my lips, and my shoulders droop in defeat. “Nah”—I hold up my phone and shake it—“it’s my little brother. He’s just really funny.”
“Oh, well”—she continues to unbuckle and remove the painful looking corset until she’s bare naked—“never mind. I assumed after all the hot and heavy spit swapping y’all did last night he’d be blowing up your phone today.”
I roll my eyes and regret filling Angel in on the details of my time with Mason. The second I got to the club after the way she saw us leave last night, she was begging for the tell-all. I gave her most of it just because it felt so good to share it with someone. Being with a man like Mason isn’t something a woman can keep to herself. That goodness doesn’t seem real until it’s spoken out loud between friends. And even then, it almost seems too good to be true.
“You tease, but it was ah-maze-ing.” I check the timer on my mirror and realize I have ten minutes before I’m up. “When was the last time you’ve been with a man that was content to kiss and feed you jerky?”
I drop my robe and pull on pieces of the costume I laid out earlier.
Angel ties the satin sashes of her black Zeus’s robe. “That’s easy. Not since high school.” Her eyebrows pinch and a slow smile tugs at her lips. “What’re you wearing?”
“Huh?” I’m tugging on a pair of board shorts over a bright yellow G-string. “This?” I stand up and loop the yellow triangle bikini top around my neck and tie it at my back. “I’m changing things up.”
She stares at me like I slid on a muumuu.
“What?” I hold out my hands and twirl, grabbing at the super long strands of extensions I put into the back of my hair to make it twice as long and board straight. “Don’t I look like a little surfer girl?” I pop up on my dressing table, cross my legs, and wiggle my painted toes.
“You’re batting your eyelashes.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Holy shit, they’re gonna love the whole innocent thing you got going on. And barefoot . . . fucking genius.”
“Thanks!” I don’t tell her where my sexy surf-inspired idea came from.
“Trix, you’re on in five!” Santos’ call comes thundering through the room.
“On it!” I hop off the table and check my look one more time.
“What’re you dancing to, The Beach Boys?”
I turn toward her with what is probably a wicked grin. “‘Drunk in Love,’ baby.” I snap my fingers and move past her. “Beyoncé up in this bi—”
“Trix!”
Angel and I dissolve into a fit of giggles. “Coming, Santos!”
“Kick ass, babe.”
And with a smack on the ass from my girl, I’m off to work a crowd.
Mason
As I sit in my truck, not far from the alley that I dragged my brother’s broken body from only a week ago, I can’t help but wonder how this is going to play out. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but now, as I stare down the dirty backstreet, a wave of dread comes over me. These guys could easily take my offering—this offending burden wrapped in brown paper and twine—and then leave me with a bullet between my eyes.
I need to stay semi-public to avoid that. Close enough to the back lot of Zeus’s that any gunshot would be heard and reported, but far enough away that I won’t be seen.
“Pass it on and get the hell out of here.” My gaze swings to the red beat-up Honda Civic at the opposite side of the lot and my chest aches.
Trix is here.
I’m tempted to duck inside and watch her dance from a back corner where she won’t notice. After the way I stormed off last night, I can’t imagine she’s interested in seeing me. But as much as my draw to be close to her pulls me in, the reluctance of being witness to her stripping holds me back. The memory of her dancing in that hotel suite is enough to make my blood boil and my fists clench. She seemed to enjoy what she was doing, and I have to wonder how she can possibly draw the line between where her job ends and real physical arousal begins.
The low growl of motorcycle engines pulls me from my thoughts, and I watch as a small fleet of bikers pulls up to the alley. I recognize all four of them from the other night, the bigger one