him the sunrise and then asked him to give her something in return that he couldn’t possibly provide.
“A man with too much on his mind to enjoy the visual delights of one very talented pole dancer. Now that is tragic.”
“That’s me—a real tragic figure,” Mitch muttered. “Can’t have the woman I want—don’t want anyone else.”
“That doesn’t sound like you. I’ve never known you to admit you can’t achieve something.”
“I guess there comes a time a man has to accept defeat.”
That was what he’d arrived at, surely? Hayley had to have known he would never agree to her request. No way he could stand by and watch her give her body to another man and do nothing. The very suggestion told him it was Ty she wanted, while he was destined to be relegated to the role of observer—an extra in the feature film of her life.
Mitch Wood did not hang out on the sidelines for anyone, and Hayley knew it. She’d asked for something he couldn’t give her as a way of making a relationship between them untenable. It was time to give up, face the fact she wanted him out of her life, no matter how much it stung.
Now he knew how it felt to be on the losing end of a fight—like he’d just been forced to eat a steaming pile of fresh manure.
The bartender slid a fourth scotch on the rocks in front of Mitch, who immediately took a sizeable gulp. The first three hadn’t taken the edge off his misery. Now, when he looked at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar it was slightly fuzzy. Good. Maybe soon everything else would become fuzzy too. He couldn’t wait for the sharp corners of his emotions to get all soft and squishy so they could no longer hurt him.
The opening bars of a raunchy pop song pounded from the sound system, and a round of cheers went up. The DJ announced, his voice laden with enthusiasm, “And now for your viewing pleasure, the delectable, the delightful Persephone!”
“That’s my cue to get back to the group—best man duties and all that.” Luke took one last look at Mitch. “Sure you’re okay?”
“Oh, sure. Feel like a million bucks.”
Despite Mitch’s obvious sarcasm, Luke knew when to leave a man be. Alone once more, Mitch went back to the very important task of emptying his glass.
He managed it so well he decided to tackle another—and another. His vision had gone from fuzzy to blurry by the time he bothered to swivel on his stool and glance at the scene laid out on the dance floor of the Oasis Bar. Persephone had moved on from twisting her lithe body in front of a blushing Aidan and was now working her way through the crowd, wiggling before each man in attendance in the hope of increasing her haul of tips. She bent her body backward over one seated guy, displaying her taut abdomen and lush sequin-encased breasts to his view. As Mitch watched, someone poured some clear liquid from a bottle and into the dancer’s navel. Raucous chanting for him to “Drink, drink, drink!” started up. With a laugh, the man bent his head and slurped the alcohol out of the woman’s bellybutton.
In the murky light, Mitch could just make out the shaggy cut of the man’s light brown hair.
Ty Butler.
Ty. Friggin’. Butler.
Who the hell had invited him? He was the last person Mitch wanted to see. The sight of him alone was enough to make fury course through his veins, a hotter burn than the strong alcohol. Watching him run his tongue all over some strange woman’s stomach when Hayley was off by herself, perhaps wondering at loverboy’s whereabouts…
Mitch’s rage was like fire. Bastard. The man had Hayley, and he was here doing shots out of a stripper’s navel. His anger mounted when the dancer sat up and proceeded to jiggle her breasts in Ty’s face. Clearly enjoying the attention, Ty smiled like the cat that caught the canary and stuffed a bill into the woman’s cleavage.
Unbe-friggin’-lievable.
He could have been sprinting, but it felt like he was walking through mud as
“A man with too much on his mind to enjoy the visual delights of one very talented pole dancer. Now that is tragic.”
“That’s me—a real tragic figure,” Mitch muttered. “Can’t have the woman I want—don’t want anyone else.”
“That doesn’t sound like you. I’ve never known you to admit you can’t achieve something.”
“I guess there comes a time a man has to accept defeat.”
That was what he’d arrived at, surely? Hayley had to have known he would never agree to her request. No way he could stand by and watch her give her body to another man and do nothing. The very suggestion told him it was Ty she wanted, while he was destined to be relegated to the role of observer—an extra in the feature film of her life.
Mitch Wood did not hang out on the sidelines for anyone, and Hayley knew it. She’d asked for something he couldn’t give her as a way of making a relationship between them untenable. It was time to give up, face the fact she wanted him out of her life, no matter how much it stung.
Now he knew how it felt to be on the losing end of a fight—like he’d just been forced to eat a steaming pile of fresh manure.
The bartender slid a fourth scotch on the rocks in front of Mitch, who immediately took a sizeable gulp. The first three hadn’t taken the edge off his misery. Now, when he looked at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar it was slightly fuzzy. Good. Maybe soon everything else would become fuzzy too. He couldn’t wait for the sharp corners of his emotions to get all soft and squishy so they could no longer hurt him.
The opening bars of a raunchy pop song pounded from the sound system, and a round of cheers went up. The DJ announced, his voice laden with enthusiasm, “And now for your viewing pleasure, the delectable, the delightful Persephone!”
“That’s my cue to get back to the group—best man duties and all that.” Luke took one last look at Mitch. “Sure you’re okay?”
“Oh, sure. Feel like a million bucks.”
Despite Mitch’s obvious sarcasm, Luke knew when to leave a man be. Alone once more, Mitch went back to the very important task of emptying his glass.
He managed it so well he decided to tackle another—and another. His vision had gone from fuzzy to blurry by the time he bothered to swivel on his stool and glance at the scene laid out on the dance floor of the Oasis Bar. Persephone had moved on from twisting her lithe body in front of a blushing Aidan and was now working her way through the crowd, wiggling before each man in attendance in the hope of increasing her haul of tips. She bent her body backward over one seated guy, displaying her taut abdomen and lush sequin-encased breasts to his view. As Mitch watched, someone poured some clear liquid from a bottle and into the dancer’s navel. Raucous chanting for him to “Drink, drink, drink!” started up. With a laugh, the man bent his head and slurped the alcohol out of the woman’s bellybutton.
In the murky light, Mitch could just make out the shaggy cut of the man’s light brown hair.
Ty Butler.
Ty. Friggin’. Butler.
Who the hell had invited him? He was the last person Mitch wanted to see. The sight of him alone was enough to make fury course through his veins, a hotter burn than the strong alcohol. Watching him run his tongue all over some strange woman’s stomach when Hayley was off by herself, perhaps wondering at loverboy’s whereabouts…
Mitch’s rage was like fire. Bastard. The man had Hayley, and he was here doing shots out of a stripper’s navel. His anger mounted when the dancer sat up and proceeded to jiggle her breasts in Ty’s face. Clearly enjoying the attention, Ty smiled like the cat that caught the canary and stuffed a bill into the woman’s cleavage.
Unbe-friggin’-lievable.
He could have been sprinting, but it felt like he was walking through mud as
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