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 f**king 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 c**k 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 c**k 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?”