Smooth, I praise myself. Lucas really thought he was doing something there, but I’ve matched verbal wits with far better. Hell, I grew up with a family that can flambé your guts with a look, much less a word. I hope Lucas hears me, though, and that I didn’t go too far for his fragile ego. A beaten dog eventually bites, and Lucas has been beaten too many times, I suspect.
“But—” Lucas begins to protest, but a gruff voice interrupts him.
“Dude, sit the fuck down and shut up. You asked, he answered, and do you seriously think he hangs out with us for fun? In case you’re not sure, the answer’s ‘fuck no’.”
There’s a bit of chuckling from around the room at that. “Some of us actually want to do more than flunk out and go home to our parents’ basements, so let Chance talk to those of us who came to hear him, not your dumb ass.”
I look for the new speaker and spot him several rows down from Lucas. Enzo Delano. We’ve spoken a few times. He seems like a smart guy who honestly doesn’t need much guidance. He’s got his head on straight, has a plan, and has a healthy fear of disappointing his mother, whom he loves. But he shared that he needed a sense of community and wanted some decent male role models because his father’s been absent most of his life, and that was enough to convince me that he’d make a great Gentleman.
Lucas glares at Enzo, pissed at being called out and sensing a new target. But Enzo’s no wilting weakling himself and grew up scrappy enough to back up his own outspokenness.
Enzo firmly points at Lucas’s seat, and Lucas’s face turns red, but he slowly begins to sink into his seat, seething.
“Exactly, shut the fuck up and let the man finish his damn speech.”
If only Enzo hadn’t added the last bit, I think with a sigh. Unfortunately, Lucas has to get in the last word.
“Fuck you,” he mutters loudly. I’m not sure whether that’s directed to Enzo, me, both of us, or the world at large, but when Enzo stands, I can see how fast this is going to go sideways.
Considering our club is filled with a bunch of young, opinionated, hormone-raging men in one place, it’s not uncommon for insults to be tossed back and forth, but I don’t want it escalating into any fisticuffs.
There’s a time for slick words and gentle guidance and a time to handle shit. This is the latter. I shout, “Hey! Both of you, settle down—”
Before I can complete my thought, there’s a commotion from the side of the stage that draws the crowd’s eyes even more than the impending fight.
Following their gazes, I glance to my left and pause in shock as a curvaceous woman in a pink jumpsuit, carrying a large bag on her shoulder, suddenly appears.
But as quickly as she appears, she goes tumbling through the air, her high heel caught on an amp cord. Helplessly, I watch as she hits the stage with a hollow thud, her bag slipping from her shoulder, her dark hair falling over her face, and her legs ungracefully flying every which direction.
Lucas and Enzo’s fight forgotten, there’s an audible gasp from the audience as dildos of every color, size, and . . . shape? . . . scatter across the stage. I still hear the woman’s pained, “Fuck.”
What. The. Fuck?
My mind rushes through scenarios of why this could be happening. The only thing that makes sense to me is that this is some kind of prank, and fury rages up from my core.
Knowing I only have seconds to react before things get out of control, I walk over to the woman, scowling at her the whole way. “What are you doing?” I demand menacingly.
I falter for a second as she looks up at me in mortified shock.
She’s beautiful. I can see that now that her hair is out of her face, along with a small sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Her lips are painted a soft pink and are a bit pouty, making me wonder if she’s used to getting her way, and her brown eyes are rimmed with dark liner and long lashes that are fluttering, not flirtatiously but rather with confusion.
Her cheeks turn red in an instant, and she fumbles for words as her eyes fall to my shoes. But somehow, she finds them, muttering under her breath, “Can I interest you in a . . . novelty?”
“Excuse me?” I say sharply. I’m not actually pissed, I’m just . . . if someone had asked me to list the top one thousand possible responses someone would give to my question in this situation, trying to sell me a sex toy would not have made the list.
“Holy Dicks!” a high-pitched voice shrieks in horror, and suddenly, another woman appears. This one is wearing a skintight black dress, fishnet hose, and thick-soled combat boots. Her raven black hair streams behind her as she comes rushing forward and begins scooping up dildos and other various sex toys by the handful and carelessly stuffing them in the bag in front of the shocked crowd. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you! And look, you've dropped our goodies for today’s party all over the place!”
I get the feeling her natural voice is at least a solid octave lower because she sounds like she’s doing a Mrs. Doubtfire impersonation. In fact, this whole thing almost seems like a low-caliber theatrical stage production written by a child. Except for the dicks, of course.
I would laugh if the situation weren’t so utterly ridiculous and a huge disruption to my speech.
I’m too shocked to move and simply stand frozen as I watch the black-haired girl scold the other while quickly gathering the toys with lightning speed. But eventually, my body overrides my outraged mind and I reach down to help the still red-faced brunette to her feet.
“Are you okay?” I ask tightly, remembering the sound of her body hitting the stage hard.
She doesn’t get a chance to answer because the black-haired girl waves her also-black nails in apology, ignoring my question and gesturing at her companion. “I’m so sorry! We really apologize for the interruption to . . . uh . . .” She glances at the lion pendant on my lapel and arches a black, thin-lined brow. “Whatever cult meeting this is. But we’ll be on our way! Sorry!”
Before I can say anything else, she pulls the brunette along, who casts one last embarrassed glance my way as they run for the hills before I can stop them. As she moves, she reminds me of a sexy bunny, quickly disappearing backstage and leaving us all in bewilderment.
It only takes a moment for the room to unfreeze.
“What the fuck?” someone asks as nervous laughter fills the room.
“Holy shit! No offense, Chance, but I gotta go. If those are their ‘goodies for today’s party’, I want an invite to that party instead of this one.”
A newcomer I haven’t met yet raises his hand and calls out, “Yeah, I think I just redefined success for myself and it looks like that.” He’s using my own words against me as he strokes the air like he’s jacking off.
The room erupts in hoots, hollers, and laughs, and I’m forced to shout to be heard.
“Alright, alright, enough!” I bellow. “That wasn’t funny. In fact, I'd better not find out one of you staged that. And if I do find out who, you’re fucking gone.”
My serious tone and use of choice words, something I rarely use in front of them, gives everyone pause as they realize I’m not joking around.
“Yeah,” Evan adds, backing me up as he stands and stares flat faced into the crowd alongside me. “I know you guys like your pranks, but this went too far. Wrong place, wrong time.”