Page 13 of The Wayward Sons & the Seattle Sirens

“Beer is fine,” I replied. I just needed something to calm whatever weird energy was surging through my body. “Beer is good.”

“Name for the tab?” she asked.

“Gray works just fine, darlin’.” I flashed her a charming smile. She rolled her eyes, but the small smile that turned her lips wasn’t lost on me.

“First one’s on me, handsome.” She set the chilled glass in front of me and leaned on the bar, getting closer. “But if you want more, I expect a big tip.”

The innuendo wasn’t lost on me as those gorgeous blues waited for me to say something. I inched closer.

“Would a… slightly above-average tip work for you?” I retorted, completely poking fun at myself to make her laugh. It worked, and the sound was heavenly.

“God,” she scoffed. “You’re a terrible flirt.”

“I’m charmin’ as fuck, darlin’. I’m also damn good at making all the pretty girls laugh.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” I said. “But then I always did have a thing for redheads.”

Was she always a redhead? The thought was fleeting.

“You’re a smooth one, Gray,” she told me. “I go back on the floor in half an hour. Maybe you’ll buy a dance?”

“I don’t take no lap dances from pretty ladies until I know their names.” Was I laying it on thick? Yeah, I was. But fuck me if this woman wasn’t utterly fascinating. She beckoned me closer with one finger, and I listened like a goddamn simp, ready for whatever she was going to say.

“Name’s Journey.” Her lips hovered over mine. I should’ve received a medal for the restraint I showed by not closing the distance. Her exotic floral perfume was intoxicating, making the room sway.

“Like the band?” I asked.

“Exactly like the band, handsome. I even have a tattoo.”

“That’s hot,” I commented. How bad did I want to see that tattoo?

“Maybe if you’re a good boy, I’ll take you upstairs later and show you it.” Ah fuck me, I was a goddamn goner. That little way she bit her bottom lip drew my gaze down. What I wouldn’t do to sink my teeth into it.

“I’m holdin’ you to that, darlin’,” I whispered. I acted without a single thought and closed the distance between us. My lips brushed against her briefly. She didn’t pull away, but her fingers curled into my shirt.

“Watch yourself, baby boy,” Journey warned. “You might just end up in a game you can’t win.”

“Try me.” I was always one to rise to the challenge—and from the way my dick was rock hard behind my zipper, rising wouldn’t be the issue. My sanity might just be. I hadn’t had a single fucking sip, and I was drunk out of my mind on the pretty redhead with a band name.

CHAPTER 10

To say I was in love with a stripper named Journey was a fucking understatement. I was so goddamn enthralled with the woman. I would’ve dropped anyone and anything to keep her. The pull I felt toward her was intoxicating. I couldn’t remember why or how I ended up at The Cove, but I was grateful.

So fucking grateful.

When Journey told me to wait while she went back to get ready, I waited like a goddamn puppy dog for her to return. It felt like forever.

When she showed back up wearing nothing but a skimpy little number in leather and lace, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Or maybe hell considering how dangerous those goddamn curves of hers were. Maybe it was the pink body glitter that covered every inch of her, making her sparkle like a goddamn diamond.

When she pushed me into a chair so she could dance for me, I was a willing captive for her.

When she showed me the ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ tattoo curling over her lower spine, I traced the lines like they were gospel and I was a sinner needing redemption.

When she asked if I wanted to buy a private dance, I couldn’t hand off my card fast enough. Thank the fucking Lord they took debit cards.

I was fucking dying as I followed her to the second floor like a lost puppy. My dick was so goddamn hard it hurt. I needed her in a way I hadn’t known possible.

---