BY THE time the house lights dim and the stage spots come up, I’m riding a strong buzz, my skin feels superheated, and the dampness has become a puddle. Okay, that’s exaggerating things, but it’s bad. Really bad.
Worse… I don’t care.
The first two dancers, one with sandy brown hair about my own color in a cowboy hat, jean skirt, and nothing else, the other wearing a military uniform she strips down to a camouflage-colored bikini—as if that would camouflage anything—are sexy and seductive, but not my type. Oh, I’m turned on. No doubt about it. My nipples strain against my bra, protruding through the front of my T-shirt, and I’m glad I wore black and it’s dark in here. But these girls are too skinny, like almost meth-addict skinny, and they play exclusively to the men around the stage, collecting more and more bills in the miniscule strips of cloth they retain by the ends of their numbers.
My guys are loving every minute of it, adding to the financial well-being of the performers, but I’m leaning back in my chair, sipping my third beer—or is it my fourth?—since we arrived, just taking everything in.
The next dancer arouses a little more of my interest. Long black hair, nice rounded breasts, firm ass. When it appears she intends to ignore me, too, I pull out a ten and crook my finger at her. I tuck the bill between those breasts while she leans down to plant a kiss on my burning forehead.
A tiny voice whispers that I should be ashamed, that the only girl heating me up should be my Genesis, but I remind myself that Gen would love all this. Chris shoots a concerned glance in my direction, but I shake it off and signal Candy for another shot.
You wanted me drunk and rowdy, my soon-to-be brother-in-law? Well, you’ve got it.
There’s a quick break after the dark-haired girl finishes, and I push up from my seat to hit the restroom, dropping back into it when the room spins.
Two seats down, Allie laughs, stands, and pulls me up by my elbow. “Come on, I’ll help you.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be making sure I didn’t get this wasted?” I scold as we weave our way between tables to a short hall leading to the bathrooms. “I’ve gotta walk a straight line down that aisle tomorrow.” The thought of which releases an entire swarm of butterflies in my stomach. Or maybe that’s the whiskey shots catching up with me. With everything else demanding my attention, the wedding got bumped down on my list of things that panic me.
“Yeah, I’ve been remiss,” she admits.
“‘Remiss’? Good word.”
“Thanks.” She catches me as I misjudge the distance between myself and the wall and nearly crash into it. “Don’t order any more shots, though. Stick with beer for the rest of the night. You’re not a lightweight, but you look tired, and they’re hitting you harder than they normally would.”
“Good advice.”
We manage the ladies’ room without further mishap, though once I’m alone in a stall, I’m really wishing I hadn’t needed an escort. Here with some relative privacy, I could do something about the aching need, that is, if I didn’t know Allie was standing right outside, checking with me every few seconds to make sure I’m okay.
Forget about her. Do it anyway.
My fingers creep to the juncture of my thighs, brushing the top of my sex. The jolt the contact sends through me has me jerking my hand away as if I’ve been scalded.
In a way, I have.
What the hell am I thinking?
Don’t think. Just do it.
It’s my voice in my head… and yet not. Not quite. Like an echo of myself.
It’s the you you’ve always been. The one you’ve wanted to be. Don’t suppress the side that gives you power. Embrace it.
Oh my God, I’m hearing voices.
It’s the alcohol. Gotta be. I’m tired and drunk and horny as hell. Of course I’m not thinking straight.
And now I’m talking to myself.
“Flynn? You still all right?”
“Fine,” I growl, then clear my throat. My hips jerk. Startled, I look down to find two fingers buried deep inside myself.
Oh holy hell.
“Out in a sec.”
Fumbling, I zip my jeans and unlock the stall door on the third try. At the sink, I wash my hands and splash cold water in my face, trying to regain some measure of control. At least it’s just the two of us in the bathroom. The overwhelming ratio of men to women ensures there’s no waiting for a stall or sink.
Allie hovers at my shoulder, watching me in the mirror. “You sure you’re okay? You’re not acting like yourself. I mean, we all kinda figured you’d blush a lot and spend most of the night studying your fingernails while sneaking a glance or two, not tuck bills down the girls’ G-strings.”
“You mean I’m supposed to be humiliated,” I say, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
She takes a step backward. I’m scaring her.
Good.
“Only in fun.” Her lips pout at me. Full pink lips with a sheen of gloss. “It’s just a game, like Chris said.”
“A game you didn’t expect me to play.” I try to rein in the sudden bursts of lust and anger, but they’re running through me headlong, my mood shifting with the writhing snake of unsatisfied power within me.
“No,” she says, all seriousness now. “We didn’t.”
“So sorry to disappoint you.” I push my way past her out of the restroom.
Get away. Get away from her.
Or I might just try to take her right there on the bathroom counter.
I make it all the way to my seat without further mishap and drop into it, panting. Deep, even breaths. The anger recedes as fast as it came. But not the lust. Of course.
Allie isn’t my type. I mean she’s hot and sexy as hell, but she’s into practiced appearances, like the Catholic-schoolgirl-style skirts and knee socks she wears to work the bowling alley bar where I hang out back home. I enjoy the show, but I prefer Genesis’s more organic approach to female beauty.
And if I hit on her again, after that one time when I was possessed, I know I’ll lose Allie’s friendship forever.
Dammit, this isn’t how I wanted tonight to go.
Down the table, Allie crouches next to Chris’s chair, carrying on a rapid whispered conversation and casting nervous glances at me. The rage threatens to rise again.
The power curls beneath my skin. My vision tinges with green.
I have no idea where that’s leading, and I’m glad I don’t have to find out as the stage lights come back up, revealing the next performer—long red hair, gorgeous green eyes, and a body that….
My heart nearly stops.
She looks like Genesis.
It’s not, of course. Gen is back at the casino hotel, probably unwrapping sexy little negligees, sipping wine and laughing with Rosaline and some of her psychic friends. But the resemblance is uncanny, and if I was hot before, I’m on fire now.
Even more coincidental, she’s dressed as a classic fortune-teller, complete with a skirt comprised of dozens of veils which she pulls away one by one to reveal calves, thighs, hips, leaving one last veil covering her sex. Her top is a bra decorated in gold coins that jangle as she sways from side to side in hypnotic seduction.
And she’s staring directly at me. Her gaze locks with mine, and it’s as if we’re the only two people in the room. I cannot look away.
I’m not trying very hard.
To my left, I hear Steve lean over past Allie to ask Chris, “Did you set this up?”
And to my surprise, Chris’s answer is, “No.”
The music, a combination of violins and tribal drums, swells to a crescendo, and the girl leaps from the stage to land in a predatory crouch beside our table. She rises, never breaking eye contact, and comes around the table’s side, past Joe, Alex, and Tom to stand beside me so that I’m craning my neck to watch her.
In one quick move, she grabs my chair and spins the swivel seat around so we’re face-to-face, then places both her hands on my shoulders, giving me a perfect view down her perfect cleavage.
And it finally dawns on me.
I’m about to experience my first lap dance.