Viper (NSB Book 3) by Alyson Santos

Author:Alyson Santos [Santos, Alyson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-10-02T16:00:00+00:00

∞∞∞

Strip clubs aren’t my typical scene, and I haven’t been to Harem in over a year. Seems irrational to pay women to remove their clothes when you have a line of volunteers. But tonight isn’t about my brain, so I shut off all avenues to its whining the moment the bouncer waves me in.

“Carle here yet?” I ask him.

“Yeah. Brought the whole team tonight.”

“Great, thanks.”

The vibe is different than I remember. Or maybe I’m just more forgiving tonight. This place is definitely more 1800’s burlesque club than seedy strip joint. I suppose that makes sense since no guest leaves with less than three zeros on their bill.

It’s not hard to find half of a professional hockey team. My grin is unavoidable when an entire section of the venue erupts at my arrival.

I’m greeted with a slew of punches, backslaps, and what the fuck mans. Dany clears a spot beside him.

I throw back the shot he shoves at me. “Fuck, yeah,” I say, slamming the glass down.

He laughs and signals for another round. “Glad you came out, man.”

“Thanks. Nice win last night.”

“Damn straight. Heard you played our house on your last tour.”

“We did. I made sure to jack off in your locker before the show.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Oh shit, Damiana is up. Check this out.”

I do. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised my mind chooses that moment to flood me with images of an ex-lawyer on my couch in baggy sweats. Hair twisted up and falling over itself, wry smirk blasting the idiots on my TV screen. She’s the type of woman who’d march into a strip club with me and conquer this table of testosterone. It kills me that she’s the only person who doesn’t see that.

I gladly accept another shot.

Damiana spots our table and tosses plenty of extra attention our way throughout the performance. Her tips tonight will buy her a decent used car. Dany seems to think he’ll be the one driving it. To be fair, history has taught him he’s often the one guy a stripper actually does want to take home.

“That ass, though,” he hums, smacking my arm.

“It’s her paycheck, dude.”

“Yeah, but… Shit, she’s coming over.”

Our table shrank as the guys were peeled off for more expensive investments. It leaves little competition for Dany, and based on the layout of our corner, that competition is basically me.

“Dany Carle,” she purrs, running a pink nail over his jaw. “I’ve missed you.”

Her gaze travels to me, perfect eyebrows arching to remind me she owns these tables and everyone in them.

“This is my friend, Wes,” Dany says. “Wes—”

“Damiana,” she interrupts, attention locking on me. “You a hockey player too, Wes?”

“No.”

“He’s a musician,” Dany adds.

“Really? A famous one?”

I grin in spite of myself. “Nah, not really. Just a few gigs here and there.”

“Fucking liar,” Dany smirks. “Is that your new game, Alton? False modesty?”

I make some lame crack about him being the “player” and feel the intensity change in Damiana’s stare.

“Hold on. Wes. Alton. Tracing Holland?”

I lock my gaze with hers in confirmation.

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