“This is where you had your accident. When you hit the tree. It was in Indy, off this highway,” I say, not hesitating with my words. I need to convince Will that his car crash isn’t something to be ashamed of. It was his bottom—or very damned near close to it—and the Will I’ve seen the last few days is a man on his way up. This Will is far from bottom.
“I get why you’re antsy, is all. If it helps,” I say. He’s looking down at his lap, but his head slowly rises until his eyes meet mine, the worry lines deep in his forehead, his teeth clamped tight, fighting against his urge to disagree with me. The tension washes from his features slowly, and eventually his lips fall closed into a tight smile, and he nods.
“Thanks for understanding,” he says, almost a whisper.
I’m not sure why I reach for his hand, but when my fingers touch his, what happens next is instinctual as our fingers weave together, and Will brings my wrist to his mouth and presses a soft kiss against me. I let him keep my hand until he’s ready to let go, and after a few seconds, he turns in his seat and clears his throat while I check my mirrors to back out of the parking spot at the gas station and retrace my path back to the on-ramp.
There’s no use trying to fix the quiet left behind after that, so we ride the rest of the way to Foxy Tails in silence. I notice Will’s restlessness seems to be much less, though. As hard as that topic was to broach, I’m glad I did.
The pink sign and the swinging tail come into view after a few more miles. I exit the highway and find a spot in the very crowded parking lot. I’ve actually never been here, but Holly recommended it. Will has no clue what I’ve done—and he remains in the dark until the man in the three-piece suit that checks our IDs at the door winks at Will and swats his ass with his palm.
“You said strip club, but you didn’t say it had to be girls,” I say through a half smile.
Will’s eyes widen. I wait at the entrance while he spins in a half circle, pausing for a few seconds to take in the Magic Mike knockoff performance happening on the center stage, then turning more to see the men dressed in chaps, barely-there jeans, and G-strings waiting in chairs for the line of women all fanning themselves with dollar bills.
I’m a little nervous for his retribution, but as he turns to face me, I can tell he’s laughing, his hand on his cheek and his mouth twisted in a smile that only says defeat.
“Well done, Maddy,” he says, pointing a finger at me and shaking it. He chuckles more. “Damn, just…well done.”
I laugh, too.
“We can go,” I say, satisfied enough with the fact that I tricked him. “I won’t make you stay.”
“Oh no,” he says. “You brought the play money, right?”
I tilt my head, one eye closed more than the other. “Yeah,” I say.
“Then let’s go play, Maddy. We’re celebrating you getting faster,” he says, his arm reaching around me and pulling me close as he leads me through screaming women to a small table near the main stage.
I slide up on the stool and pull my purse over my body, resting it on the tabletop in front of me. Will drags it toward him, gesturing with a quick nod, asking my permission to open it. I nod yes, and he reaches in, pulling out the cash, then fanning himself with it like the women we’d seen when we walked in. I laugh so hard my head falls back, but when I look forward again, Will is closer, and his eyes are serious. My smile starts to fall, but he presses two fingers on my lips and leans in toward me, his forehead almost touching mine. He slides the stack of ones across the table to me.
“You know how I feel about competition, Maddy. I’m willing to earn it,” he says, grabbing my hand and pressing it against his bare abs while he lifts his shirt up with his other hand, gripping the bottom with his teeth.
My eyes flash when he rolls his hips. He pushes my hand along his body, and I flush with heat—incredibly aware of the path my fingers take along every ridge, ever tip, every searing piece of flesh until my fingertips hit his waistband. Will lets his shirt fall from his teeth, his lips curving into a devious smile as his body quakes with quiet laughter.
He was joking with me, which, in so many ways, is the Will I crave. But I felt those few seconds throughout my entire body—between my thighs, in my chest, and along my tingling lips. That one small practical joke brought back the feel of Will against me, his mouth on mine, his tongue on the inside of my leg, and it takes more strength hiding that from him right now than it does to swim the fifty in twenty-three seconds.
With little hesitation, I fan out the ones in my hand and blink at him, as if I’m unfazed and bored by his performance. I reach into the center of the stack with my thumb and finger, pulling out a single dollar, and then I reach forward and tuck it in the neck of his shirt, pressing it flat against him while my eyes meet his and his laughing comes to a pause.
“I’m gonna need change for that,” I say.
His eyes are on the place where my hand rests against his chest. For a brief second, I think maybe he’s flashing back to that moment of weakness, too. His lip curls, though, and his chin lifts as he slides from his stool, backing away from me toward the bar.