Mr. Right Now: Vol. 3: Drinks On Us Tonight (4 page)

Dalton clutches Cole’s hand while he lets the woman ride him, and then he turns his head to face Cole.

“I’m married.”

“What?” Cole covers his forehead with his free hand.

“I’m married and just like to fuck.”

Every muscle in his body aches and screams at him as he rolls around the mess of sheets. The sheets were ripped from every corner and balled up in the middle. Cole feels around for bodies in his bed, but finds it lonely and cold.

There’s no sign of a hangover, and he knows it’s because only four shots of tequila could never get him hammered. He scrubs his eyes, remembering last night, and shakes his head. He hasn’t been with a man in such a long time he forgot what it felt like and the high it gave him. Dalton was an incredible piece of art, and he enjoyed every single minute of consuming him.

In the majority of his threesomes that involve men, he only watches the other man, rarely acting on his guilty pleasure. Last night was different, though—so very different. It may be the worst thought he’s ever processed, but he was thrilled to find out Dalton was married because there’d be no chance of falling for him.

It needs to be one of those things where he fucks it out of his system and moves on. Cole’s not sure if he wants to ever settle down, so the question of whether it be with a guy or woman is truly something he can’t comprehend. He likes to feel good and will do anything to get there.

“Fuck,” he growls, trying to sit up.

His body isn’t happy with him. He lost track of how many rounds the four of them went, but knows it was a fucking epic night that will hold him over for the week. His planner is filled with business meetings, finishing touches at the nightclub, and his shift at the hospital.

***

Cole pulls into a smaller parking spot at the club and is immediately thankful he brought the sports car rather than the brothers’ SUV. He spots Creed’s car and feels his stomach roll with disgust. He still doesn’t know how the hell the man got hired, and then his dumbass brother makes him head bartender. He just hopes he fucks up before they move on to the next city, because he can’t wait to fire his ass.

Cole walks straight to the booth he prefers without making eye contact with anyone. He looks around, noting everything that still needs to be completed. Several other bars are going up around the edge of the club, while a crew works on installing the dance floor in the middle. It’s practically the size of a fucking football field.

Cole has picked up Eli’s share of work and is starting to feel it as he sees the huge stack of papers in the booth. He needs a fucking assistant, and a hot one at that. One he could fuck and then get back to work with a clear head. Cole chuckles at his own thoughts, knowing the reality of that isn’t in reach.

He begins going through the paperwork, looking over taxes and liquor licenses, making sure not one thing is out of place. Their documents need to be airtight to keep the Harwells from interfering. He’s not as worried about them since their shit crashed and burned, but more about opening when they had promised the public. Fuck, there’s already radio ads about the opening only three short months away.

“Sir, Creed sent me over here to see if you wanted a drink.”

He looks up to a server dressed in her uniform. They came in this morning, and Kam’s been here assigning them and making sure they look perfect on each employee. At Made To Sin, female servers wear a black bikini bottom with bling covering their ass, and a cut off tank top with “Made To Sin” printed across the front in a jagged red font.

The servers and bartenders are encouraged to tan and be extra glitzy when they show up for work. Bad hair days are no excuse. The waitress standing before him could be a poster child for Made To Sin. Bleached blonde hair is piled up on her head, exposing her neck and not distracting from her cleavage. Her skin is an olive color with hints of glitter all over her body.

Any man would love to have her. Too bad she’s an employee, because they’re all off limits.

“Nice job on the outfit,” Cole finally says, pointing up and down in her direction.

“Thank you, Cole. Need a drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

He watches as she walks off and her gems sparkle in the light. His eyes are glued to her ass and her long, luscious legs. This is their goal, to make every male customer want to watch the servers come and go and keep spending that money on alcohol.

The same goes for the female customers. All male servers and bartenders wear black skinny jeans and only a bowtie. Their lady customers go nuts over them. The brothers also make sure the lighting in the club is perfect to give their customers the glimpses they need while keeping it nice and dark on the dance floor for whatever happens.

Hundreds of booths border the outside of the dance floor, and that’s where the lighting is crucial, not only for their customers to ogle, but to also hold conversations with friends. All of this is Eli’s job. He’s always loved designing and drawing up plans. Each club has the same feel and color scheme, but a slightly different layout that’s unique to that specific club.

Cole pushes the huge task of finishing that job from his mind and goes back to the paperwork. He’ll go to the hospital later to confirm all the details with Eli and move forward. He doesn’t want to unload any of the booths or furniture until he knows for sure where they’re going.

“Cole.”

When he looks up, he grips onto his pencil so tightly he breaks it in half. Creed is standing there in his club outfit. Black skinny jeans that hug his V perfectly, even allowing a peek at his happy trail, and a black bowtie.

“What?”

“I just…uh.” Creed fiddles with his fingers and avoids eye contact.

“Look at me when you fucking talk. It’s the least you could do.”

“I just want to say I’m sorry.”

Cole jumps to his feet and is mere inches from the other man. If he leans slightly, he could cover Creed’s lips. When his scent hits Cole, he finds himself fighting the urge to do just that.

“You’re sorry? Sorry for what?’

Creed stands speechless.

“Here, let me make a list for you. Are you sorry for cheating on me? Breaking my heart? Being a douche bag? Or do you feel sorry for yourself since you made me fall in love with you and then ruined it all?”

“Cole, I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“I fell for you. You’re the only person I’ve ever told I love them, and then you stole money from me and cheated on me.” Cole places his hands on his hips. “So, see, your sympathy or sorrow or whatever you’re trying to express here means absolutely fucking nothing to me.”

Creed doesn’t try to respond and begins to walk away. “One more thing, Creed.”

Creed freezes, but doesn’t turn around.

“Don’t you dare ever talk to me again.”

Creed doesn’t make eye contact, and Cole hopes the fucking puke got the message loud and clear. The night he caught Creed in bed with a woman at their normal meeting spot hurt, but it killed him when he realized he had stolen thousands of dollars from him during the months they spent together.

Cole met Creed the second night they were in L.A., and they hit it off. Cole distracts himself, digging back into the paperwork and ignoring Creed and the way he made him feel. He lets his work dull his pain as he loses himself in it.

He’s not sure how many hours have passed, but it’s after eight o’clock when he looks up at the clock on the wall. He decides it’s been a day and sets off to meet Eli. He hasn’t heard from anyone today, and his guilt immediately kicks in. He’ll never know how to juggle the responsibility of everything. His momma used to tell him that things have a way of working themselves out, and there’s no use stressing to death.

Cole drives in a daze to the hospital, not even remembering any of the turns or stoplights he was so lost in thought. He rides the elevator, exhausted. It’s not even nine p.m. and he knows it’s mainly because of last night’s adventures.

When he steps off the elevator, the scene in front of Chloe’s room is normal without the group of doctors surrounding her and alarms going off. He peeks around the corner to see Eli slumped in a chair.

“Hey, man.”

Eli looks up through bloodshot eyes, and the look on his face scares Cole.

“Hey, man,” he replies.

“Where’s Chloe?” He nods to where her bed usually is.

“They took her for some tests. Have a seat.”

“You look like shit. You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

Eli just shakes his head. “I was afraid to. I didn’t want her to slip away again.”

“How is she?”

“The doctors can’t offer any explanation. She’s doing amazing. Feeding tube is out, and she’s able to drink liquids and eat a little bit of Jell-O.”

“The baby?”

“Same. Haven’t discussed it much.”

“I’m taking you back to the hotel for the night. You need a good hot meal and sleep in a real bed.”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“I’ll drag your ass out of here, Eli.”

A crash distracts the brothers from their pissing match. They look up to see Chloe’s bed being rolled in by two nurses. They get her adjusted and both of her IVs hooked backed up. Cole has no idea what to say to her. The first thing that comes to mind is ‘How are you doing?’ but that seems a bit off.

She offers Eli a feeble smile, and he’s on his feet and by her side. He clutches her hand like he has done so many times when she was unconscious, and then places a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Buttercup, it’s a good thing you came back.” He smiles, remembering their childhood days when he’d always tease Eli about her and nicknamed her Buttercup.

“I had to.”

“Fucking-A, you had to. There’s no way I could deal with this jumbo sized puss without you.” He nods over to Eli, who is standing on her other side and holding her other hand.

She lets out a light laugh. “How’s the job going?”

“Chloe, I’ll whip your ass myself if you worry about that. I’ve got it under control.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

“But I think Eli needs to go to the hotel for a night and sleep.”

Chloe nods and shoots him a look saying ‘I told you so.’

“I’m not leaving.”

“He’s such a stubborn ass. I’ll give you two some time and be right back.” Cole exits the room, needing to make a business call that he spaced.

“Brother.”

He looks up from his phone and sees Jax.

“Doctor,” he replies coolly.

Cole’s been around his share of women—and men for, that matter—and there’s something different about Jax. She’s gorgeous in a simple way. No make-up, jewelry, or perfume, but she’d demand your attention in a room full of Playboy bunnies.

“You’ve got a very stubborn brother.”

Cole looks back in the room, confused about her remark.

“I was on my way in to share some test results, but didn’t want to ruin your conversation.”

“Ah, gotcha, Doc.”

“Doc?”

“Yeah, Doc.” Cole leans back on the doorframe and crosses his arms.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early in our relationship to jump to nicknames?”

He slides his hands in his pockets to fight the urge to brush her long bangs from her eyes.

“Did you not get the memo?”

“Haven’t checked my memo basket yet, Brother.”

“Sterlings don’t play by the rules. The only rule is we don’t have fucking rules.”

He notices Jax stiffen a bit at his harsh language, but he also doesn’t miss her fingers delicately brushing her bangs to the side and her chest raising a little heavier than normal. Oh yes, he’s affected her.

Her eyes focus back on her paperwork. “I can only imagine.”

“Since we are at the nickname part of our blooming relationship, I need a favor from you, Doc.” He reaches out to her forearm. “Help me make my brother go home.”

He’s surprised when she doesn’t pull her arm back or yell at him.

“Well, that was a bit thick, but you’re lucky. I agree that your brother needs a break.”

“Thank you. He needs a night back at the hotel, distraction free, and a good night’s rest.”

“I may be the brain of the bunch here.” She gestures between them. “But I don’t do free favors.”

He arches an eyebrow at her. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. What are you going to give me?”