Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2 Read online

  “Brandi. With an ‘i.’”

  “Of course it is,” I muttered. “Uh, Brandi – you mind if we just get drunk and play video games or something?”

  She stared at me for a second, totally blank-faced – then shrugged. “Okay.”

  Phew.

  I turned on the PS4 and the giant flat screen as she put back on her bikini.

  “By the way,” I said, “you can’t tell anybody about this, okay?”

  She just looked at me in silence.

  Jesus.

  I pulled out a wad of bills from my pocket and counted out ten Benjamins.

  “…okay?” I asked as I dangled the cash in front of her.

  “Okay,” she agreed as she snatched it and stuffed it inside her bikini top.

  I wondered how Monica would categorize this on the expense report to my uncles. PR? Damage control? Risk management? The Gold Digger fund?

  As soon as I thought of Monica, though, I started getting a stiffy again.

  DAMN it –

  Luckily Brandi with an ‘i’ was more focused on our new activity. She grabbed a controller and a nearby bottle of Jack and announced, “I’m gonna kick your ass in Mario Kart.”

  Ah, the intellectual stimulation…

  But I was careful to stay away from any other form of stimulation. As long as I kept my mind on Mario and not Monica, my boner didn’t return.

  I was never so happy to be flaccid in my life.

  8

  Monica

  I spent the next two hours in a very strange place. And I’m not talking about the yacht.

  I’d never been the petty, jealous type. I was the kind of chick who demanded respect, though, and I got it – or else. I didn’t get bent out of shape and pout about stuff, I’d just dump him. If a guy did anything more than a glance at the waitress’s ass, I called him out on it. And if he acted like he was entitled to do it because he was a guy – or if he said ‘sorry’ and did it again anyway on the sly – he was gone.

  There is always, always another guy around the corner. You know the saying about them being like buses, that there’s always another one along in a minute? In reality, there are way more guys than buses. In fact, men are like litter – they’re everywhere.

  So I’d get mad at a guy and rip him a new one, but I wouldn’t get jealous. I was never like, Hmph, why are you looking at HER? Why aren’t you looking at ME?!

  But those were dates and boyfriends. (Although boyfriends knew what not to do. If they didn’t figure it out quick, they never made it past ‘date’ status.) Vic was a stranger, and a douchebag, at that. Why the hell did I even care what he did?

  I DIDN’T!

  I swear I didn’t.

  …crap.

  I did care for some goddamn reason, but I didn’t understand why, and I sure as hell didn’t like it.

  Why was I even remotely feeling this way? He was just some entitled rich boy with serious issues about women. Why the hell would I feel anything about him except for disdain?

  So, to preoccupy my mind, I started categorizing things and figuring out where to cut costs, short of actually selling the yacht.

  I came up with a good 2.5 million dollars in savings by the time he came back.

  What was strange was he had a remarkably non-post sex vibe. No perspiration, no flushed skin, nothing. He was smiling and relaxed – but he was always smiling and relaxed.

  And the girl – not a hair out of place. Just way drunker than when she’d gone in.

  Vic either sucked in bed, or nothing had happened.

  …he sucked in bed. That was it. I was sure of it.

  But even though he was obviously horrible at sex – not worth a fuck or a spare thought – I still couldn’t keep the iciness out of my voice. “Did you have fun?”

  “Hours of entertainment. Thumbs are a little sore, but…”

  …what?

  I had no idea what sort of creepy sexual stuff that comment implied, and I didn’t want to know.

  “Um… look, I have to leave in a couple of hours,” I announced. “We should go over the – ”

  “I can have the helicopter pilot take you back now,” he said, then smiled even wider. “By the way, if you don’t come back tomorrow – or ever – that’s okay, too.”

  “Ha ha,” I said acidly. “I don’t need to go now, I can leave in a couple of hours, so let’s find a quiet place and discuss the cost reports for – ”

  “Nope. Either you gotta take the helicopter back now, or you’re sleeping here tonight.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I’m using the helicopter in a couple of hours.”

  My left eyebrow arched up. “To do what?”

  “Never you mind your pretty little head.”

  “To do WHAT, Vic?”

  “I told you – ”

  I pulled my cell phone out of my jacket pocket. “I could call your uncles right now and have them pull the helicopter permanently so that nobody uses it. How about that?”

  He eyed me warily, then gave in. “I’m flying to Vegas.”

  “The helicopter can’t make it to Vegas.”

  He gave me a condescending smile. “Which is why it’s taking me to the airport.”

  Asshole.

  “Why are you going to Vegas?”

  “There’s a high-stakes poker game at Mandalay Bay I want in on. Buy-in’s two million.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Papa’s gonna bring home a lot of bacon tonight, baby.”

  I shook my head. “That’s unacceptable.”

  “What, bacon? It’s an analogy. I can bring home cheddar if you like – or dough, or fat stacks, or Benjamins – ”

  “I’m not going to let you gamble with two million of your uncles’ money.”

  For the first time since I’d met him, Vic looked angry. “I won’t be using their money, I’ll be using mine. So you don’t get a say in what I do with it.”

  Ooh, touched a nerve. “I don’t care. You’re still not going.”

  He shifted back to cheery with an undertone of menace. “Fuck you, yes I am.”

  “I have a previous commitment tonight, and I already cleared it with your uncles, so you’re going to have to – ”

  “So go do your previous commitment. I’m not stopping you.”

  I shook my head. “I’m supposed to stay with you seven days a week and keep you out of trouble. Letting you go off to Vegas alone for a high-stakes poker game is not keeping you out of trouble.”

  “Hmm, what previous commitment could you possibly have on a Friday night?” he asked. “Book club? Knitting circle? Cat ladies’ convention?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Oooh – so it’s scandalous. Night job as a stripper? Happy ending masseuse? S&M club?”

  Any other job and I could have brought a lawsuit for sexual harassment. But I’d been told by his uncles what to expect. I’d known what I was getting into and had agreed to it upfront, so I just stood there, defiantly silent.

  Vic took that as permission to keep going.

  “Are you a dominatrix? Ooh, yeah, that fits your personality. Do you walk on guys with your high heels? Do you whip ‘em? Tie ‘em up and – ”

  “If you MUST know, I’m going on a date,” I seethed.

  “Oh ho ho! So you’re not frigid overall, just with me,” he said with a wink.

  UGH.

  “I’m not frigid with you,” I said with a cutting smile. “I’m just utterly repulsed by you.”

  “That’s all right, I’m like mold – I grow on ya,” he said reassuringly, then turned back to the boat and yelled, “HEY, I NEED THREE HOT CHICKS – who wants to go to Vegas with me?!”

  There was a roar from the crowd, and women practically fell over themselves raising their hands and hopping up and down.

  “We’re not going to Vegas,” I snapped.

  “Well, I am. Whether you go is up to you.”

  “I have a date – ”

  “Bring
him along!”

  Oh God.

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  Vic gestured at the helicopter. “Well, then, you’d better run along. Say hi to him for me. Tell him – wait, is it your boyfriend?”

  It was actually a third date, but I wasn’t about to tell Vic that.

  “None of your business.”

  That set him off on his guessing game again. “Oooh – are you an escort? A high-class call-girl by night? Do you – ”

  “It’s a DATE.”

  He laughed. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll all ride on my plane, then – ”

  “Your uncles’ plane,” I corrected him.

  He didn’t like that. “Same difference.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Well, either come along with me on my uncles’ private jet and bring your date… or go home and leave me the hell alone. Because if you think your date is gonna trump my poker tournament, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “I can call your uncles and ground your plane with one phone call.”

  “You could… but then I’d make dealing with me a living hell for however long you can bear to stick it out,” he said with a threatening growl.

  I was a little taken aback.

  I wasn’t frightened, and I didn’t feel like I was in danger –

  …but I was a little turned on by his anger.

  Which I didn’t like. At all.

  He suddenly switched back to happy-go-lucky. “OR we can all be civil and have fun and go to Vegas, and you and I can make the best of however long you have to deal with me. Your choice.”

  We stared each other down, neither of us saying a word.

  I considered my options.

  I knew things were going to get unpleasant with Vic at some point. I was going to be cutting into his over-the-top lifestyle, which he wasn’t going to like.

  But I also knew it was wise to pick my battles. And making an enemy out of him on Day One was probably not in my best interest. Especially when I couldn’t stop him from going to Vegas. I could ground the helicopter and the private jet with one call – but he could just get on a jet ski, ride to shore, take an Uber to the airport, and catch any of a dozen commercial flights available.

  A showdown at this point was a lose-lose for me. And I was all about winning.

  I grumbled, then started tapping out a message on my phone.

  “Who are you texting?” he asked warily.

  “My date,” I grumbled.

  “ATTAGIRL!” he hooted, and slapped me on the shoulder in an affable way. “Tell him to meet us at SFO’s private jet terminal at five o’clock.”

  I glared at him. “This is ridiculous.”

  “No, baby – ” He turned to the crowd and shouted at the top of his lungs, “THIS – IS – SPARTAAAAAA!”

  The entire crowd erupted in a roar, and the DJ immediately transitioned into that 90’s hip hop hit “Jump Around.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Get ready to live a little, Monica,” Vic beamed. “You could use it.”

  9

  Vic

  I was sitting in the private jet on a plush leather loveseat, surrounded on both sides what I called the Neapolitan: a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead.

  You know, like the ice cream: vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry.

  Except I like my ice cream a little more exotic, so the blonde was Brazilian, the brunette was Asian, and the redhead was… well, a redhead.

  Spice, rice, and everything nice.

  On the sofa across from me, though, it was all just ice.

  Monica glared at me as she sat buckled in next to her date.

  Me? I was just mystified.

  What does she SEE in that guy?

  I mean, I guess he was smart – he had on glasses, so he definitely looked the part. Sports jacket, jeans, collared shirt, brown shoes. Nothing interesting about him. Totally bland. He looked like he belonged in a Folgers coffee commercial.

  Monica may have been pissed, but the guy seemed fine. Calm and impassive. He’d been a little rattled at first to see my three honeys, but the initial shock had passed and he was taking it all in stride now. And, to be honest, he had the hottest chick on the plane sitting next to him, so he was probably feeling okay. Quality over quantity.

  My social media guy was on the plane with us, snapping pictures of me and my chicks. When he turned his camera towards Monica, though, she pointed right at him. “NO.”

  “Aw, come on, Monica,” I teased her. “It’s for the greater good of the company.”

  “Pictures for your Instagram is not the same as the greater good of the company.”

  “Alright, Joe, no pics of the grumpy lady,” I said to my photographer, and he retired to another part of the plane.

  I was getting bored, so I decided it was time to have a little fun.

  “Soooo… Simon. That’s your name, right? Simon?”

  “Yes,” her date said blandly.

  “You guys do it yet?”

  My three chicks all giggled.

  Simon blushed.

  Monica went nuclear.

  “Do NOT answer that question,” she snapped.

  “Now I know who wears the pants in the family. I’m gonna take that for a ‘no,’” I said, and gave him a friendly wink. “What date is this?”

  “Our third, actually.”

  “Ohhhhh! Third date! You know what that means! Well, for normal guys, anyway – I get it in the first five minutes, right girls?”

  They all laughed and cooed and ran their fingers over my chest.

  Poor Simon wasn’t even getting a hug from his chick.

  Monica just shook her head in disgust.

  “So, third date,” I continued. “You gonna put out, Simon?”

  Monica was giving me the icy stare of death.

  Which was like giving me a standing ovation, as far as I was concerned. So I continued.

  “I mean, between you and me, buddy, I think if anybody’s gonna be putting out tonight, it’s gonna be you. Be careful, though – she seems like could break you. Snap. Like a twig.”

  “Vic?” Monica said very calmly.

  “Yes, Monica?” I asked like I was saying, Yes, my love, my little chickadee?

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  All my girls burst into laughter.

  I just shook my head and rolled my eyes at Monica like Will you get a load of that, Simon? “Dude, even if you don’t put out, you should at least give her a handie. She needs a stress-reliever, if you know what I mean.”

  Monica started making a low-throated growl as she bored a hole through my head with her hate stare.

  “Don’t worry, Si – if Monica won’t give you any, I’ll hook you up with Gabriela here,” I offered. “Gabriella, go sit with Simon.”

  The Brazilian stood up –

  “DON’T,” Monica barked.

  The Brazilian immediately sat back down, a frightened look on her face.

  “Whoa,” I said, “is there an exorcist on the plane? Calm down, Monica. The power of Vic compels you. So, Simon, what do you do?”

  He seemed unsure whether to say anything, since his date looked like she was one knife away from committing a quadruple homicide on my side of the plane. But he eventually answered, “I’m the CFO of a web-based accounting firm.”

  “OHHH – you’re a bean pusher. Now I see why she likes you,” I said, glad I’d figured it all out.

  Simon frowned the slightest. “What do you do, exactly?”

  Monica snorted. “I’d like to know that, too.”

  I gave her a Don’t be naughty glance, then said, “I travel the world in a perpetual state of awesome, Simon.”

  He frowned a little bit more. “That’s your job?”

  “That’s my job.”

  “That’s his delusion,” Monica chimed in again.

  “How do you make money at that?” Simon asked.

  “He doesn’t,” Monica said. She seemed to be enjoying herself now
.

  I pointed at her. “Hey, a little less noise from the peanut gallery, huh? Besides, I’m gonna make a lot of cash tonight!”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Well, prepare to see a LOT.”

  “Actually, the less I see of you, the better,” she shot back.

  “Why don’t you go to one of those magic shows on the Strip and just… disappear,” I said, waving my hands with a Ta-da! flourish.

  “Why don’t you go to a proctologist and get your head pulled out of your ass?” she asked.

  “Only if you go get that stick removed from yours.”

  “Don’t lose too much money tonight, Vic, or you won’t be able to pay your companions,” she said with a smile.

  My girls all reacted with outrage: “You bitch!” “Puta!” “Go fuck yourself!”

  Simon looked like he wanted to say something to them, but couldn’t quite build up the courage.

  I actually thought what Monica had said was pretty funny, though.

  “Simmer down, ladies, simmer down… she’s just pissed because, whether it’s poker or sex, I’m the only one getting lucky tonight.”

  Monica gave me a cutting smile. “If I want to get lucky, Vic… I’ll get lucky.”

  Daaaaamn.

  The girls rubbing all over my chest hadn’t done a damn thing for me, but as soon as Monica said that? With that attitude? I immediately started to get a chubby.

  Although I gotta say, I was a little bit jealous.

  I played it off well, though.

  “Sounds like a promise to me, Simon. Get it in writing while you can,” I advised him.

  The pilot came over the intercom. “We’ll be landing in five minutes, ladies and gentlemen, so please fasten your seatbelts.”

  “Hear that, Simon? Follow his advice,” I advised him, and jerked my head at Monica. “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

  “No,” Monica said sweetly, “I think you caught the bumps from your companions.”

  “Ohhhh,” I said, both disgusted and impressed.

  Monica could bring the pain when she wanted to.

  Of course, her comments just occasioned more outrage from my dates.

  “Fuckin’ bitch!” “Whore!” “Vai te fuder, porra – ”