The car pulls up to what looks like a neon fever dream. Rainbow lights flash across the building’s facade in patterns that make my eyes water. A giant marquee proclaimsBOYS NIGHT OUTin glittering letters, complete with silhouettes of muscular men in tiny underwear.
“Oh,” I breathe, staring through the window.
“This is it!” Brendin’s cousin, Erica, squeals from the seat of the SUV, already half-drunk on pre-party cocktails. “Isn’t it perfect?”
I glance at the line of patrons waiting to get in—almost entirely groups of men, many of whom are holding hands.
This looks like a strip club, but I’m getting the distinct impression it isn’t one that typically caters to women.
“Tiffany,” Amelia says slowly, peering through the window with obvious confusion. “What kind of club is this, exactly?”
“The hottest one in town, according to the reviews I read online,” Tiffany answers, clearly not picking up on the obvious. “They have the most gorgeous dancers, and the most amazing craft cocktails, and?—”
“More family jewels than the Tower of London,” Isabelle finishes dryly.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” Tiffany’s face crumples as she finally processes our expressions. “I booked this weeks ago when Josie first told me we were doing a bachelorette party. I had no idea it was...you know.”
Holly giggles. “A male strip club catering primarily to gay men?”
Tiffany nods miserably. “I just saw male revue in the description and thought it sounded fun. I already paid the deposit for our VIP table, and it’s non-refundable.”
I catch Josie’s eye in the rearview mirror. She looks tornbetween laughter and mortification, but just gives me a helpless shrug when our gazes meet.
“No need to waste a deposit,” Amelia declares as she shoves open the door.
Isabelle immediately joins her. They’re both halfway across the parking lot before the rest of us even finish exiting the car.
I almost pity the omega pretty boy who doesn’t see them coming.
The interior of the club definitely passes the vibe check for a bachelorette. Disco balls cast spinning rainbows across the walls, and the air thrums with electronic music loud enough to feel in my chest. On stage, a performer in nothing but a thong and cowboy hat gyrates around a pole while colored bills flutter around him from the audience.
Our VIP table sits on a raised platform overlooking the main floor, complete with plush seating and its own bottle service. The view gives us a perfect vantage point of both the stage and the crowd below—a sea of men, from casual to flamboyant, enjoying themselves.
I let the other girls get ahead of me, far enough that no one notices when I slip to the bar and instruct the cocktail waiter to bring something special to the table.
“This is actually kind of amazing,” Holly laughs, settling into the middle of the curved booth. “When’s the last time any of us went somewhere this liberated?”
Josie giggles as she takes a seat on the far end of the booth. “Never. Definitely never.”
Even Amelia seems to be warming up to the atmosphere, her rigid posture relaxing as she takes in the spectacle. “It’s certainly energetic.”
“The performers are actually quite talented,” Isabelle observes, a small smile on her normally pinched face as shewatches a dancer execute a complicated spin around the pole. “That requires significant upper-body strength.”
The server appears at our table with theatrical flair, balancing a tray laden with drinks and an elaborate cocktail at the center that looks like it belongs in a fairy tale. The drink towers in a crystal glass, complete with dry ice creating a mysterious fog, edible flowers, and a rainbow of layered liqueurs that catch the disco lights.
“Ladies,” he announces with a flourish that draws attention from nearby tables. “We have something very special for the bride tonight!”
He sets the elaborate creation in front of Josie with a bow. The cocktail comes complete with a curly pink straw shaped like a flamingo and what appears to be actual sparklers embedded in the garnish.
Josie’s eyes go wide as she stares at the drink, then shoots me a panicked look across the table.
I give her the tiniest wink before raising my own glass high.
“Cheers, ladies!” I call out loudly enough to be heard over the pulsing music. “To Josie and her perfect wedding week!”
Josie tentatively brings the flamingo straw to her lips, takes a careful sip, and her face immediately transforms into a brilliant smile of relief. She realizes what I’ve done—coordinated with the server to bring her something that looks impressively alcoholic but contains nothing stronger than fruit juice and sparkling water.
“Oh my god, this is amazing,” she gushes, taking another enthusiastic sip. “Do you want to try it, Trinity?”
