“On my rare dates, I spent my time talking guys out of their jeans, not into them! Now let’s put on our shoes and find our security for the night.”
Shane was coming out of a bathroom when he spotted the pair of young men. “Good Lord, can you guys breathe in those jeans?” he joked. “They’re so tight I can tell what religion you are!”
“Good!” Darren grinned. “Would you tell us how to find our detail and tell my mother that we’ve gone out?”
“Yes, I’ll tell your mother so you don’t shock her with those jeans. Follow me to your detail.” Shane walked off, looking back once and shaking his head. “Looks like you guys are going fishing with all that tackle on display.”
Michael burst out laughing at Shane’s comment. He was still chuckling when they found the security detail.
“Blake, you remember Darren,” Shane said to the lead agent. He approved of the casual clothes with firearms concealed under windbreakers. The usual suits wouldn’t blend well in a dance club.
“Yes, of course.”
“And this is His Royal Highness, Prince Michael. He’ll be representing the king at the president’s wedding.” Shane smiled. “They’re all yours!”
He watched them get into the back of one of the agent-filled SUVs before he went to deliver Darren’s message to President Wilson.
“Where to, Darren?” the detail leader asked.
“Town Danceboutique on Eighth Street Northwest, please?”
“You got it,” Blake responded and radioed their destination in to Communications.
As expected for the most popular dance club in DC, there was no place to park anywhere near it. Darren and Michael’s driver double-parked outside the door. They looked out at the long line of people waiting to get in.
“Damn, this looks familiar, doesn’t it?” Darren said to Michael.
“Yeah, like the first bar I took you to in London.”
“Stay in the vehicle for a minute,” Blake said as he got out.
He walked up to the bouncers, showed them his credentials, and had a quiet word with them. When he came back to the vehicles, the other agents got out and into position. When everything was ready, Blake opened the back door for Darren and Michael.
“Stay close to me,” Blake said as they walked up to the door.
Michael and Darren followed Blake with five more agents behind them, leaving two with the vehicles. Just as in London, those forced to wait in line wondered aloud about the identities of the VIPs. And just as in London, the bouncers kept their mouths shut.
Once inside the large dance venue, the agents maintained a loose circle around the couple. A table was made available for them near one of the posts that supported the ceiling, and Darren and Michael sat down to order drinks. They had already attracted their share of stares from the guys, and neither minded at all.
“You want to dance?” Michael asked.
“Sure, let’s go. But we have to stay in sight of the SS.”
They danced under the watchful eyes of the Secret Service, and everyone turned to watch the two hot guys with the bulging crotches. They were having a great time being the center of attention until someone tapped Darren on the shoulder. “Who the fuck do you clowns think you are?” said the muscular man confronting Darren and Michael. “Did your chauffeur pay off the doormen to get you in? You rich guys make me fucking sick. I oughta teach you a lesson.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Darren said.
“Why, are your drivers gonna beat me up for you?” The obnoxious guy sneered. “Let’s see how tough they are.”
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Darren said as he signaled the agents, who were already moving in.
As the pissed-off guy drew back to hit Darren, the man was thrown onto a table with one arm behind his back. Two agents frog-marched him to the door and physically threw him out of the club.
“That was impressive,” Michael said.
“Well, our guys are a little tougher than your Scotland Yard
Shane was coming out of a bathroom when he spotted the pair of young men. “Good Lord, can you guys breathe in those jeans?” he joked. “They’re so tight I can tell what religion you are!”
“Good!” Darren grinned. “Would you tell us how to find our detail and tell my mother that we’ve gone out?”
“Yes, I’ll tell your mother so you don’t shock her with those jeans. Follow me to your detail.” Shane walked off, looking back once and shaking his head. “Looks like you guys are going fishing with all that tackle on display.”
Michael burst out laughing at Shane’s comment. He was still chuckling when they found the security detail.
“Blake, you remember Darren,” Shane said to the lead agent. He approved of the casual clothes with firearms concealed under windbreakers. The usual suits wouldn’t blend well in a dance club.
“Yes, of course.”
“And this is His Royal Highness, Prince Michael. He’ll be representing the king at the president’s wedding.” Shane smiled. “They’re all yours!”
He watched them get into the back of one of the agent-filled SUVs before he went to deliver Darren’s message to President Wilson.
“Where to, Darren?” the detail leader asked.
“Town Danceboutique on Eighth Street Northwest, please?”
“You got it,” Blake responded and radioed their destination in to Communications.
As expected for the most popular dance club in DC, there was no place to park anywhere near it. Darren and Michael’s driver double-parked outside the door. They looked out at the long line of people waiting to get in.
“Damn, this looks familiar, doesn’t it?” Darren said to Michael.
“Yeah, like the first bar I took you to in London.”
“Stay in the vehicle for a minute,” Blake said as he got out.
He walked up to the bouncers, showed them his credentials, and had a quiet word with them. When he came back to the vehicles, the other agents got out and into position. When everything was ready, Blake opened the back door for Darren and Michael.
“Stay close to me,” Blake said as they walked up to the door.
Michael and Darren followed Blake with five more agents behind them, leaving two with the vehicles. Just as in London, those forced to wait in line wondered aloud about the identities of the VIPs. And just as in London, the bouncers kept their mouths shut.
Once inside the large dance venue, the agents maintained a loose circle around the couple. A table was made available for them near one of the posts that supported the ceiling, and Darren and Michael sat down to order drinks. They had already attracted their share of stares from the guys, and neither minded at all.
“You want to dance?” Michael asked.
“Sure, let’s go. But we have to stay in sight of the SS.”
They danced under the watchful eyes of the Secret Service, and everyone turned to watch the two hot guys with the bulging crotches. They were having a great time being the center of attention until someone tapped Darren on the shoulder. “Who the fuck do you clowns think you are?” said the muscular man confronting Darren and Michael. “Did your chauffeur pay off the doormen to get you in? You rich guys make me fucking sick. I oughta teach you a lesson.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Darren said.
“Why, are your drivers gonna beat me up for you?” The obnoxious guy sneered. “Let’s see how tough they are.”
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Darren said as he signaled the agents, who were already moving in.
As the pissed-off guy drew back to hit Darren, the man was thrown onto a table with one arm behind his back. Two agents frog-marched him to the door and physically threw him out of the club.
“That was impressive,” Michael said.
“Well, our guys are a little tougher than your Scotland Yard
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