoots through me. “You’re drunk,” I whisper, our lips brushing again.
“Drunk or not, doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine.”
