I’m starting to believe it’s possible

to die of boredom. I can actually feel my brain starting to soften under the onslaught of heavy bass notes from the dance floor and the high-pitched nonsense the women at the table are tossing around.

Oh my god—did you see what she’s wearing?

Such a slut. She’s not even wearing underwear.

She’s probably a hooker.

Yeah, a fat hooker.

At any moment, it’s going to liquefy and start leaking out of my ears. More out of tedium than actual curiosity, I lift my gaze, catching sight of the woman they’re roasting and feel my focus sharpen. The woman isn’t fat. She’s stunning. A cloud of loose, dark hair. Smooth, olive skin. A bright red dress meant to catch and hold a man’s attention, molded around the most incredible ass I’ve ever seen. She turns and sinks into one of the velvet sofas a few tables away, crossing her legs at the ankle like a Sunday school teacher. Like she can feel me staring at her, she shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“Not sure if you know this, brother,” Jase says, leaning into my space. “but it’s your birthday, not a goddamned funeral.”

His off-handed comment, meant to be funny, tightens the hinge of my jaw, the clench of it kicking off this weird clicking sound in my ears. It takes me a second to realize I’m grinding my teeth. I force myself to relax, remind myself he has no idea what he’s saying. He’s just trying to help. Thing about Jase is that, usually, when he’s trying to help, it hurts.

The blonde, the one Jase all but shoved in my lap, leans down, pressing her too-firm breasts against my chest. “Want to go upstairs to unwrap your birthday present,” she breathes in my ear, grinding her bony ass against my crotch. The move, meant to turn me on, has an adverse effect. She wants me to take her upstairs, to the club office I share with my brother. I’d rather throw myself off the Chrysler building.

“No thanks,” I say, shifting her off my lap. “I’m good.”

“What’s the matter baby?” She sticks her lower lip out in a ridiculous pout. “You don’t like me?” She says it like she knows it’s a stupid question. Of course, I like her. Want her. Because everyone does.

Instead of inciting what would no doubt be an epic, rich-girl tantrum, I lift my glass, taking a measured sip of my Dalmore 64. I had Mike behind the bar pour me a couple fingers from my private stash. The glass is half empty and I don’t plan on having another. Getting sloppy tonight would be a mistake. Setting my glass down, I give her a bland smile. “I like you fine.”

Instead of pacifying her, my polite answer, coupled with my obvious lack enthusiasm narrows her overly made up eyes into slits. “Do you know who I am?” she hisses at me, the hand on my chest hooking into a set of claws around my hand-tailored shirt.

I know who she is. She’s some sort of actress or model or something. Anyway, she’s famous. Or at least famous enough to pull the do you know who I am? card with a convincing level of self-importance.

I give her a blank stare like I’m waiting for her to answer her own question. She shoots a nasty look at the woman sitting by herself, a few tables over. She obviously caught me staring. “I suppose you’re into fat chicks, huh?”

I turn in my seat. “Matter of fact—”

Sensing disaster, Jase stands. “Who wants to see my stripper pole?” he says, downing the rest of his drink while the girls around him giggle. They think he’s kidding.

He’s not. He had it installed upstairs a month ago.

Setting his empty on the table in front of him, Jase trades it for the bottle of Belvedere, chilling in a block of ice. He stands, holding his hand out to the actress. “I like all kinds of asses,” he tells her, giving her a cocky smirk as he lifts her from her seat beside me.

Rounding them all up, Jase points them in the direction of the private elevator and promises to be right there. As soon as their gone, he turns on me.

“You okay?” he says, sounding genuinely concerned, all pretenses put away.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” I caught the wince when he bent over. The stiff, careful way he’s holding his spine straight. I’d be willing to bet he looks like he got beat with a bag full of oranges under his fancy suit.

We all have ways of dealing with our shit.

That’s Jase’s.

Jase gives me a smile. “Right as rain, brother.” He glances in the direction of the elevator. “Look, I know you’re not one to celebrate your birthday, I just thought…” He looks back at me and gives me a shrug. He was never one to push or dig. “You change your mind, you know where we’ll be.”

Any other night, I’d be right there with him. In the thick of it. Tonight, I just want to go home. “I’ll keep it in mind,” I tell him and he smiles, even though we both know what I’m really saying.

Not a chance.