Hendrix (Caldwell Brothers #1) by Chelsea Camaron, Mj Fields Read Free Book Online

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    I laugh to myself and feel shit stir a bit in my jeans. The giggler was one hot piece of ass, and for some reason, I can’t get her out of my head.
    I try to shake it off and decide I am sure as hell gonna have a sign made that says, ‘Consent is fucking required,’ when I finally get one that says, ‘Caldwell’s Dive,’ to replace the Hooligans sign of my dad’s.
     
     
    *.*.*.*
    I look up and laugh as Morrison struts into the bar. “Well, there he is. New do?”
    I swear, not one of the three of us look alike, but you would think Momma was banging the delivery man when she got knocked up with Morrison. Jagger and I can pass as brothers, more on the basis of eye color than anything else. Morrison, though, he has blue eyes. Fucking pretty boy dresses like he is from uptown, too. “Gotta have swag,” he says when we bust his ass about it.
    “You home for a while longer than expected?” Morrison’s choice of career gives him flexible hours and as he puts it ‘travel benefits.’
    He takes off his jacket, blowing his hands to warm them. “Sure as fuck wish I was in Vegas right now. It’s cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra out there, man.”
    “What’s keeping you?”
    He holds his hands up and rubs his thumb and fingers together. “Waiting on pay day.”
    “You broke, man?” Morrison always has money. The fucker is a card shark and never loses. He has been banned from a few casinos because they thought he was counting cards, even though he wasn’t. He is just that damn good.
    “Bet everything I had on a fight.” He smiles as I slide him a cup of coffee.
    “And you haven’t been paid yet?”
    “I bet a lot.” He winks.
    “I see. Good for you, man, good for you.”
    “When you gonna have entertainment in here?”
    “Couple weeks probably,” I say as I sit on my stool behind the bar and take a drink.
    “What are you gonna do to draw them in until then?” He smirks, and I know exactly what he is thinking.
    “Nah, man.” I smirk back.
    “We haven’t done a proper ladies’ night in years, Hendrix.”
    A few years back, Momma and the old man took off for a week. They went to a casino or some shit, and I was left in charge. We didn’t have a band that night, since the old man wouldn’t allow it. Said we couldn’t be trusted. I needed bank and so did my brothers, and band nights were the big pay nights. Morrison had a date the next week with one of his highballing bitches, the kind who required flowers and dinner before they put out. I was trying to fix up my Nova with a new, small block engine. Jagger wanted to hire a trainer. As a result, we advertised a ladies’ night, and the place was packed.
    Morrison was fucked up and ended up dancing on the bar. Then Jagger hopped up there, too, and both of them stripped down to their boxers. The crowd started chanting my name, and I had drunk just enough to make me say, “Fuck it.”
    I threw the bar rag over my shoulder and decided to join the fun. I got up and grinded a bit, lost the boots, the socks, the shirt, and the broads were still begging. Jagger was turned around, twerking at the crowd or some shit, and I snapped his ass with a bar rag. Funny as hell. I still remember him being pissed until I handed him a shot.
    About that time, I dropped the denim, and well, let’s just say, underwear isn’t my thing. The fucking chicks went crazy. I pulled the bar rag off my shoulders and covered up the crowned jewels of Caldwell then grinded some more.
    “Not gonna happen.” I laugh as I tuck the memory back away.
    “You worried mine is bigger than yours now?”
    “I ain’t worried about shit.”
    “Bullshit. This place has kept you busy as hell for a few months now. When’s the last time you got laid?”
    I’m not one to kiss and tell, so I simply shake my head at him.
    “Don’t you worry about my dick. Worry about your own.”
    Jagger strolls in, smiling. “We on for tomorrow night? I just hung up a bunch of flyers. The