I’ve yet to tell her my theory that Daphne was the one responsible for leaking the details about my wedding, and I’m certainly not about to spill it now, but one day I’ll share my suspicions.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” I say as we approach a woman in a black latex dress who’s holding a clipboard and standing outside a closed door. “Definitely making an effort. Big effort. Huge.”
Thankfully, Janelle’s distracted by the woman in front of us, and I avoid anything more than a furrowed brow before she’s smiling again. As they chat, I look behind me to find Daphne glowering in my direction. I give her a little finger wave with my free hand. She looks like she’s tempted to say something, but a whoosh of air from a door opening has me turning back around.
The woman in the latex dress ushers us into the room with a grand wave of her arm, and Janelle tugs me in with a squeal.It’s a private suite, thankfully big enough to fit all twenty of us, with plenty of space to move about as everyone rushes in. There are a handful of white leather couches, a pole in the center of the room, and a small bar pressed against the wall that has flutes of champagne waiting for us.
Janelle drags me over to it and shoves a glass into my hands. “Down that. Right now.”
“What? Why?”
“Believe me,” she insists, taking two quick steps backward. “You’re going to want it for what’s next.”
Well, I’m not about to challenge her on that, so I chug like a champ, grab another glass, and drop down on one of the couches next to Rachel.
“Do you have any idea what’s—” I start to ask her, but I’m interrupted by the frog-croak-sounding first bars of the song blasting from the speakers.
Oh no. I know this song. It’s a classic, albeit a slightly overplayed one, but Ginuwine’s “Pony” means only one thing. My fears are confirmed when a shirtless, glistening Adonis of a man strolls through the door, followed by far too many of his equally attractive comrades.
“I know I said we were going to learn how to give lap dances,” Janelle shouts over the chaos that’s exploded all around us. “But I figured we should get them too!”
I’m in aMagic Mikehellscape, but Channing Tatum is nowhere to be found. Not to say that these men don’t have impressive…features. But nothing about oil-slick abs and banana hammocks is doing it for me tonight. An Englishman in a tux who finds me funny and would rather talk than thrust his package in my face is, shockingly, more my speed right now.
When one of the strippers sets his sights on me, I shove my drink into Rachel’s hands and then spring up from the couch,narrowly avoiding the man’s touch. This dress is far too expensive for it to end up covered in baby oil and overpowering cologne.
“I’m gonna go find the bathroom,” I shout to Janelle when she tries to push me back down. “Way too much wine at dinner! Don’t want to accidentally pee on one of these guys, you know?”
It’s a gross excuse, and I get a look of disgust, though she waves me off. “Hurry back!”
I will do no such thing, but I nod enthusiastically and then book it.
I wasn’t lying to Janelle about having to pee, so I search for signs indicating where the bathrooms are. I spot one farther down the hall and start toward it, passing by another private suite on the way, and I can’t resist the urge to peek around the ajar door. Lo and behold, I’ve found all the men from our party having their own experience with topless dancers. I’m searching for Thomas before I even register what I’m doing, more curious than I should be about how he’s handling this turn of events.
I bite my lip to keep from cackling when I spot him. He’s on one of the couches with his arms draped across the back, smiling in that powdered-wig way as a woman with the best boob job I’ve ever seen twerks in his lap. He’s barely watching her masterful ass clapping, glancing down every so often as if to confirm that, yes, it’s still happening, but otherwise he looks like he’s just waiting for it to be over.
I don’t stay long enough to see what he does next, scrambling down the hall before I pee my pants from laughing too hard. As it is, there are tears in my eyes, because ofcoursehe’s the kind of man to politely accept a lap dance and then try to act like he isn’t hating every second of it.
It’s not like I would have faulted him for enjoying it, but it’s even funnier to see him so out of place. What gets me is that he’s a professional athlete—isn’t this just a normal Friday night for his kind? It certainly seemed that way for most of the footballers in the room.
Whatever. His eccentricities shouldn’t matter to me, but I can’t deny that this has endeared him to me a little more. As much as I like the rogue I saw glimpses of, I’ve got a soft spot for the prince.
The bathroom is empty when I step inside, and I make quick work of ducking into a stall. When I’m done, I head to the sink to wash my hands, staring at my reflection in the mirror as I do. My mascara is a little smudged and my setting powder is working hard to hold back a glow, but I look good. I look…alive. I even look happy, if the tipsy grin is anything to go by.
I needed this night. I needed Daphne provoking me. I needed a man who laughed at all my jokes. I even needed a stripper in tiny briefs to try to dry hump me.
I needed to see that the outside world hasn’t ended even though mine has imploded.
I finish washing my hands and dry them before grabbing my phone from my clutch. I fire off a text to Mika, updating her on the strippers and promising that I’ll give her the full rundown over FaceTime once I’m back in my hotel room. After tucking it away again, I push my way out of the bathroom but stop short when the door to the men’s room swings open across the hall.
Thomas steps out a moment later, a paper towel still in his hands as he finishes drying them. There’s a flash of surprise in his eyes when he finds me standing there, but it quickly shifts to something pleased. His smile widens as he tosses the balledpaper towel into the waste bin to his left, not even looking to see if he made the shot. But he did. Of course he did.
“Well,” he says, gaze flicking appreciatively over me. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“You stalking me now?” I raise a brow and tilt my head to the side, trying so hard to play it cool, but it’s taking everything in me not to grin back at him. “Should I be worried?”
“As someone who’s had a stalker before, I’d normally say you should be.” He takes a step toward me, sliding his hands into his pockets. “But I’m not stalking you. Just lucky that we keep ending up in the same place.”
“That’s exactly what a stalker would say,” I point out, but I’m closing the distance between us. “Is everyone else so boring that you had to seek me out?”
