Getting Hotter (12 page)

“He proposed to Claire a couple of nights ago.”

Seth parked the Jeep and killed the engine. “The shrew?”

“Yep,” he said glumly. “Ms. Snooty is gonna be my sister-in-law. Fun.”

His phone buzzed as he and Seth got out of the car. He was getting an incoming text from O’Connor—
Already inside. Come find us.

“The guys are inside,” he told Seth.

They approached the front door, which was painted black and manned by a bored-looking bouncer in a muscle tee. There was no line out front, one of the upsides of showing up on a Monday night.

Inside the club, the music was blasting and the strobe lights were flashing. The place wasn’t packed, but Dylan glimpsed several promising candidates for what he had in store for tonight, including a cute blonde who openly eye-fucked him as he passed her. He made a mental note to find her again and led the way to the bar counter, Seth on his heels.

Miranda was already on duty, looking damn sexy in a low-cut red top. He couldn’t judge the length of her skirt because the counter shielded her lower body from view, but he suspected it was indecently short.

Yup, indecent—confirmation came as Miranda stepped toward the mirrored wall that housed shelves of liquor bottles in all shapes and sizes. When she stood on her tiptoes to reach for some Jägermeister, her skirt rode up, revealing the backs of her firm, tanned thighs and the underside of her curvy ass.

“Check her out again and I’ll rip your balls off.” Seth’s voice was deceptively calm as he came up beside him.

Dylan just grinned. “Meow.”

“I’m serious, asshole.”

“Double meow.”

Miranda greeted them with a resigned smile, which was mostly directed at Seth. “What’ll it be, guys?”

They ordered Bud Lights, paid Miranda, then moved away from the counter to let a group of scantily clad chicks place their orders. Dylan scanned the dance floor for their buddies but didn’t see them. OMG had a cool layout—the dance floor was like a sunken room, sectioned off by a railing that wrapped around it. Low sets of steps on each side of the space led to curtained-off, darkened alcoves—which Dylan had made use of on more than one occasion—as well as seating areas with high tables and stools that overlooked the throng of dancers.

“Wade!”

Hearing his name over the pounding bass line, Dylan searched the crowd, finally spotting Matt O’Connor and Aidan Rhodes. He gestured for Seth to follow, but the other man just shook his head and edged back in the direction of the counter.

With a shrug, Dylan left his roommate and wandered up the stairs toward his buddies. O’Connor, who boasted a shaved head and a southern drawl, served on his squad, and they exchanged a quick side hug when Dylan approached. He didn’t know Aidan that well, but the dark-haired intelligence officer was a good friend of Matt’s, and he greeted Dylan with a friendly nod.

“Where’s Masterson?” Matt asked.

“Playing guard dog. He’s got a thing for the bartender.”

The other two men laughed.

Matt sipped his beer, then set the bottle on the wide railing. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Hurts like a bitch,” Dylan admitted.

Aidan’s dark brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“Banged it up during a training demo this morning. And I’m pretty sure our medic was unnecessarily rough when he examined it to make sure it wasn’t broken.”

Matt laughed. “Yeah, wouldn’t surprise me. Texas didn’t look too happy when you kept riding his ass about not setting the charges fast enough.”

“’S’all good.” Dylan smirked. “I got a day off outta it, and Texas gets to report to the base at oh-dark-hundred hours for underwater demolition part two.”

“Way to rub it in. I’m in Jackson’s boat. Literally.” Grinning, Matt picked up his beer and drained it. “One more,” he decided. “After that, you boys need to cut me off, deal? ’Cause Becker will kick my ass if I show up hungover tomorrow.”

“Deal.” Dylan tipped his head and consumed half his beer in one gulp. “Don’t worry. I plan on drinking enough for the both of us.”

The unnaturally muscular meathead in the cheesy mesh tank top had been hanging around the counter way too long for Seth’s liking. Leaning against the wall just off the dance floor, Seth tuned out the blaring house beat and waited for the next flash of strobe lighting to illuminate Miranda’s face so he could gauge her expression.

She had to be annoyed with Mr. Steroids as much he was, right? The last time Seth had walked past, he’d heard the meathead bragging about how many reps he did at the gym. The fucking gym. Ha. Idiot wouldn’t survive a day of SEAL training. In fact, Seth would just love to see Mr. Steroids spend hours on the hot asphalt doing mass calisthenics. Or get hosed down with frigid water while being ordered to jump on and off a pier over and over again.

The
gym
.

Scowling to himself, Seth finally got a good look at Miranda, who was smiling at something Mr. Steroids had said. What the hell? How was she even remotely amused by anything that came out of that superficial jerk’s mouth?

No, wait. That wasn’t a genuine Miranda smile. This one was tight, didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He finished his beer, then ditched the bottle on the little ledge behind him. He was dying for a smoke, but he didn’t want to go outside while that meathead was still drooling over Miranda.

When Mr. Steroids leaned in closer and said something that made her frown, only the memory of how angry she’d been last time he’d interfered stopped Seth from marching over there. She claimed she could handle herself? Fine. He was willing to give her the chance.

Three minutes later, when a visibly disappointed Mr. Steroids stalked away from the counter, Seth had to give credit where credit was due. Whatever she’d said had successfully gotten rid of her admirer, and now she was at the other end of the bar, preparing a complicated-looking fruity drink that Seth wouldn’t be caught dead drinking.

He waited a few more minutes, just to make sure Mr. Steroids didn’t return, then left his perch in the shadows and made his way through the crowd. He fished his Marlboro pack from one of the pockets of his black cargo pants and shoved an unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. A glance at his military-issue tactical watch showed it was past midnight. Shit, he had to be up in five hours. But he didn’t want to leave yet. He hated not being here for last call. That was when the creeps and a-holes came out to play.

For a moment, he considered asking Dylan to stick around in his stead—dude had tomorrow off, after all—but a quick inspection of the dance floor shot down that idea. Dylan and some blonde were wrapped all over each other like a pair of eels, grinding to the beat of the sultry hip-hop track now pouring out of the PA system. The lights zigzagged directly over the couple, and…yep, Seth’s roommate had one hand under the chick’s shirt, the other tangled in her long blonde hair.

No way would he be able to pry those two apart tonight.

Fine then. One quick smoke, and then he’d say good night to Miranda, and trust that she could take care of herself.

The club offered a small smoking patio at the back of the building, and when he exited through the rear doors, he was surprised to find Aidan Rhodes out there with a cigarette. A stocky bouncer stood by the door, nodding at Seth before going expressionless.

“Hey, man.” Seth nodded at Aidan in greeting. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

“Only when I’m drinking.” The tip of his cigarette glowed in the darkness as the naval officer took a deep drag. “You heading out?”

“Soon.” He lit up, inhaled, and blew a gray plume into the night air. “Just need to figure out how my very drunk, very horny roommate plans on getting home.”

Aidan opened his mouth to reply, only to get cut off by the creak of the door as it opened to let a few newcomers onto the patio.

Seth’s shoulders stiffened when he recognized Mr. Steroids. And look at that, the meathead had friends, two of them, both of whom clearly belonged to the same pansy-ass gym.

“Hate it when bitches act like they’re better than me,” Mr. Steroids was grumbling.

Seth noted that all three men were smokers, which kinda contradicted the whole health-fanatic thing they had going on.

“Dude, I hear ya. Those high-and-mighty types are grade-A cunts,” the second meathead declared.

Dropping the C-word. So these losers didn’t just dress like douche bags—they acted like it too. Shocking.

“Whatever, dude,” the third douche piped up. “Her tits weren’t even that nice.”

Seth and Aidan exchanged a look. Neither of them said a word, but Seth could tell Aidan was annoyed by the vulgar convo happening next to them. As Aidan’s shoulders tensed beneath his white polo shirt, Seth realized just how ripped the other man was. He tended to forget it, since Aidan was only five-eleven or so and therefore dwarfed by guys like O’Connor, who stood well over six feet.

“And at least come up with an excuse I could buy.” Mr. Steroids exhaled a cloud of smoke, then guffawed. “You’re busy running a dance school? Yeah, right, sweetie. You’re busy working the pole at the D-Cup Lounge, more like it.”

Now Seth’s shoulders were stiffer than a fence post. He’d figured the douches were talking about Miranda, but now that he had verification, it was difficult to control the anger simmering in his gut.

Slowly and methodically, he turned to face the three gym rats and cleared his throat to get their attention. “Quick question,” he said.

Mr. Steroids looked annoyed by the interruption. He flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the pavement instead of using the bucket of sand at his feet. “What is it?” the guy snapped.

“The girl you’re talking about—you mean the bartender, right?”

“Yeah. What’s it to you?”

Seth purposefully dropped his cigarette in the ashtray bucket and met Mr. Steroids’ impatient blue eyes. “She’s my girlfriend,” he replied coldly.

Cue: apology.

Or maybe even a mumbled “whatever”.

What he didn’t expect?

“Well, sorry to break it to you, dude, but your girlfriend’s a cunt.”

Chapter Eight

Heaven. Dylan was in heaven. Hidden away in one of the shadowy alcoves of the club, he had his back against the wall, an eager girl on her knees before him, and a warm mouth surrounding his dick. Groaning, he pushed his hips forward, threading both hands through the blonde’s silky hair as he thrust deeper.

“That’s it, honey. Nice and slow.”

She moaned in approval, then teased the hard length of him with the tip of her tongue, torturing him with featherlight licks that drove him fucking crazy. He was dying to get inside her, but she wasn’t ready to leave the club yet, so they’d ended up striking a bargain—she’d help him take the edge off with a quick BJ, he’d stick around and dance with her until last call, and then they’d head back to her place for a night of fun. Win-win-win.

Another low groan slid out as she wrapped those succulent lips around his engorged head and sucked. Gentle and sweet.

“Ah, that’s good, honey.”

Suddenly that incredible suction was gone. He glanced down to see a pair of shrewd blue eyes looking up at him.

“Something wrong?” he murmured.

“What’s my name?”

A smile tugged on his lips. “You think I don’t remember your name?”

She shrugged. “You keep calling me honey. Call me old-fashioned, but I like it when the guy I’m blowing knows who’s blowing him.”

“Trust me, I know.
Rachel.
” His smile widened. “Last name is…Carver? Yeah, Carver. And you’re in college for fashion merchandising.”

She looked mollified. “Wow. Okay. You were actually listening.”

“I always do, honey.”

With a little laugh, she encircled his cock with her delicate fingers and gave it a sharp pump. Despite the brief hiatus, he was still harder than concrete and so very ready to come. Rachel took him in her mouth again, her head bobbing up and down as she sucked him with fervor. His own head lolled to the side, eyes closing and hips moving, balls tight and tingling.

Just as he got close, a familiar voice called out his name.

Dylan cursed under his breath. The black velvet curtain separating the alcove from the public rustled but didn’t open.

“Seriously, Dylan, I know you’re in there,” Aidan called, his voice muffled by the pounding techno beat. “I need you out here pretty bad. Normally I wouldn’t interrupt you when you’re…yeah…but O’Connor took off a while ago and Zack and Fletch just left, so I need you.”

He stifled another expletive. “What’s up?” he called back.

“Masterson’s about to beat up some guys.”

Aw shit.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Dylan gently reclaimed his cock from Rachel’s mouth and tucked it into his khaki cargo pants.

“I’m sorry,” he told the confused blonde, helping her up to her feet. “I have to go. My buddy’s in trouble.”

Disappointment flickered in her eyes. “Come find me when it’s over?”

He nodded, then bent down to brush a kiss on her cheek. “Definitely. And I’ve got your number, so if for some reason I don’t make it back, I’ll message you, okay?”