Santa’s Mistletoe Playbook

Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

brYSON

B ryson clicked the remote start on the key fob to start the pickup. He had paperwork to finish before he left the hospital. He scrubbed to wash off the day’s work of delivering babies, then ducked into an office to dictate the last three patients’ information into the computer.

When he finished, he took out his phone and noted a text from Danica.

Cum see us at Devils Club!! I love U, yore soooooo hot! xoxoxo

Oh no.

His neck hair rose. What the heck was Danica doing at Anchorage’s most popular strip club? Damn that Monty!

It slammed into him like a Mack truck. Danica must be drinking. He’d told Monty she shouldn’t drink but hadn’t shared the reason: she had a biological intolerance for alcohol and went crazy when she drank. One glass of champagne at that frat party and she’d made out with him like their plane was going down. Two glasses and she’d torn off his shirt. Three, and she was in her underwear dancing on a table, singing into a champagne bottle.

His frat brothers thought he’d booked a stripper for the party, but Bryson said no, he’d just met her. But there’d been about the blonde beauty’s personality that had him calling her the next day. And the day after that.

His stomach fell to his shoes. I can’t go to a strip joint in my scrubs.

Or maybe he should—he’d love the shock value. He chickened out and changed, then raced out to the truck. He hoped Danica wasn’t completely out of her head like the last couple of times back in college. Her sensitivity to alcohol was a medical problem and something that continually worried him. Her body simply couldn’t tolerate it.

The hospital wasn’t far from the strip club, and Bryson drove like a madman, fishtailing the truck on the slippery streets. He slid into a parking spot and got out, noting the lineup of Harley ‘hogs,’ motorcycle riders who stubbornly rode all winter long. A group of inebriated men stumbled out when he swung the door open. He marched past the beefy bouncer and stood, scanning the crowded room for his buddies and Danica.

He noted a few women doing lap dances at different tables, and one fish-out-of-water dancer caught his eye. Probably because she was the only one wearing a bra and a thong, dancing barefoot.

Stunned, Bryson moved closer to view the spectacle and his heart punched his chest. Holy crap, it’s Danica!

Eyes closed, Danni undulated like the other exotic dancers at a table full of salivating bikers. Now, there was a predicament: should he stomp over and make a scene? Drag his woman away from five leather-clad badasses who’d think nothing of pounding him into an invisible stain on the floor? Probably not a good idea. If he charged over there like a snorting bull, bad things would happen. He had to finesse this somehow.

With one eye on Danica, Bryson stomped over to the table with Monty, Jamin, Benny, and the women draped over the latter two.

“What the hell were you thinking, guys? Why did you bring Danica here?” He curled his hands into fists, tempted to throw enough punches to send them flying.

“Hey, bro, good to see you,” slurred Monty, motioning a beer bottle in Danica’s direction. “She asked a stripper to teach her how to lap dance so she could do it for you.” He swept his arm toward her as if showing Bryson what he’d won behind door number two on a game show.

The song ended, and Danica perched on the lap of the meanest, ugliest dude Bryson had ever seen—an over-sized hairy fella who could use a bra with D cups.

Bryson had to get her away from that slobbering gorilla.

“Excuse me while I get my girlfriend, you morons!” Bryson retrieved his wallet and yanked out a wad of bills, then snatched a bottle of champagne from the table and swaggered over to the bikers. He tossed a few hundred-dollar bills on their table, overrun with beer bottles, while giving them his meanest stink eye. Then he slammed the champagne bottle down hard on the table.

“I’m buying this dancer. She promised me a lap dance,” he said in a tough-guy voice.

Danica swung around, spilling out the top of her pushup bra. “It’s my doctor, honey-bunny!” she slurred happily, heaving herself into Bryson’s arms.

He caught her, but she couldn’t stand without tipping over. He slid his arm around her waist to steady her.

“Sorry, boys, she’s mine.” He couldn’t care less if they protested.

“Take her. She’s a lousy dancer, anyway,” grunted Ugly Guy, his eyes crossing from being extremely shit-faced.

Fortunately, the bikers were too drunk to care much about anything. Bryson hauled Danica back to the table, and Monty handed him her clothes. “You’d better dress her, buddy.”

“Ya think?” Bryson snatched the clothes and sat Danica down.

She hollered, “I love this man! Do you know he’s a doctor? I came to Alaska with him even though I didn’t want to!”

Bryson ignored her slurred words and clenched his jaw as he pulled her sweater down over her head. He stuck her arms through the sleeves like he was dressing a baby. Not that he’d ever done it. Next, he slid her jeans around her ankles and stood her up.

Danica swayed, a glassy sheen on her eyeballs. “I would do anything for you. Do you know that?” she slurred, falling into Bryson. “Do you know how much I love you?” She tapped his nose with her forefinger, wrinkling her face in a comical expression.

Bryson might have laughed had she not broken her promise. He had to get Danica home and dilute the alcohol in her system.

“Stand up,” he ordered her in a gruff tone. “I need to get these pants up.” He got her into the rest of her winter gear and wasn’t gentle about it.

“Hey buddy, go easy on her.” Monty stood and placed a hand on Bryson’s shoulder. “Dude, when Danica took off her clothes, there was nothing we could do?—”

“Don’t give me that!” Bryson shook off his hand. “You could have stopped her! I trusted you morons to take her to dinner, not show her a wild night on the town.”

“I know, but she was having so much fun. She followed the exotic dancers around until they showed her how to lap dance. Then the bikers whistled her over and tucked bills into her thong.” Monty lifted a brow. “She’s actually quite good.”

“Oh, great, my girlfriend got felt up by the Hells Angels!” Bryson gritted his teeth, his anger percolating like lava. “Why did you let her drink? She can’t handle it.”

“You should have told us, dude.” Monty took a pull on his beer.

“I didn’t want to embarrass her,” grumbled Bryson. “As you can see, she goes Tasmanian devil crazy. She has a medical intolerance to alcohol.”

“Never noticed it when I met her before.” Monty set his bottle on the table. A topless stripper sat next to him and pawed his chest.

Danica imitated the stripper, pawing at Bryson. He pushed her hand away.

“Maybe because she wasn’t drinking when you met her?” Bryson’s annoyance flew off the charts after walking into this clusterfuck of insanity. Some things never change in the old hometown.

Monty pointed his beer bottle at him. “Dude, it wasn’t my place to play daddy.”

“But as a trusted friend, it was your place to watch out for my woman during her first time in Alaska!” snapped Bryson.

“I love Alaska,” slurred Danica with a dreamy look, hanging onto Bryson with a dopey grin.

She was out of it, so he ignored her to concentrate on his friend.

“Look, we’re sorry, aren’t we guys?” Monty slurred his appeal to Jamin and Benny, who had their tongues down the throats of their two lovelies.

Bryson worked hard to tamp back his anger. “I’ll settle this with you dickheads later.” He had plenty more to say, but this wasn’t the time or place to say it.

“Come on, Danica, let’s go.” Bryson took her arm and guided her to the door.

She had trouble putting one foot in front of the other and leaned heavily on him. “Please don’t be mad. That nice lady over there taught me to dance, so you’d make love to me.” She pointed in a vague direction.

Bryson knew better than to reason with her in this state. He stuffed her inside the truck, where she conked out and stayed that way all the way up to the house. After pulling into the garage, he carried her inside and up the stairs to bed.

He stepped downstairs to lock up and set the security alarm, and when he returned, Danica hugged the toilet with straggly tendrils draped over her face. Her thong circled her ankles, with tens, twenties and fifties scattered on the cold tile.

Monty was right. The bikers had showered her with plenty of greenbacks. At least Danica’s evening had paid for itself, he thought glumly.

Bryson tamed her tangled mane into a ponytail and left her there. He was too upset and fatigued to think about what he’d say to her in the morning.