“Yep,” he said glumly. “Ms. Snooty is gonna be my sister-in-law. Fun.”
His phone buzzed as he and Seth got out of the car. He was getting an incoming text from O’Connor—Already inside. Come find us.
“The guys are inside,” he told Seth.
They approached the front door, which was painted black and manned by a bored-looking bouncer in a muscle tee. There was no line out front, one of the upsides of showing up on a Monday night.
Inside the club, the music was blasting and the strobe lights were flashing. The place wasn’t packed, but Dylan glimpsed several promising candidates for what he had in store for tonight, including a cute blonde who openly eye-fucked him as he passed her. He made a mental note to find her again and led the way to the bar counter, Seth on his heels.
Miranda was already on duty, looking damn sexy in a low-cut red top. He couldn’t judge the length of her skirt because the counter shielded her lower body from view, but he suspected it was indecently short.
Yup, indecent—confirmation came as Miranda stepped toward the mirrored wall that housed shelves of liquor bottles in all shapes and sizes. When she stood on her tiptoes to reach for some J?germeister, her skirt rode up, revealing the backs of her firm, tanned thighs and the underside of her curvy ass.
“Check her out again and I’ll rip your balls off.” Seth’s voice was deceptively calm as he came up beside him.
Dylan just grinned. “Meow.”
“I’m serious, asshole.”
“Double meow.”
Miranda greeted them with a resigned smile, which was mostly directed at Seth. “What’ll it be, guys?”
They ordered Bud Lights, paid Miranda, then moved away from the counter to let a group of scantily clad chicks place their orders. Dylan scanned the dance floor for their buddies but didn’t see them. OMG had a cool layout—the dance floor was like a sunken room, sectioned off by a railing that wrapped around it. Low sets of steps on each side of the space led to curtained-off, darkened alcoves—which Dylan had made use of on more than one occasion—as well as seating areas with high tables and stools that overlooked the throng of dancers.
“Wade!”
Hearing his name over the pounding bass line, Dylan searched the crowd, finally spotting Matt O’Connor and Aidan Rhodes. He gestured for Seth to follow, but the other man just shook his head and edged back in the direction of the counter.
With a shrug, Dylan left his roommate and wandered up the stairs toward his buddies. O’Connor, who boasted a shaved head and a southern drawl, served on his squad, and they exchanged a quick side hug when Dylan approached. He didn’t know Aidan that well, but the dark-haired intelligence officer was a good friend of Matt’s, and he greeted Dylan with a friendly nod.
“Where’s Masterson?” Matt asked.
“Playing guard dog. He’s got a thing for the bartender.”
The other two men laughed.
Matt sipped his beer, then set the bottle on the wide railing. “How’s the shoulder?”
“Hurts like a bitch,” Dylan admitted.
Aidan’s dark brows furrowed. “What happened?”
“Banged it up during a training demo this morning. And I’m pretty sure our medic was unnecessarily rough when he examined it to make sure it wasn’t broken.”
Matt laughed. “Yeah, wouldn’t surprise me. Texas didn’t look too happy when you kept riding his ass about not setting the charges fast enough.”
“’S’all good.” Dylan smirked. “I got a day off outta it, and Texas gets to report to the base at oh-dark-hundred hours for underwater demolition part two.”
“Way to rub it in. I’m in Jackson’s boat. Literally.” Grinning, Matt picked up his beer and drained it. “One more,” he decided. “After that, you boys need to cut me off, deal? ’Cause Becker will kick my ass if I show up hungover tomorrow.”
“Deal.” Dylan tipped his head and consumed half his beer in one gulp. “Don’t worry. I plan on drinking enough for the both of us.”
The unnaturally muscular meathead in the cheesy mesh tank top had been hanging around the counter way too long for Seth’s liking. Leaning against the wall just off the dance floor, Seth tuned out the blaring house beat and waited for the next flash of strobe lighting to illuminate Miranda’s face so he could gauge her expression.
She had to be annoyed with Mr. Steroids as much he was, right? The last time Seth had walked past, he’d heard the meathead bragging about how many reps he did at the gym. The fucking gym. Ha. Idiot wouldn’t survive a day of SEAL training. In fact, Seth would just love to see Mr. Steroids spend hours on the hot asphalt doing mass calisthenics. Or get hosed down with frigid water while being ordered to jump on and off a pier over and over again.
The gym.