Read The Player's Club: Scott for Free Online

something Scott had dropped.
    She read it. Then reread it. Then gasped as she put two and two together.
    “No way,” she murmured. “No. Freaking. Way. ”

3
    THE PLAYER’S CLUB.
    Amanda savored the idea, holding the card in her hand. She’d heard stories about the secret underground society for a few years—from customers, friends, the occasional blog or newspaper article. Nobody could prove its existence: the Players were an urban legend who occasionally popped up after an infamous party or strange, over-the-top prank. They were suspected of hanging a Smart car off the Bay Bridge. There were rumors of the “Nekkid 5K” through Golden Gate Park. They apparently played tag on Machu Picchu, swam with turtles off the Galápagos, BASE jumped off the Eiffel Tower.
    If she was searching for an adventure, this was one with a capital A.
    And Scott’s in on it.
    She’d sat across the street in her car, waiting to see Scott leave. He had taken a cab, and just like those cheesy movies, she’d followed it, trying to keep a careful distance—although, considering it was two o’clock in the morning and there wasn’t any traffic, she still looked like she was following him. She just hoped that he wasn’t paying attention. She got increasingly nervous as his cab started to take her into the heart of the warehouse district, a confusing tangle of darkened, empty streets. Factories loomed sooty and vacant, silhouetted against the San Francisco nightscape. The whole scene looked like something out of a noir movie.
    Her skin tingled. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this nervous—or this sheerly excited.
    She heard the music before she saw the lights. Pounding, driving bass and a throng of people. Her eyes widened as she turned the corner and found a warehouse, crowded with people. There was a bouncer at the door.
    She smiled. Well, well, well. Seemed like Scott was going to some sort of rave. She wondered who these “Players” were.
    She parked on the street, behind some other cars, and she watched as he got out of the cab and walked up to the bouncer. He said a few words, and the bouncer let him in.
    Okay, Sherlock. Now what?
    She set the parking break, then took a deep breath and got out of the car. She needed to be brave. She could at least ask what was going on, right? Maybe fake her way in?
    She sauntered up to the bouncer, belting and adjusting her trench coat. “Excuse me…”
    He took one cursory look at her. “Strippers in the back,” he said, gesturing to the left.
    Her eyes bugged. “Sorry?”
    His deep set eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you a stripper? ’Cause there aren’t any women on the guest list.”
    “Oh, right,” she said, shocking herself. “I just…prefer the term exotic dancer. ”
    He didn’t crack a smile, and he still seemed suspicious. “Whatever,” he said. “The door’s that way, in the alley.”
    “Thanks.”
    She couldn’t walk away—he’d suspect something. Of course, he already suspected something.
    What’s the worst that could happen? You’ve come this far.
    She walked slowly toward the door, hoping to buy herself some time to figure out her next step. Maybe she could sneak in, sneak past. See what was going on. And then what? Volunteer? Ask to join?
    I’ll figure it out when I get there, she thought fiercely. For a woman who lived by planning and order, this sort of seat-of-the-pants thinking was boggling. Jackie, she thought, would be proud.
    She was still mulling over options when she got to the door. It opened in a flash of noise and color. “Tell me you’re a dancer,” a tall, black-haired woman said. “I’m short four girls, and we’re a packed house tonight.”
    “Uh…” Amanda swallowed. She’d taken a few dance classes, as a form of exercise, and she’d been on the dance team in high school. It’d been a long time since then, but it was an opportunity. Not what she’d expected—but then, none of this was.
    If you can do this, you can