2. Evan
EVAN
“Could you put that thing away for a few hours and actually be present with me?”
Sighing, I put my phone face down on the table next to my chair and turned to my sister.
Emily threw me a bland look. “You have to be the only young, single, gay man who’d willingly spend the night staring at their phone while at a strip club.”
“The stripping hasn’t started yet. How do you know I wasn’t going to put my phone away when it did?”
“Because I know you,” she said flatly.
“You’re wrong. I fully intended to.”
“Bullshit.” A cough came from my left. “See, Vlado agrees with me,” Emily said triumphantly.
“Forget about work for a few hours and have fun. Please.” She gave me the puppy-dog eyes that had always worked when we were kids.
“It’s my bachelorette party.” She grinned mischievously, flipping expressions on a dime.
“As the man of honor, you’re obligated to participate. ”.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Being here isn’t the same as participating.”
“She’s got you there, Ev.”
I turned to my bodyguard and oldest friend. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“You’re a workaholic.” Vlado shrugged and scanned the room. “We all know it.”
“I am. And a very successful one.”
“Maybe,” he gave me that much, “but you and I both know not micromanaging everything for a few hours won’t make or break anything.”
“That’s the nice way of saying put your phone away, dumbass,” Emily said.
I gestured at the phone in my defense. “I—”
“ Away ,” she repeated, scoldingly. “Face down is such a lame attempt at being present, it’s almost worse.”
I traded one more furtive look with Vlado, who discreetly nodded. This wasn’t just about work, and if he felt I could let my guard down for the night, I could. “Fine.” I flashed a smile at Emily.
They waited silently as I unlocked my phone to shut the open programs down, then tucked it into the pocket of my slacks.
“So, what do you think of the place?” Emily asked me. “You were so busy with your stupid phone you’ve barely looked around.”
I took in the lavish room. The décor reminded me of a wedding reception, elegant and a bit whimsical with touches of luxury. The ridiculous platform we were sitting on had been set up across from the stage, and a smaller, lower stage with a pole sat directly in front of us.
“It’s nice.” My eyes roved over the people next.
Gorgeous men in tiny briefs wandered around taking orders for the bar and the catering that had been brought in.
A crowd of women mingled about, sipping drinks and eating.
Some were already at the tables. Others danced in an area that had been set up at the far side of the space.
“It’s exactly what I would have expected from you,” I added.
She grinned. “What could be better than a night out with my girls at a private club where the men are purely for eye candy?”
A stunningly handsome man with long silky hair and wearing nothing but a tiny apron, a white jockstrap, and a smile came up to the platform.
“Can I get you some drinks before the show starts?” he asked, his gaze on Emily as he flashed her a million-watt smile.
She beamed back at him, eyeing his cut torso. “I’ll take a glass of champagne. He’ll take a bourbon sour.” She pointed to me. “And he’ll have a screwdriver.”
“Make that an orange juice,” Vlado said. “I’m on the clock.”
“No you’re not.” Em rolled her eyes. “Come on, Vlado. You’re as bad as my brother sometimes.”
“Ouch.” He put his hand over his heart. “Fine. One drink. But I’m switching to juice after because I’m responsible for driving your ass home tonight.”
“Deal.” She turned back to the server. “Thank you.”
“You can relax,” I told Vlado. “The place is secure, you said so yourself.”
Emily’s perfectly shaped eyebrow curled upward. “Please tell me you’re just being your usual paranoid self and I don’t have to worry about why your bodyguard is on high alert at my party?” Her stare ping-ponged between Vlado and me.
“It’s all good, Em,” Vlado said. “You know this looks like the weirdest head table ever, right? You’ve got the bride, her gay brother, and his bodyguard all up here like we’re some sort of throuple.”
I grimaced. “Never say the word throuple when speaking about myself and my sister again.”
“Gross.” Em shuddered in horror. “But man, if I could convince Mal to have some fun with another guy, I’d be all over that.”
“And if you could never mention anything sexual to me ever again, that would be great.” I scrunched my nose at her.
“Don’t be such a prude,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. She looked past me, to Vlado. “And it’s not like you’re complaining about being up here.”
“Hell no. How many times in my life am I going to be able to sit on a platform like a king and watch pole dancing?” He motioned at the pole platform in front of us. A smirk split his face.
“I thought you were straight?” Emily said.
“I am.” He leaned back in his chair and spread his legs out, relaxing, finally. “I can still appreciate the athleticism and skill it takes to do a pole routine without having to be attracted to the dancer.”
“But it’s way more fun to appreciate all that when you are attracted to them,” Em mused.
“True.” He nodded. “I thoroughly enjoyed Malcolm’s bachelor party. Way more than Ev did.”
“Yeah, Mal told me. Someone ”—she stared at me pointedly—“sat in the corner all night working instead of enjoying the party.”
I shrugged. “His party was this, but from the male gaze. Once the catering was done there wasn’t much left that interested me.”
The lights lowered slightly, just enough to get our attention.
“Welcome, everyone, to Crimson Club,” a silky-smooth female voice came over the loudspeaker.
“On behalf of everyone here, we want to wish the best to Emily, the bride-to-be. We’ll be starting tonight’s festivities in a few minutes, so grab a seat, a drink if that’s your jam, and get ready for the night of your lives. ”
Several of the women in the room whooped and cheered as the lights dimmed more and red spotlights lit up the stage.
Our server reappeared with our drinks as the guests found seats and the servers rushed about filling and delivering orders.
I set my glass on the small table conveniently located beside my chair. Emily really had thought of everything.
“Now, we have a few housekeeping items to take care of before we can start the evening,” the woman, who I assumed was the DJ, said in her sultry timbre. “Here at Crimson Club, we appreciate and encourage audience participation, but we also respect boundaries.
“At your seats you’ll find two fans. You can use these to signal to the dancers what your comfort level is.
If you’re interested in being brought on stage or having any sort of interaction with our dancers, flip open the green fan and put it in the holder so the boys can see it.
If you’re not wanting that, flip open the black fan and display it instead. No fan means the same as a black one.
“The boys of Crimson Club love getting tips, and we have a few ways you can deliver them. You can toss it onto the stage while they’re dancing, or you can use that platform to the right of the stage to give the dancer a tip.
And because we love rules here, if you choose to go on the platform, we ask that you stick to either handing the dancer the tip, placing it into their clothing, or you can put it in your clothing and they’ll fish it out. ”
Several of the guests had already flipped open and displayed their green fans while the DJ was speaking.
“And the last little bit of housekeeping is the state has strict rules when it comes to clubs like ours. Touching is allowed only when the dancer gives you permission, and they will only touch you if you’ve given them consent.
And lastly, all places covered by a swimsuit are off-limits, consent or no.
Now, I invite you to get comfortable and enjoy the festivities.
Let’s welcome our first dancer, Angel, to the stage. ”
“Really? Angel?” I leaned a bit toward Vlado. “How uninspired can you get?”
“Don’t be such an elitist grump.” Emily sipped her champagne, careful not to disturb the plump strawberry sitting at the bottom of her flute. “It’s a stage name. It’s not supposed to be inspired .”
The red spotlights went out, plunging the stage into darkness. The crowd went silent as the music swelled, hit a crescendo, then faded into a pulsing beat.
Then came the familiar opening notes of “Toxic” by Britney Spears.
Music filled the club. The guests screamed and cheered as a single spotlight revealed a blond man in the middle of the stage, his head down and posed.
Thick smoke snaked around his ankles, and the stage lights flashed on and off in a pattern of colors that perfectly matched the song.
The man, Angel, looked up as Britney’s vocals kicked in. His eyes were big and bright and shone with playful innocence as he started his routine.
His movements were fluid and loose. Sensual, but also playful as he gyrated and rolled his hips in the dead-sexiest ways I’d ever seen.
With a slow grin, he yanked off his tank top and flung it into the crowd. I didn’t see where it landed or who got it because I couldn’t tear my eyes from his physique as he continued to dance.
His body was incredible. He wasn’t as big as most male strippers I’d seen, but he wasn’t small. He sat in that in-between stage where he had defined muscles and a tight core with the beginning of a six-pack. A classic twunk, rather than a twink.
He was mesmerizing as he moved about the stage like he’d been born to perform. His energy was infectious, and his facial expressions brought each move to the next level. He was an incredible dancer, but what really made him shine was how clearly he was enjoying himself.
The ladies whooped and hollered as he did some complicated moves followed by an impressive flip. My stomach and balls tightened as he worked the floor.