Dr. Turner pulled her hand out of his grasp. “Now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, can we get down to the reason you’re here?”
“Sure. But I’m still waiting for the name of this lucky bastard, and where I can find him so that I can wring his neck.”
“Mr. Hinton—”
“It’s still Quentin.”
“Is this going to be problem?”
“What, you bailing on me too, so that you can participate in this ridiculous institution?”
“Who said anything about my bailing on you? You’re the one who stopped coming to your therapy sessions. I could look at that as you bailing on me.”
“All right. I’m back. Now you can give this clown back his ring.”
“Reginald is not a clown.”
“Reginald?” He laughed. “You’re marrying someone named Reginald?”
Her brows arched above her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with the name Reginald. He’s a very respectable and distinguished doctor in his field.”
“Oh, respectable and distinguished.” Quentin rolled his eyes. “That’s another way of saying comfortable and reliable.” He moved toward her and crowded her space. “Tell me, how is old Reggie in the sack?”
Dr. Turner gasped and stepped back. “Careful, Mr. Hinton! You’re in dangerous territory.”
He smirked and erased the space she’d put between them. “Does that mean I’ll get a spanking if I don’t behave?”
“No, it means I’ll have to terminate this and any future sessions. And I won’t hesitate to do so.”
After his therapist’s declaration, Quentin stood his ground, engaging in a staring contest to see whether she was serious or not.
She was.
He exhaled a long breath and then slowly gave her a lazy smile. “Well, I had to give it the old college try. Congratulations are in order.”
Dr. Turner drew in a deep sigh of relief as if she’d narrowly escaped a predator. “Thank you. Now would you like to take a seat?”
Q weighed the question in his head as his gaze bounced from the chaise to the door—and then to a frowning Alyssa. “Well, since I’m here.” He walked toward the chaise and then stretched out.
Dr. Turner took her usual chair and picked up her ever-ready notepad. “So what would you like to discuss today?”
“You mean, other than my abandonment issues? My war against love? Or these crazy dreams I keep having?”
“Dreams? What sort of dreams?”
“What else—wedding dreams.”
“You’ve been dreaming about weddings?”
“Hell, that shouldn’t be much of a surprise, considering how everyone keeps dropping to their knees and popping the big question. I swear, love has become a global epidemic that, quite frankly, some scientists need to hurry up and make a pill to eradicate.”
“That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”
“Humph. Not from where I’m standing. My once-devout bachelors-for-life are dropping like flies at the slightest whiff of a woman’s perfume. All my dogs have traded in their Milk-Bones for collars and short leashes. And, get this, they’re happy to stay and play in their own backyard. What kind of madness is this?”
“All right. So, no love. No marriage. It’s just you and your cousin Jeremy living the bachelor lifestyle from here till eternity?”
“Ha!” Quentin rolled his eyes.
“Problem?”
“Yeah. My family is nothing but a bunch of Judases.”
“Oh. So you lost the last member of your boys’ club?” Quentin grumbled.
Dr. Turner laughed.
“Maybe I need to just change doctors,” Quentin mumbled under his breath.
“No. No. Please. I have to hear this story.”
Quentin rolled his eyes.
“You might as well tell her,” Alyssa said, shrugging. “Who knows? It might help.”
“Fine.” Quentin shrugged. “After my so-called best friend, Xavier, decided to jump the broom, Atlanta sort of…lost its luster. So I figured I’d just hop a plane and go find me a California girl.”
Chapter 1
“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