Page 10 of Four Tattoos

“I work the front desk, so I don’t usually see the show.”

“What a shame,” he says, not sounding like he means it one bit.

His comments remind me of my recent conversation with Callie about seeing the Club Red performers. I never cared much one way or another about seeing the dancers, but these men standing right in front of me have me fantasizing about how their bodies would look with fewer clothes on.

“When’s your next night off?” Christian asks.

“Thursday.” I answer before I give his question much thought, but what he says next makes my heart start pounding.

“How about we take you out that night?”

8

ROSE

They’re asking me out? All of them?

Sure, they’ve been eyeing me, and they’ve made some comments that could be considered to be flirting, but I never expected this, and I don’t know what to say. A big wave of fear hits me—not fear of them directly, but nervousness about how a date with them would go, what we’d do, what we’d talk about—mostly what we’d do. I’m very, very tempted by them, but I’m not sure going out with them is a good idea.

“I … I don’t think I can date customers,” I say, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.

“Pretty sure that’s not a rule,” Mace says, calling me out on my hasty excuse.

A mini war kicks off inside me. All of my lady parts desperately want to say yes, and I really would like to spend more time with them. But my logical brain reminds me of how much my brother would disapprove, not because they’re customers, but because they’re not the type of men he’d want me to associate with.

Plus, there’s four of them, and just one of me.

“You look like you want to say yes,” Hutch says, his eyes squinted in a very tempting smile.

I can’t deny it, and I’m frozen in indecision.

“How about we make a bet?” Mace says. “If you lose, you have to go out with us.”

“What kind of bet?” I’m curious, and I’m already pretty sure I’m going to play along, even before he tells me his idea.

When Mace doesn’t respond immediately, Hutch jumps in. “The music.”

“Hmm?”

“You said you like the music in here, and I’ve noticed you singing along. We’ll play four songs for you from our playlist, and if you can’t identify the song names and artists, then we win a date.”

It’s a good game, and I feel confident about my chances. There have only been one or two songs I’ve heard here that I haven’t been certain of, and even for those, I could probably make a good guess.

“You’re on,” I say, feeling relief at having the decision of whether or not to go on a date with them now left to chance.

“We have a deal?” Christian asks, and when I say yes, the first full-fledged grin I’ve seen on his face curls his mouth in a way that does exciting things in my belly.

My body responds to these men so quickly and easily; it’s hard to imagine being able to make it through a night out with them without completely dissolving into a quivering pile of jelly.

Hutch pulls his phone from his back pocket, taps, and then scrolls, his face reflecting the thought he’s putting into his selection. “This should be a good one,” he says finally. The music currently filling the shop comes to an abrupt stop and is quickly replaced by a new song.

There’s a slow drumbeat intro with guitars weaving in and out. It’s instantly recognizable, though the name might be hard to identify for someone who wasn’t as familiar with the song.

“She knows it,” Christian says, sounding resentful toward Hutch and his selection.

“‘Comedown’ by Bush,” I say. “That was easy.”

“Let me have it.” Christian grabs at Hutch’s phone, his eyes already on the screen.

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