Page 9

“I’m good for now,” Kong started to say, only a sudden burst of music drowned out his words, as the opening guitar chords to Buckcherry’s Crazy Bitch blared forth from the speakers.

Stunned, he could only stand speechless and rapidly growing hard as the purple-haired man hooked one leg over his hip and leaned back, rocking to the beat of the music.

Oh, what the fuck?

Who the hell did he have to thank for this? While he was struggling to decide if this was a real come-on or a practical joke, the man awkwardly unhooked his leg, spun and swiveled his hips, prancing in a clumsy circle that was all gyration and overexaggerated shoulder movements.

Was he high? Drunk? Whatever the fuck he was doing, he couldn’t dance worth a damn, despite the song being a favorite among the strippers at the club.

Had to give him an A for effort, though, and an A plus for his exuberance and determination to finish the song.

A shower of laughter, whistles, catcalls, and shouted suggestions for someone to get up there and show him how it was supposed to be done slowly began to compete with the music.

Aw, shit. There was no polite stepping away, either.

Not when the man either had a hand on his arm, one of his shoulders, his body rubbing against Kong’s ass as he moved around behind him, or a leg kicked over his hip as he attempted to swing around him and use him as a stripper pole, something he was absolutely incapable of managing without near disaster.

Kong locked an arm around his back to keep him from falling before tugging him close to his body and slipping a thigh between his legs, in part to give him something stationary to grind on, but mostly to keep him from tripping over his own two feet and landing on the floor.

At least the guy took the hint and rode his thigh while he wrapped his arms around Kong’s neck and clung.

Unfortunately, he was tall enough to lock them together, which also meant he was tall enough to get bold.

They’d have landed in a heap if Kong wasn’t built like an oak tree, as the crazy little wannabe dancer leapt into Kong’s arms, wrapped his legs around Kong’s hips, and started bouncing like a demented kangaroo.

And then he tried to flip himself.

He’d have managed it too if Kong hadn’t tightened his hold when he tried to tip backwards and dangle.

Jesus fuckin’ Christ on a pogo stick, there was no way Danger had time to set this up in retaliation for dropping him on his head.

Someone else had to be fucking with him with this shit.

Whichever club brother or sister had set it up wasn’t giving themselves away; even Wreck looked equal parts amused and horrified, while Creature, the only other person who had a reason to get back at him for anything, had halted all activity at the arm-wrestling table to watch this little shitshow unfold.

From the look on his face, he was as thrown as everyone else over what was taking place, but the man always had an unreadable poker face.

Mercifully, the song wound down as the man unwrapped his legs, bounced, and floundered when Kong let go to put him down.

The moment he did, the wannabe dancer attempted to do what he’d been trying to do when he’d first hopped into Kong’s arms. His body bowed backward, hands reaching for the ground, one of which hit a slick spot and slid, just as he’d unwrapped his legs from around Kong’s waist. Somehow, Kong caught one of his ankles before he landed on his head.

For a moment, he dangled there, floundering as Kong bent to ease him down, only to have the man grab his shirt and use it to stumble-stagger back to his feet, clutching Kong’s arm and shirt as he swayed, finally found his footing, and gave a graceless bow.

It resulted in more laughter than cheers, not that whoever he was seemed to catch the difference, judging from the bright smile he flashed before he waved and bounded away, rapidly being swallowed up by the crowd.

Talk about a strange one. Wow.

Still shaking his head, Kong finished the task he’d initially set out on and retrieved the drinks Kat had poured before hurrying back to the table with them before some more unexpected shit happened.

“Who the fuck was that!” Kong thundered when he finally reached his seat again.

“Trouble,” Danger replied. “Smokin’ hot trouble.”

“Does trouble have a name?” Kong asked as he slid Duggan’s whiskey glass his way.

“Not that I know,” Danger replied.

When Kong turned to look at Duggan, expecting him to know the dancer as well as who the hell had thought it was a good idea to send him over to dance with him, all he saw was confusion on the older biker’s face before Duggan shrugged.

“Not a damn clue,” Duggan replied. “But after that little display, I hope he doesn’t have any plans to audition for the vacant spot in the dungeon. He’s got all the grace of a floundering seal on a slippery slope of ice.”

“Which is none!” Kong snapped as he adjusted the shirt the man had twisted up when he’d attempted to finish with a flourish.

“You might have more problems than the way he stretched out that shirt when you nearly dropped him,” Danger remarked as he slid his glass from one hand to the other and back again.

“He nearly dropped himself,” Kong said. “I just kept him from splitting his head open on the floor. Kat’s always complaining about how hard it is to get blood out from between the gaps in the wood.

Floor needs redone again. I’ll get with Mark and see when the next run is.

That’ll be as good a time as any to shut down and get ‘er done.”

“If I were you, I’d worry less about the floor and more about the pissed-off blonde you’re gonna have on your hands after that little show,” Danger pointed out. “Scout didn’t look happy at all when he stepped out with Night to bring a couple platters of sliders and a batch of wings.”

“Shit.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Thanks, fucker.”

“Don’t thank me,” Danger said. “I didn’t have fuck all to do with that, though I wish I did. The look on your face, man, there are at least four cameras pointed your way; no way this isn’t on every club member’s phone by the end of the night.”

“I hate you so hard right now,” Kong muttered as he lifted his mug to his lips, his thoughts on Scout and what the fury Danger had claimed to see on his pretty, pierced face might mean.

Pissed meant there was something there, something he could build on if the young man was willing, and damn, Kong hoped he was willing.

If his anger was anything like the passion he’d displayed the other night, then Kong would have a firecracker on his hands the next time they were alone together, and Goddess willing, that would be tonight.

That purple-haired disaster had left him with a raging hard-on that he only had interest in having Scout take care of.

He’d tell him that too, as long as the man gave him an opening to speak.

It would have to count for something.

Right?