Chapter One
Marty
“Woooo!”
We slammed our shot glasses down onto the table in front of us before a ripped man wearing nothing but a banana hammock and a bow tie came by with a tray to collect them. My best friend from college was finally getting hitched to a man whose dick she had accidentally sucked during our first college party, and I couldn’t be happier for her.
And yes, when you are dealing with Marianne, it is possible to accidentally suck dicks.
“Take another shot with me, Marty!” yelled Marianne.
“Alright, but this is the last one,” I said.
Two more tequila shots came our way. As we clinked our glasses and threw our heads back, allowing the Patron to make its fiery way down our throats, the stage lights dimmed and loud house music began to thump against our bones.
We were here for the show of a lifetime: bulging muscles—and bulging packages—attached to bodies we only raked our fingertips down in our wildest fantasies. I was a professional musician and producer during the day, so it wasn’t often that I was able to let loose like this.
But I made an exception for my best friend’s bachelorette party, and damn, was she going out with a bang.
“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Rodeo!”
We whooped and hollered from the side of the stage as a man donning a cowboy hat, boots and chaps suddenly appeared at the helm. Fog surrounded his body and the humidity of the room clung to his shining features before six other men rose up behind him. They were luscious, I had to give them that.
And when they all turned around, their beautifully-toned backsides were there for our eyes to soak up.
“Giddy up!” Clara hollered.
Alyssa whistled loudly and chimed in, “Take it off!”
Then, it was Rebecca’s turn: “Ride me, cowboy!”
“Oh my god, I’m getting married!” the bride-to-be shrieked.
I couldn’t help but laugh. The five of us hadn’t all gotten together since we graduated, and while most of us had gone on to live the lives we always thought we would, our friendships had fallen to the wayside over the years.
“Oooooh, look at that one,” Alyssa murmured. I felt her yank my shirt as my body lurched towards her, and her boozy breath made me chuckle before her words slowly started to slur.
“That,” she smiled crookedly, “is what Tom’s butt used to look like.”
I laughed. “I don’t think he’d appreciate the phrase ‘used to’.”
“Well, Darrell’s butt still looks like that,” Clara beamed.
“But does his package look like that?” Rebecca smirked.
A devilish grin flashed over Marianne’s face. “God, Brad’s does.”
“Looks like the bachelorette party isn’t even paying attention to the show, boys!” the announcer boomed. “Let’s give them something to stare at!”
Before we knew it, two men had grabbed Marianne’s arms and pulled her up onto the stage. They set her down onto her feet, led her over to a chair and began to deck her out in all sorts of ridiculousness: a penis-studded blinking tiara, a gaudy ring pop shaped like a dick and a hot-pink sash covered in glittering phalluses. Once they’d finished, tears of laughter began to stream down my face as the first man started to grind on her.
His hips gyrated toward her as he straddled her thighs; she attempted to bring her hands up to her face before a man came from behind and took her by the wrists. He playfully held her hands behind her back while the other guy turned around and began to twerk against her body, and just as she tilted her face away to start laughing, another dancer in a bright yellow thong with tattoos cascading around his body appeared at her side.
And she almost face-planted right into his package.
The girls and I couldn’t stop roaring. I was beginning to regret the fact that cameras weren’t allowed in the club because I knew her fiancé, Brad, was the type of man who would find this absolutely hysterical. In any other scenario, Marianne was a stick-in-the-mud: prim, proper and never afraid to correct your grammar mid-sentence. But after getting a bit of alcohol in her, she was the wild party girl I remembered from our college days.
I watched the hilarious scene unfold, but my eyes kept glancing back to the tattooed dancer. I was never brave enough to get any—being deathly afraid of needles and all—but man, did I love them. And his were so well-done: black and rigid, in geometric designs that confused the eye until you realized it pieced together a bigger picture.
“I think the maid of honor should join the bride-to-be on stage, don’t you?”
The announcer ripped me from my thoughts before I felt two pairs of strong hands wrap around my wrists.
I heard the girls shriek as my eyes began to widen, and the white-hot lights showered my body in warmth before I was led over to another chair on the stage. I sat with my back to Marianne as laughter bubbled up from my chest, my head darting around in search of the tatted-up hottie.
I wouldn’t mind a little fun with the likes of him, I mused.
I reached down and took Marianne’s hand as the bass thumped deep in my stomach, shaking my bones. The seven men began to circle us on the stage before they each took their turn tantalizing us, but it wasn’t until the tattooed dancer slowly rolled his hips in front of me that I actually started to get excited.
His back muscles rippled as my eyes took him in. He gyrated and thrusted his hips for the women in the crowd while they beat on the stage and yelled for him to come closer, and it gave me a chance to really study his tattoos; how they blended together in a big picture of…
A skeleton queen?
The blood drained from my face and I squeezed Marianne’s hand tightly, which prompted her to turn her head and ask me if I was alright.
But I wasn’t. I was nowhere near alright.
There was a reason I was drawn to his ink; a reason why it seemed to sing out for my touch.
And when he turned around and locked his eyes with mine, I saw that cheeky smile I knew so well.
“Jax,” I whispered.
He planted his hands on my shoulders while I held his stare. His deep brown eyes still sparkled with untold secrets and lies, and I couldn’t help but scan my eyes over his rock-hard frame.
He’d changed a lot since high school: his tall, lanky form had given way to a strong, chiseled one with broad shoulders and a six-pack I’d lick any day of the week. His hands were rugged against my skin, and as he ran his touch down my arms, I felt him wrap his fingers around my wrists.
Suddenly, I was being pulled from the chair. My wobbling legs did their best to stand as I felt Jax’s body heat radiating against my skin, and I could feel the perspiration gathering at the base of my neck before I felt Jax’s ass twerk against me.
I might have stepped forward in shock, but even his body felt different against mine. It no longer belonged to a budding boy with raging testosterone issues. Oh, no.
This was the sculpted, throbbing body of a man.
And I couldn’t help but whirl around and stare at him, with his sparkling dark eyes and his cocky sonofabitch grin.
“Looks like the maid of honor might soon become a bride herself!” the announcer teased over the sound system.
The girls beat on the stage profusely before Marianne arrived at my side again.
“Oh my god! This is insane!” Marianne squealed.
But all I could do was take her hand and hold it tightly.
The men undulated around us and the alcohol coursing through my veins was enough to tilt the room.
Suddenly, I was vulnerable; weak and torn, like the young girl I’d been in high school. I was underneath those bleachers again, with Jax’s body pressed against mine, while my parents screamed my name from the school’s entrance.
My vision began to tunnel with my memories, and emotions I thought were extinguished had simply proven themselves to be dormant.
“Give it up for these two beautiful ladies!” the announcer cheered. The clapping snapped me out of my trance as Marianne pulled me off the stage, but before I could hop down behind her, I felt something being slipped into my hand: a thick type of cardstock I had instinctively clamped down upon.
And I knew exactly who it was from.
“Oh, my god!” Alyssa screamed.
Clara’s jaw dropped. “Holy…shit...”
“You look pale, Marty,” Rebecca furrowed her brow. “You good?”
But all I could do was look down at the crumpled cardstock in my hand before I slowly turned it over.
“What’s that?” Marianne asked.
The girls huddled around me while my eyes ricocheted over the brown and gold text, and when I realized what was on the piece of paper, Marianne clapped her hands and squealed.
“Do you know what this is!?” she yelped in delight.
“What’s it say?” Clara asked impatiently.
“I’m pretty sure that’s one of those private dance cards.” All of us slowly panned our eyes up towards Alyssa, whose cheeks were now burning a very deep shade of red.
The thing you have to understand about Alyssa is that she’s the innocent one. Yes, Marianne was proper—on the outside, at least—but Alyssa never drank at parties or hooked up with anyone back when we were in school. I mean, for all we knew, she’d been a virgin until she married her husband Tom! How she knew that this was a private dance card was beyond me.
“Stories later,” Marianne commanded. “For now, we’ve gotta cash this in.”
“I’m good,” I breathed.
“This is a free private dance, Marty,” Clara said. “That means one of those guys up there was into you!”
“Well, Marianne’s the bride-to-be. Why doesn’t she use it?” I asked before I shoved the card her way.
“Nope…that’s not how it works, girlfriend,” Marianne smirked.
“And how do you know that?” I quipped.
“Ma’am, if you would follow me.”
I turned towards the random voice and saw one of the men I recognized from the stage holding out his hand for mine. I looked at it warily before my eyes darted back up to him, and he slowly lowered his hand before he nodded his head towards the card being held tightly in my hand.
“Gold and brown, right?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Marianne interjected.
“That’s Jax’s card. If you want to use it, follow me.”
Needless to say, the girls were more than willing to shove me in his direction.