Five minutes later, they were traveling south on Route 1. Jude was feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “When was the last time you were in a strip club?”
“Why, are you worried you won’t be able to keep your money in your pocket?” Ronan snickered.
“I hardly think there’s going to be anyone on the main stage at half past ten on a Sunday morning. All the good little strippers are in church.”
Fitzgibbon barked out a laugh. “I don’t have the best memories of strip clubs. The guys from the academy and then in patrol would drag me out to the straight clubs. There’s nothing worse than getting lap dances from a chick who’s doing nothing for me.”
“Same,” Ronan agreed. “The Boston Police Department was toxically straight. The slightest hint that you were anything other than hetero could land you in a world of trouble. It wasn’t until after Josh dumped me that I went to male strip clubs. It was a whole new world, which I’m sure I would have appreciated a lot more if I hadn’t been wasted all the time.”
“I went to my first one in Los Angeles. It was called Blue Balls, and let me tell you, the name was fitting. I loved watching the hard bodies move on the dance floor. Loved it even more when they worked the room and would sit on my lap, but there was a no-sexual-contact rule in place. So, at the end of the night, I’d leave the club a couple hundred dollars poorer and with the worst case of blue balls I’d ever had in my life. After going a few times, I hit the gay clubs instead. There were always willing hands, mouths, and holes in those places.” Jude waggled his eyebrows.
“So the man-whore thing was real, not just to prop up your ego?” Fitzgibbon asked, eyeing Jude in the rearview mirror.
Jude nodded. “I was always safe, but I got as much action as I could. I was either working or getting laid until I landed in Massachusetts. I was getting older and realized that I didn’t want to be in my forties without a place to call home. Seeing the way Ronan was with Ten also made me realize I wanted someone in my life.”
“I recall you being a bit of a stubborn asshole when you met Cope.” Ronan snickered.
“I was,” Jude agreed, remembering the way his heart would feel like a jackhammer in his chest whenever he was around Cope. “Can you believe he agreed to be friends with benefits?”
It was Fitzgibbon’s turn to laugh. “You two wereneverfriends with benefits. You might have called yourself that, but you were a couple from the start.”
“Cope knew you were scared of commitment, so he played it off like he was too.” Ronan shook his head. “I thought the two of you were nuts, but Ten told me to keep my big, fat mouth shut. For once, I listened to him, and here you two are, married with two kids.”
“Thank Christ,” Jude muttered. “I know Cyrus Longfellow was only in his mid-twenties, but I feel bad that he never got to experience the kinds of relationships we have with our husbands. He had his entire future laid out in front of him, and in an instant, it was gone.”
Fitzgibbon pulled into the Jungle’s parking lot. There was only one other car there. Jude assumed it belonged to the dancer formerly known as Vixen. “Remember, Samantha is just a witness. We’re not going hard at her. We’ll ask about Cyrus and let her talk from there.”
“Got it,” Ronan agreed, while Jude nodded.
Fitzgibbon opened the door and walked inside. “Samantha?” he called.
“Be right out,” a voice called from the vicinity of the bar.
Jude took a moment to look around the room. The main stage was at the back of the club. The stripper pole gleamed under the LED lights. Part of him wanted to hop up on the stage and give it a whirl.
“Do it!” Ronan snickered.
“How did you know?” Jude asked. Knowing Ronan, he’d probably been thinking the same thing. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Jude climbed up on the stage and grabbed the pole.
Ronan held up his phone as if he were going to record the performance while Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” blasted from Fitzgibbon’s phone.
Jude twirled his body, hooking his left leg around the pole, and swung himself out. Ronan and Fitz hooted and hollered for him. Feeling a bit more confident, Jude climbed up the pole like a middle-schooler scaling the rope in gym class. He slid partway down, dropped a saucy wink at his friends, and let go of the pole with his hands. Letting gravity do the work, Jude lowered himself to the stage until his fingers touched the floor. He pushed into what looked like an effortless handstand before lowering his legs to the ground.
Ronan and Fitz cheered his name. Jude bowed gracefully. Why the hell hadn’t he done this before? He could have had an entire career dancing instead of spending lonely nights in the Thunderbird on stakeouts. Jude went to take a step forward and promptly fell flat on his face. His legs were screaming in pain.
Female laughter from the bar caught Jude’s attention. “Yeah, that’s what happens when forty-year-old men try to relive their glory days without stretching first.”
“You must be Samantha Dixon. I’m Kevin Fitzgibbon. This is Ronan O’Mara, and the dancing queen is Jude Byrne.”
Jude raised his arm from the floor in a quick wave, whether it was to say hello or ask for help, he wasn’t quite sure. Slowly pulling his legs under him, he attempted to stand and kept his balance. After a few ginger steps, Jude headed off the stage and joined the others at the bar.
“You okay?” Ronan asked with a snicker.
“I’ll live,” Jude muttered.
“So will your face-plant! I already sent it to everyone!” Ronan held up the phone to show him.
“Asshole,” Jude muttered. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Ms. Dixon.” It was time to get down to business. The sooner they finished speaking with Samantha, the sooner they could get back to the beach and the kids.
