The Bet by Max Monroe
Friday, March 16th
Jude
“Yo, Jude! I got a bachelorette party coming in at midnight!” Maverick calls toward me from the opposite end of the staff hallway, and I turn on my heel to find him grinning like a confident bastard. “You feeling lucky tonight? Wanna make another bet and see if you can actually win this time?”
His words strike the match of memories, and unbidden visions flicker into my mind.
Sophie’s parted lips and her mouth cresting into unexpected pleasure as I danced against her in one of the private VIP rooms.
Hot-as-fuck visuals of her naked body beneath mine. The way she tastes. The way her skin flushes red when she’s getting close to climax.
The mesmerizing way Sophie looks when she comes.
And the fact that you left her your number six days ago and she still hasn’t used it.
Quickly, I shake the thoughts from my mind and push a cocky smirk to my lips. The expression comes more naturally than anything else in my repertoire, and the enjoyment I get out of sparring with Maverick even makes it genuine.
“Don’t you think you should be focusing on picking out which G-string you’re wearing tonight, Mav?” I toss back. “Or what shade of sparkly body glitter will look best under the strobe lights? Instead of, you know, trying to get me to do your job for you?”
Truthfully, Maverick never sports G-strings or body glitter when he’s dancing, but shit-talking doesn’t always have to be rooted in truth. As long as you sound confident that it could be accurate, it strikes the nerves just as deep.
He guffaws. “Nice deflection, Jude.”
“Oh, I’m not deflecting. But are you deflecting?” I clap back with a smug quirk of my brow. “Because if all the stress is getting to you or you’re having an insecure moment, that’s all you need to say, bud. I have no qualms about being your Kris Jenner and telling you that you’re doing great. Because you are, sweetie. You’re doing great.”
“Sometimes, it’s scary how naturally bullshit comes to you.” He snorts and lifts his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder.
“What can I say? Combine raw talent with four siblings and you’ve got a recipe for smack-talking greatness.” I hold out both hands and grin. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to head back inside the club and make sure shit is running smooth. See you out there?”
“Yeah, you bastard,” he comments and heads toward the staff dressing room. “I’ll be the one with the women fawning all over me!”
“I believe in you, sweetie!” I yell with my hands cupped around my mouth. “And I’m sure whatever G-string you pick, the ladies are going to love it!”
Knowing he can’t out-banter the master, he just shakes his head on a chuckle and steps through the dressing room door. And I head back in the direction of the club.
A quick glance at my watch confirms that it’s already half past ten. In another thirty minutes or so, Club Craze will be at maximum capacity and hopping.
I know this because I planned it that way. Before this Friday night even kicked off, I gave the bouncers explicit instructions on how to fill the club tonight, and after the initial burst of people at opening, the name of the game is slow and steady and a two-to-one female-to-male ratio.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Women are always more fun at a club. They’ll laugh. They’ll dance. They’ll have cocktails. And they’ll undoubtedly bring all the boys to the yard.
The pounding beats of house music start to echo off the walls as I get closer to the side entrance that leads into the bar area, but before I can step inside, I feel my cell vibrate a few times in my jacket pocket. Promptly, my chest expands with an inflated level of curiosity, but when I pull it out and check the screen, I find notifications from the group chat with my brothers and one message from Bianca.
Still no word from Sophie Sage.
I let out an annoyed breath and open up the text inbox to see if there’s anything urgent.
Bianca: What are you doing tonight, handsome?
I’m pretty sure it’s been a month since I last spoke with her, and normally, I’d try to meet up with her after I finish at the club, but…I don’t know… I’m just not feeling it tonight. Not really feeling it at all, if I’m being honest.
Me: Sorry, B. Working all weekend.
She responds with another message, but I’m already inside the group chat with my brothers and reading through the various texts I’ve missed.
Ty: Any one of you fucks getting into anything fun tonight?
Flynn: Not in town.
Ty: What? Where are you?
Flynn: Montana.
Ty: What the fuck are you doing there?
More messages pop onto the screen, and I keep reading.
Flynn: I was here for a client, but I ended up joining a motorcycle club. Probably gonna move out here permanently.
I laugh. Flynn is the quietest Winslow brother out of the four of us, but man, whenever he does say shit, it’s always laced with the best fucking sarcasm and dry humor.
Remy: LOL.
Ty: Just because you’re Mr. Cool on your Harley, doesn’t mean a motorcycle club would actually accept your pansy ass.
Remy: Don’t act like you haven’t been on the losing end of a brawl with Flynn before, Ty. We all have. He’d be a fucking asset to any group of roughnecks. I’m two years older than him, and he can still kick my ass—barely.
Flynn: You wanna join the MC too, Rem?
Remy: Sure, why not. I’m down. But only if Ty can’t.
Flynn: Ty surviving in an MC? That’s hilarious.
Ty: Fuck you guys. And what is up with Jude tonight? Someone must have taped all his fingers together to keep him this quiet during a session of shitting on me.
Knowing that’s my cue, I quickly type out a response.
Jude: Working. Club Craze. Don’t worry, though. I’m saving up some insults for the next time I see you.
Ty: Yeah, whatever. What about next weekend? Are you working then too?
For good measure, I add one more message into the mix before shifting back to work.
Jude: Probably heading to Montana to join Flynn’s MC.
Ty: FUCK YOU GUYS.
I laugh to myself as I slip my phone back into my pocket and step through the side entrance. The bar area is active with bartenders making drinks and clubgoers on the other side clamoring to get their orders taken.
And when I look out toward the center of the dance area, I’m met with way more writhing bodies than I can count.
All in all, everything is going as planned. Club Craze is packed, the music is popping, and the drinks are flowing. It won’t be much longer until I feel confident enough in the staff and the way things are running that I won’t have to dedicate so much of my weekend time here and can start focusing on my next big promotional project.
In the early days, after I first left Cruz Nightlife, I really had to pace myself. J. Winslow Promotion didn’t turn a profit as quick as I wanted, and regret for stepping out on my own was a constant threat. But I knew if I stuck with the mind-set that quality outweighs quantity and stayed focused, I’d eventually be able to ask for bigger numbers with each gig, thus rendering the necessity for overcommitting myself unnecessary. And the six-figure paychecks the owners of this joint are currently paying me to make sure their nightclub is all the rage prove that my methods were spot-on.
It’s been thirteen years in the making, but finally, at thirty-six years old, I’m not only considered one of the best in New York, but I also have Vegas, Miami, and LA investors looking to hire my firm for consulting and promotional advice.
Instantly, thoughts of Sophie Sage and her event planning business come to mind. I haven’t talked to her about it all that much, but with what we have talked about, I’ve gotten the sense that her work ethic is reminiscent of my own in my late twenties. Hustle hard, and don’t take no for an answer. But that doesn’t answer the most prying question of the moment—why am I even thinking of her right now?
Because you want to have more fun with her.
I’m not going to deny that. Sophie Sage is one of the hottest women I’ve ever been with, hands down. So, it makes sense that I wouldn’t be spent after two quick rounds of play. But the ball is officially in her court, just like I prefer it to be, and all I can do is wait and see if she decides to take the shot. Pursuit turns women into romantics, and Jude Winslow has no fucking interest in chasing anyone’s dreams but his own. Life’s a hell of a lot happier without the complication.
In the meantime, though, I have a club to run.
After a quick check-in with the bartenders and the cocktail waitresses, I stride out of the bar area and in the direction of my VIPs.
Through the center of the dance area and toward the red velvet ropes of the upper floor, I smile and shake hands with familiar faces, check in with more staff members, and give a thumbs-up to my favorite pixie-haired DJ.
But once I make it through the crowd and my vision adjusts to the change in lighting—from bouncing strobe lights to softly lit ambiance—I’m pulled in the direction of one of the velvet couches lining the walls around the dance floor.
One couch where a brunette beauty with an all-too-familiar and downright unforgettable face sits.
Sophie Sage.
Hot damn. She’s fucking here. At my club. It’s almost like I willed her here, for shit’s sake.
A pair of sexy stilettos are clasped to her feet, and her crossed legs look a mile long beneath the sexy green dress that hugs the curves of her body. Her hair hangs across her shoulders, and her blood-red painted lips curve up and into a smile.
But it’s not at me. It’s at some dude in a pair of jeans and a collared shirt sitting beside her on the couch.
What the fuck? Is she here with that guy?
I shake my head. It wouldn’t be the first time one of my hookups tried to play petty bullshit games of jealousy in the interest of gaining more of my attention, but Sophie really hasn’t seemed like the type.
Picking my way through the fringe of people standing in front of her platformed section, I move in her direction carefully, hoping to get a better idea of what’s really going on before I jump to conclusions. As I get closer and the music threads lower between songs, I overhear him ask, “C’mon, honey, let me at least buy you a drink.”
Sophie offers a conciliatory smile but also shakes her head at the dude who looks like he just left a fucking frat party. I’m honestly surprised the bouncers even let him in here. I mean, he just oozes douchebag.
On what planet does this guy even think he stands a chance with a woman like Sophie? The situation is the epitome of him trying to play out of his league.
“What about a dance, honey?” he pesters as I climb up the steps in front of them, ready to intervene on her behalf, but Sophie responds before I can open my mouth.
“I would love to, but my parole officer gave me explicit instructions that the judge said I can’t do that.”
The dude’s face scrunches up like he just ate a piece of bad fish. “Parole officer?”
“Yeah. Truthfully, my court order even says that I’m not supposed to be here since it’s within four miles of the guy’s apartment.” Sophie’s smile turns conspiratorial as she leans in a little closer to add, “But you won’t tell on me, right? I just finished up a three-year stint at Bedford Hills, and there is no way I want to go back there. I’m sure you can understand why.”
Bedford Hills is a women’s-only correctional facility that most New Yorkers know about because it’s where Amy Fisher did her time after she shot Joey Buttafuoco’s wife.
Basically, there is no fucking way Sophie Sage spent three years there. But the fact that she’s pretending to be a secret, undercover felon in the name of making this guy leave her alone amuses the hell out of me. I’m going to have to thank Ki-Ki for the smooth, understated vibe of this song she’s playing now, because normally, there’s no way I would’ve been able to make out what they were saying at all.
“Uh…Y-yeah. Of course…” The dude pauses and swallows hard around a mouthful of shock as his eyes dart around the nightclub. In mere seconds, his face has morphed from douchey and flirtatious to a man who fears the woman beside him is going to pull a shiv out of her purse and stab him in the dick.
“Oh shit!” he shouts far too loudly and holds his hand up to his ear like he’s actually hearing something from the other side of the club. “I-I think my buddy is yelling for me. Yep. That’s him. Definitely him. I…uh…better go see if…he’s okay…yeah…I should do that…uh…bye.”
Like a sprinter out of the gate after the gunshot, he’s off the couch, gliding past me with a whoosh, and heading straight for the dance floor. I track his momentum over my shoulder to steal a final glance of his warp-speed departure, and man, it’s worth it. Like a pinball in an active machine, he bumps into several people as he tries to put as much distance between himself and Sophie and her prison stories as quickly as humanly possible.
It’s comedy in its purest form and a situation I could spend a good ten minutes laughing about—if it weren’t for the woman on the couch. When I turn back toward her, she’s staring at me with wide, tumultuous emerald eyes.
I grin down at her and scoot past the low-set table between us to settle a small kiss on the apple of her cheek. Her whole body shivers as I put my warm palm to the opposite side of her throat and whisper softly into her ear. “Hello, Sophie. Fancy seeing you here tonight.”
“Uh…hey, Jude,” she greets quietly, her voice shaking slightly with something I can’t fully discern.
Satisfaction? Surprise? Nervousness?
I don’t know. But I’m undeniably glad to see her and get the chance to find out. Taking a seat next to her, I skim my hand over the top of her bare knee and cross my ankle over my own, stretching an arm across the back of the sofa behind her. Her body turns toward mine subtly, and my grin kicks up a notch or two.
“Parole officer? Court order? And a three-year stint in the slammer?” I repeat her earlier words, and a little laugh jumps from her throat.
“I take it I’ve been caught red-handed in the middle of my web of lies, huh?”
I nod. “Where in the hell did you come up with that shit?”
“Truthfully? I’m not quite sure.” She shrugs one bare shoulder. “Lifetime movie. Dateline. Too many Netflix crime documentaries. Any of those could be to blame for my depravity.”
“Why do I get the feeling that’s not the first time you’ve done something like that to scare off a man’s unwanted advances?”
“Probably because it’s not the first time.” She cringes, but also, the hint of a guilty smile kisses her perfect mouth.
It’s so fucking cute I wish I could snap a picture to remember the adorable expression on her pretty face. Not to mention, the realization that she’s not giving me even remotely the hard time she did Brad Phi Kappa spurs a thrill of satisfaction in my veins.
Something tells me Sophie Sage enjoys my kind of fun. And more than that, I think that’s why she’s here right now…
“Are you by yourself tonight?”
She nods, and her eyes flash like a traffic camera after she’s just run a red light. They tell a story, one made up of highs and lows and a conclusion that ends at this club with me, serving her willingness on a platter much larger than a simple text to my number. I’ve never been more certain of one thing—she is here for me.
And now the fun can begin. Game on.
I smirk, stand up, and reach down to take her hands into mine. Once I gently pull her off the velvet couch and to her feet, I wrap my arm around her waist and bring her closer to my chest so I can whisper, “You’re here,” into her ear.
“I am.” She nods again, and the shell of her ear brushes across my lips.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her truthfully and reach up to tuck a piece of her silky brown hair behind her ear. “That dress of yours is reason enough for you to actually have a parole officer, or hell, maybe for me to have one.”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“I’m liable to get into fifteen brawls on the dance floor tonight, Soph, and that’s just with the men who are brave enough to touch you. I can’t even consider the ones who are bound to be looking at you in this thing.”
Even to myself, I sound oddly territorial. I reason internally, though, that no boy likes to share the newest of his toys, and boys never really grow up. I want to kiss and dance and fuck. I don’t need any other men coming over with their bullshit one-liners and distracting her. Right now, I want all of her attention.
Her cheeks redden a little at my words, and my nose doesn’t miss the fact that she smells insanely good. The soft hints of vanilla and sweet sugar and something else I can’t determine fill my head and damn near make me high.
I have to get confirmation of her intentions quickly, before I get completely lost in her. “Are you here for me?” I ask bluntly, and Sophie leans back to search my eyes.
“Well…it’s either that or I’m having a temporary moment of insanity.” She scoff-laughs. “Hell, maybe it’s both.”
“Temporary insanity isn’t always a bad thing.” I smile and let my gaze flit from her gorgeous eyes to her full, red-painted lips before locking my eyes with hers again. “In this case, I think it means you’ve given yourself permission to have fun.”
“Yeah. I think that’s what it means, too.”
Instantly, a buzz of excitement blasts into my veins and sets my blood to singing. If Sophie Sage is here for fun, I’m going to make sure I give it to her. And with the club running as smoothly as it is, I have the freedom and time to make it happen.
Oh yeah. Tonight is going to be a good fucking night.