Читать книгу King's Pleasure - Adrianne Byrd - Страница 11

“Welcome to The Dollhouse, Los Angeles,” Jeremy shouted above the pulsing music as he directed the Strozier bachelor party through the doors of the chateau-style building. Upon entering, the group of two dozen thirty-something men focused their attention on the main stage where the beautiful and incredibly talented Chocolate Dolls captivated and titillated the crowd.

“Pick up your bottom lips off the floor, boys.” Jeremy laughed, taking in their awestruck expressions. “I can’t afford too many workers-compensation claims when my girls start tripping over them.”

“I’ve died and have gone to heaven,” one man declared as his gaze locked on to an ebony Barbie doll, rolling her hips and sliding her tongue across her glossy lips.

Jeremy’s smile doubled in size as he grabbed a cocktail napkin off one of the passing trays and handed it over to the young man to help mop up the saliva drooling from his mouth. “Please let me know if you need a bib,” he said, laughing. Jeremy wrapped his arm around the brother’s head and then led him and his boys toward the VIP room, where even more heavenly delights awaited them.

Literally.

Heaven was tonight’s theme. The Dollhouse Dolls wore costumes with glittering wings and halos. Everywhere their eyes roamed, the men at the bachelor party were welcomed by the sight of beautiful, well-oiled, well-toned bodies, dancing, twirling and gyrating on gold stripper poles. It didn’t matter what their preference was, The Dollhouse showcased women in every flavor of the rainbow, and they were all willing and capable of fulfilling their clientele’s every fantasy.

With a state-of-the-art sound system bumping, a dazzling light show swirling around, The Dollhouse featured the most beautiful women Los Angeles had to offer. Jeremy knew that the club had the potential to set another record-profit night. It was part of a little wager that he and his cousin Quentin had going since Jeremy had taken over the Atlanta club from his brother Xavier.

It had only been a few months, but Jeremy already missed having his brothers, Eamon and Xavier, involved the business. Hell, he still couldn’t wrap his brain around Eamon being married and Xavier acting like a married man. He even had a bet going with his cousin Quentin as to whether Xavier was going to throw in the towel and pop the big question to his current girlfriend, Cheryl Grier.

Jeremy had ten grand riding on Xavier not losing his right mind completely. But Quentin made a very persuasive argument about all the signs that pointed to matrimony. Like selling his shares in the club, and bringing Cheryl’s name up in every conversation. Hell, they were talking about a buddy of theirs who recently suffered a herniated disc, and Xavier somehow managed to find a way to weave Cheryl into the conversation.

The ten grand was going to be like taking candy from a baby, Quentin kept saying. Married? Xavier? Jeremy just couldn’t see it—and hoped that he never would—especially since Quentin would undoubtedly make him pay the ten grand in one-dollar bills, and he would make him sit down in front of him and count it all out. He could be an ass like that sometimes.

Sure he was happy for his brothers, but there was also a part of him that was more than a little irritated. They’d had a good thing going. Three bachelors—and their supposedly silent partner, Quentin—were running the hottest gentlemen’s clubs in three different cities. Damn, talk about recession-proof! They had everything that any man could possibly want to wake up to every day with a smile on his face.

Hell, Jeremy usually bounced out of bed—sometimes even his own—because he couldn’t wait to get to the club where he was surrounded by gravity-defying breasts and booty-popping goddesses. They were lucky sons of bitches to call what they did a job. As far as he was concerned, he was never going to understand his brothers’ deciding to just punk out of the business.

Sure, he liked Victoria and Cheryl okay. They were nice considering Victoria initially tried to sue them for fifty million dollars and Cheryl had been working undercover in a drug-trafficking sting operation at the Atlanta club. He just didn’t understand how you could fall in love with women who were either trying to put you in the poorhouse or behind bars.

But whatever.

It was going to be a cold day in hell before he turned his leash over to someone. And yes, he knew perfectly well that he met the definition of “a dog” for at least half the women in the world. But that was not the half that he was concerned with. It was the other half that labeled him “a hell of a good time under the sheet” that he focused on.

Unlike his brothers, he was never going to leave this life. God willing, he was going to ride this bachelorhood thang until he was a hundred years old, getting a sponge bath from the hottest nurses he could find. Of course, if he had his way, he wanted to go out getting a lap dance in the club’s VIP room with a smile on his face and a hard-on in his pants.

That wasn’t asking too much, was it?

Besides the personal benefits, there was something quite noble in being a man who brought so much joy and happiness to guys who otherwise led dreadfully dull lives. Surely such an unselfish deed would guarantee him easy passage through the pearly gates when the time came. Of course, that all depended on if the good man upstairs was indeed a man. If not, then he would just have to soothe his conscience with the knowledge that while he was here on earth, he’d led one hell of a life.

Schlepping through life doing a regular nine-to-five terrified Jeremy. Always had. Dull and ordinary was not the kind of life he’d envisioned for himself. And thanks to his older brothers, Eamon and Xavier, that wasn’t something he ever had to worry about.

Hopping up onto the VIP stage, Jeremy scanned the crowd with a huge smile on his face. “All right. It’s that time—time to bring the man of the hour up on stage!”

The crowd roared with excitement, as a steady chant of “Cal-vin! Cal-vin” filled the VIP room.

“Come on up, big man!”

The shouts and cheers went up another decibel as Calvin “Hoopstar” Strozier shouldered his way through the cheering homeys.

Hoopstar, who was the NBA’s Los Angeles Razors’ third-highest-paid player, finally hopped up on stage, tossed two deuces to the crowd and just let his fifty-foot ego drink in the applause.

Jeremy laughed, and then when he was ready, shared a fist-bump with the baller.

“All right!” Jeremy laughed, grabbing a microphone. “It sounds like y’all are ready to par-tay!”

The volume cranked up a few more decibels as Jeremy slapped his favorite pro basketball player on his back and waited for the cheering to die down. “Well, my man. You know how this works…since it’s our third time hosting a bachelor party for you at The Dollhouse in two years.”

His friends laughed.

Hoopstar let the jab roll off him like water. “Hey. What can I say? I’m determined to get this marriage thang right.”

“Well, you know what they say, ‘If at first you don’t succeed…’” Jeremy cheesed and shook his head. It seemed to him that the brother could cut down on the alimony payments if his boy didn’t try to put a ring on every hot groupie he met. “With that in mind,” Jeremy continued, “we at The Dollhouse will be happy to keep throwing you the best bachelor parties until you do get this love thang right.”

“Bet!” The men exchanged fist-bumps before Hoopstar gave the crowd the thumbs-up signal for another round of cheers.

“All right, my man. You know I believe in bringing nothing but the best to the stage. I want you to know I found just the right flavor for all of you to enjoy tonight.”

The room roared with excitement.

“A’ight, man. A’ight.” Hoopstar clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I know you ain’t gonna let a brotha down.”

“You know this, maaaaan.” Jeremy slapped his boy hard on the back. “Y’all brothers ready for this?”

“Hell yeah!”

Joking, Jeremy stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around. “Then without further ado, you boys get ready to make it rain for the lovely—and the incredibly sexy—Caramel Swirl!”

The thunderous applause that followed as the Brazilian goddess took the stage penetrated the club’s walls and probably echoed through the streets of downtown Los Angeles. Meanwhile, inside the VIP room, gigantic ballplayers grabbed their money clips as Jeremy exited the stage and Caramel Swirl gyrated her oil-slicked body onto the stage.

Forget what you heard, absolutely everybody in the business knew that nobody made it rain harder than overpaid pro athletes. They were like grown children with impulse-control issues and more testosterone and money than they knew what to do with.

All in all, they were Jeremy’s favorite customers.

In less than a minute, Caramel Swirl shook her money-maker in a green globe of Benjamins while the club’s hostesses strutted in with their angelic wings and buckets of chilled Cristal.

Money, money, money, mon-nay! Jeremy grinned while the sound of cash registers filled his head.

“Looks like the boys love her,” Delilah grudgingly admitted.

Jeremy whipped his head around and saw his head hostess. “Disappointed?”

Delilah brushed off his smug I-told-you-so tone with an eye roll. “I never said the girl didn’t have talent. I just said that she carries a lot of baggage.”

“Name one dancer up in here that doesn’t have baggage. Scratch that—name me one woman who doesn’t have baggage—and that includes Emilio behind the fourth-station bar,” Jeremy said as he laughed. “Frankly, I’ll be happy when he’s off those hormone pills. His mood swings are driving me crazy.” He turned and started to leave the VIP bar.

“That’s a very sexist thing to say,” Delilah said, trailing behind him.

“But true.”

“Jeremy Jorell King, you take that B.S. back.”

His smile exploded across his face. “Not until you prove me wrong.”

“Like you don’t have baggage.”

“Actually, I don’t,” he said with a lazy shrug as they headed down the stairs and through the main room of the club. The regulars immediately started competing to get his attention. Most of them knew that if Jeremy stopped by their table, it meant a round of free drinks and maybe a free lap dance with one of the club’s hottest girls. “Yo, Jeremy!”

“Jeremy, my man!”

“Dr. J!”

He ignored them all because he didn’t have time to play the game tonight. The Dollhouse’s side business, Bachelor Adventures, was pulling double duty. If he timed this right, he had only forty minutes to get from the club to Malibu for the second bachelor party.

His staff pretty much had the parties down to a science, so that everything ran like a well-oiled machine. His main role was to show up as the face of The Dollhouse, make a speech and introduce the first performer of the night. After that, it was usually time for him to get his party on.

Jeremy checked his watch and then picked up his pace. Undoubtedly he and Delilah would resume their pointless conversation about who had the most baggage another time. It just wasn’t in Delilah to let something go.

Weaving through the crowd then out the front door, he hopped into his bright red Porsche Boxster S. He loved his car. It was his baby girl—his heart. Every time he slid behind the leather seat, it was like sliding in behind a good woman. It coasted and cornered like a dream. And when he got her on an open stretch of road, the power under the hood gave him a natural high that was second only to sex.

No surprise, he made it to the ten-million-dollar Malibu beach house with twelve minutes to spare. The music was already bumping and the house looked like it was nearing capacity. Malibu parties were always the best because there were always neighbors who crashed along with just about anyone who happened to be hanging out at the time—usually women in teeny-weeny bikinis.

Jeremy checked himself in the rearview mirror, and then smiled at his flawless reflection. “I got a feeling that this is going to be a good night.” He winked and then hopped out of the car. As he strolled toward the modern glass-front beach house, he mentally raced through his nightly checklist.

Condoms? He touched his back pocket. Check.

Breath? He cupped his mouth, puffed out a pocket of air and sniffed. Check.

Swagger? Definitely check.

By the time he breezed into the house, Jeremy was seriously ready to get his party on. In his initial survey of the room, he saw that the women outnumbered the men by a ratio of three-to-one. Perfect. Most ménages à trois happened at bachelor parties—usually involving the groom. But you needed to have the right ratio for that fantasy to be fulfilled.

“Heeey, Jeremy,” his first fan of the evening cooed, sashaying her way up to him and looping her arm around his neck. “Long time no see,” she said, poking out her bottom lip, and walking her fingers up the center of his chest.

“Hey, Keya.” He lowered his gaze and caressed her petite figure. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”

“Yeah, right.” She playfully rolled her eyes at the lie, but continued to smile at him. “Tell you what, since we’re both here, you can save yourself the hassle of trying to find my number and we can just hook up tonight.”

“Tonight?” Jeremy glanced around, uncomfortable making plans before he had the chance to check out all the goodies this party had to offer. “Well, you know I’m working tonight.”

“After work,” she insisted, pressing her body against his.

He smiled. “After work, I may be tired.”

“In that case,” Keya said as she reached down and grabbed his crotch, “I have just the remedy to help you get your second wind.”

Jeremy’s white smile stretched around his face. “In that case, I’ll keep an eye out for you at the end of the night.” He tossed her a wink, carefully extracted his balls from her firm grip and then strolled into the party.

“There’s my boy,” Dylan Freedman shouted, strolling over to Jeremy with his hand held up for a high-five.

“Aw. The man of the hour,” Jeremy proclaimed before slapping palms and engaging in a one-arm shoulder-hug.

“Can you believe this—me tying the knot?”

“Hell nah,” Jeremy answered honestly. “But a lot of brothers are dropping like flies into that matrimony trap. I’m starting to think that it’s something in the water.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your brother Eamon just walked the plank, didn’t he?”

“That he did,” Jeremy said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what the hell came over him. But it is what it is, I guess.”

Dylan bobbed his head. “Yeah, yeah. I think I read about it in the paper. He locked down some billionaire heiress or something. She’s quite the dime-piece, too, if I recall.” He laughed. “Talk about a brother upgrading.”

“C’mon, you know Eamon. Money is the last thing that turns his head.”

“True that. True that. Still, your brother won the wife sweepstakes, especially if she’s a dime and got a mint in the bank. A man can’t lock that down every day.”

“Says the man who’s about to marry the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Hollywood,” Jeremy responded. “Something tells me you finally got the financing for your next picture.”

Dylan tapped the side of his temple while his slick grin looked like it was about ready to slide right off his face. “Turns out I got lady luck on my side, too.”

Jeremy frowned. “So are you doing it for love or power?”

Dylan’s shoulders bobbed up and down. “I’m going to plead the fifth on that in case your ass is wearing a wire.”

“Oh, it’s like that.”

His shoulders bounced again.

“A’ight then, bro. You do you,” Jeremy said while his gut twisted in disgust. It wasn’t his place to lecture his friend and—more importantly—his client about how to enter into the sanctity of marriage. If it was one thing he knew, it was how to fall back and play his position, and that position in this drama was on the sidelines.

“Ooooh, Big Daaaaddy.” Twins, Brandi and Candi, flanked his sides and hit him with identical smiles.

“Laaadies,” he drawled, as a memory instantly rewound in his head. He certainly would be up for some two-on-one action tonight. “I didn’t know that you two knew my man Dylan.”

“Who?” They blinked.

Jeremy laughed. “The groom to-be—Dylan Freedman. This is his bachelor party.”

The girls giggled.

“Actually, we didn’t know whose party this was,” Brandi said. Her beauty mole was on the right, Jeremy remembered. “We were just hanging out on the beach when someone shouted that there was a party going on.”

Candi cut in. “You know us. We love crashing a good party.”

“Actually, I did know that.” He tossed them a playful wink before his gaze dived to check out the girls’ heavy silicone investments. As far as he was concerned, they were living up to be damn good investments.

“So what do you say about hooking up later?” Brandi inquired.

Jeremy hesitated. The girls were fun, but the sibling rivalry tended to get a little out of control. “I’m open. We can all hang loose and whatever happens, happens.”

He got two winks as they slapped him on the ass.

“We’ll be looking for you at the end of the night,” Brandi promised before taking her sister by the hand and leading her away.

Jeremy watched their booties jiggle away in matching sky-blue bikinis. Good thing I’m up on my B vitamins.

“I don’t know how you do it, man,” Dylan said. “Please tell me that when you die your family is donating your body to science. Your stamina should be bottled and sold on the stock market.”

“Get on with that, man.” Jeremy laughed, even though his ego inflated a few more inches.

The friends moved farther into the expansive house where the entire glass wall at the back of the house showcased an incredible view of the sun setting over the ocean. With summer’s longer days, dusk usually hit late in the evening.

Jeremy stopped for a second to take it all in. “I love this house.”

“You want to buy it?”

“You’re selling it?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Turns out that wives don’t like their husbands keeping bachelor pads.” Dylan shook his head. “Who knew?”

“You don’t say?” Jeremy chuckled, but he was seriously considering the offer. He loved L.A., and he loved Malibu even more. “Let me think on it and I’ll get back at you.”

“A’ight, but don’t leave me hanging too long. Malibu is still a hot market. It’s one of the main reasons why I wanted to have the party here. It’s a bachelor-and-farewell party all rolled up into one.” Dylan’s eyes grew misty. “I need a drink. Damn, I’m getting married!”

“Aah,” said Dave Killion, Dylan’s best man, who popped up like a jack-in-the-box with a tray of tequila shots. “You said the forbidden word. Drink!”

Dylan rolled his eyes as he reached for one of the shot glasses.

“What’s the forbidden word?” Jeremy asked.

“Married,” Dave answered. “Consider that your only warning.”

“Got it.” Jeremy gave him the thumbs-up and then watched as Dylan tossed back his shot.

“I still can’t believe that I’m losing this place,” Dylan moaned.

Jeremy struggled not to laugh. It was usually during the last twenty-four hours of bachelorhood that all the things brothers were truly giving up finally hit them. Losing the crib was one thing. Their only private space was about to be reduced to just a “man cave” in the basement—if they were lucky. He knew plenty of dudes who were still begging or negotiating to have even that. Their wardrobe would decrease to a quarter of the closet where they could own no more than three pairs of shoes—usually, two pairs for work and one pair of sneakers. God forbid if there wasn’t enough space for the entire department-store-size shoe collection that the missus was bringing to the table. Not to mention the guest pass to the feminized bathroom issued by the wife, where a stick of deodorant and one bottle of cologne that she’s selected resides in the medicine cabinet.

“Actually, I’m going to need some more liquor,” Dylan announced after Dave strolled off.

Jeremy followed him. “How’s it going, Robbie?” Jeremy shouted above the music.

The bartender glanced up and smiled. “Never better, Boss Man.”

Jeremy glanced over at the tip jar and saw that it was already full. “Looks like it’s going to be a good night.”

“It’s always a good night at Bachelor Adventures’s parties.” He winked after spouting the company line.

“Heeeeey, now, that’s what I’m talking about.” Jeremy gave Robbie the thumbs-up. “Hit me with a Heineken.”

“You got it.” Robbie turned toward the portable chiller and grabbed one of the green bottles. “Here you go,” he said, popping the top and setting it down on the bar.

“Thanks.” Jeremy stuffed a couple bills into the tip jar and then turned around to take another survey of the growing party. It was just an hour into the bash and already a few of the ladies had done away with their bikini tops, and more than a few of them were tossing smiles and winks his way.

He turned up the bottle to swallow, and began his mental checklist of possibilities for the evening. What am I in the mood for this evening?

Malibu being Malibu, the selection had more vanilla than his preferred chocolate, but there was enough of an assortment to keep his libido in the game.

When the sun disappeared, the bamboo and seashell Tiki Torches were lit, along with several campfires, to give the partygoers outside on the beach enough light. With beer in hand, Jeremy moved around the crowd, primarily checking on his employees and the groom-to-be.

On deck, his two nude models lay still on buffet tables with an assortment of sushi and sashimi placed strategically over their bodies. Some of the men made their selections by carefully using chopsticks, while others got their jollies off by using their mouths. As a precaution, Jeremy had two security guards posted near the girls to make sure that guests didn’t get too carried away.

As minutes ticked into hours, the drunken games changed from Pin the Condom on the Model to Booby Dodgeball (throwing a ball in the shape of a boob and hitting another player). Jeremy joined in on that one and won.

By the time The Dollhouse Dolls’s glistening bodies did what they did best, working the portable stripper poles, the party was classified as being off the hook. One of his popular dancers, Dime Piece, had one brother fiendin’ so hard that he let her walk him around the room on his hands and knees with a gold leash around his neck.

Still clamoring for more, Dime ordered two of the bouncers to tie him to a coffee table where she then proceeded to climb on top of him in the classic sixty-nine position and simulate a sexual act. The look on dude’s face let everyone know that he was in hog heaven.

By midnight, the Dolls had finished their acts, but the party was far from over. Dylan eventually showed up at the bar, shirtless and with his fly open, demanding another drink—which was the last thing it looked like he needed.

Jeremy greeted him with two potential honeys tucked under each arm, and his own smile stretched across his face. “How you holding up, Dylan?”

His buddy turned toward him, smelling like Mary Jane and looking higher than the satellites orbiting the earth.

“Dr. J, man. You throw the best damn parties,” he slurred.

Another satisfied customer. “Thanks, bro. I’m glad to see that you’re having a good time.”

Dylan looked at the two ebony beauties next to Jeremy and struggled to straighten up. “You don’t look like you’re having too bad a time yourself.”

Jeremy laughed. “You know me. I get in where I fit in—most of the time.”

“Awww…that’s my dawg!” Dylan held up his fist for a bump, while Robbie set the next drink down for the groom-to-be.

When Dylan’s gaze lingered on the ladies, Jeremy leaned down and whispered, “Why don’t you two be nice to my friend here?”

They shared a brief disappointed look, but then slid over to either side of the man of the evening and poured on the charm.

“Damn,” Dylan said. “Nobody can say you’re not a generous man.”

“My momma always taught me to share.” Jeremy laughed, but while he was laughing, he caught sight of the most unbelievable hourglass figure out of the corner of his eye.

“Whoo, girl. Shake it!”

Jeremy’s head twisted all the way around as his gaze zoomed toward a stunningly beautiful cinnamon-brown beauty in a white bikini top and matching wraparound sarong. “Who is that?”

Despite being a man who was accustomed to seeing beautiful bodies, Jeremy was positive that he had never seen curves that lush and dangerous in his entire adult life. Baby Girl was so fine that he personally wanted to call and thank her momma for doing one hell of a job.

And man, could this chick move. Rock, rock, dip and back it on up. Baby Girl. He shook his head. She had just the right bounce and jiggle to set it off.

It was hard to look at her without a brother twisting up his face because she was putting a hurting on everyone watching her. Before he knew it he was rocking his own hips as if he was already partnered up with her on the dance floor.

She’s the one, he decided as his erection stretched down one side of his leg.

Jeremy didn’t immediately bounce up out of his chair. Instead, he spent a good deal of time itemizing a mental list of all the things he wanted to do to her—some were illegal in twelve states.

His gaze finally inched upward, but she was moving and grooving so much that it actually took a moment before she finally turned so that he could see her face. When she turned, Jeremy’s heart stopped.

At least, that’s what it felt like—because there was suddenly an unbelievable pain in his chest. Baby Girl had the face of an angel, with round, doll-like eyes, big-apple cheeks and a pair of incredibly shapely, full lips that reminded him of the singer Angie Stone. He loved a nice set of lips.

Suddenly, a brother pulled up all onto her bumper, and jealousy stabbed him so hard that it was a good thing he didn’t pack heat or CSI would have been all up in there tonight. With an inner strength that he didn’t know he had, he forced himself to hang back and watch Baby Girl’s reaction. Hell, for all he knew, the brother could be her man. No sense in looking crazy until he had a few more facts.

His mysterious angel-slash-sex kitten turned and smiled over her shoulder at her new dance partner. Though she dipped and rolled her hips, he quickly concluded that the two-step-challenged brother wasn’t her man. And when it became clear that dude couldn’t keep up with what she was working with, Baby Girl gave homey the cold shoulder.

“Damn, he went down in flames,” Dylan said, watching the same scene.

Hell, Jeremy had forgotten all about Dylan and the two honeys still holding up the bar. Jeremy’s singular focus was on the woman that could clearly give his dancers a good run for their money.

Jeremy watched brother after brother step up. But one by one, she shot them down with either a roll of her eyes or a sudden twist of her back. Baby Girl wasn’t playing on the dance floor.

“Cold,” he mumbled, but what still impressed him was Baby Girl’s skills.

“Why don’t you get up there?” Dylan said, elbowing him. “Show us how it’s done, dawg.”

Tempting. However, something else coursed down the center of Jeremy’s back. Nervousness. The emotion was so new to him that for a couple of minutes, he didn’t know what to do. Rejection was never something he’d even considered before.

“A body like that,” Dylan slurred, “was made for one thing, and one thing only—sin.”

Jeremy bobbed his head in agreement. It had been a minute since he’d been up in somebody’s church and he certainly wasn’t interested in being saved tonight. He glanced around, and with a quick eyeball check he was pretty sure that the laughing beauty was drawing nearly every man’s attention. Playing the odds, he knew that if he didn’t bust a move soon, a worthwhile competitor would surely knock him out of the game before he even got up to bat.

“Don’t tell me you ain’t gonna make a move.” Dylan laughed. “I’ve never known you to turn down a challenge.”

Jeremy cut an annoyed look over his way. “Then you know that I’m not going to start tonight.” He twisted his head back toward the floor. “A hunter needs to study his prey before he makes a move.” However, it only took a few seconds for some major action to start happening along the seams of his pants.

His gaze performed another slow drag down her long neck, graceful shoulders and incredibly perky and very real breasts. Every inch of this woman’s body was a work of art. Flat stomach, small waist and an ass he wouldn’t mind spending time bouncing quarters off—or just bouncing off it himself.

That brought a smile to his face.

“She’s got to be an actress. Please say she’s an actress. I’ll make her a star,” Dylan promised.

“Calm down, Lassie,” Jeremy said. “Your bone is showing.”

Dylan glanced down and finally zipped up his pants, but not before peeking into Jeremy’s lap. “Looks like mine isn’t the only one. You might want to hit that with a hammer before you think about standing up.”

Jeremy chuckled, tossed back his drink and then stood up. “Stop hating on the pipes, man, and carry your ass on back to the minor leagues. I got this.”