Chapter Twenty-Three #2
I smile, though a flicker of something heavy tries to rise in my chest. Regret.
The word echoes louder than I want it to.
The last time I got super drunk, I cheated on Eddie.
Why does it suddenly feel like something nefarious is waiting for me in the shadows?
Something that could tear me down again?
Pippa hands me another shot, her manicured nails brushing mine. “Don’t even think about getting sentimental on us, Amber. You’re about to marry a literal dreamboat. No looking back.”
But my eyes betray me, dropping to the scuffed rim of my glass. “I’m not sentimental,” I say, voice more defensive than intended. “I just keep thinking… we were broken up for one day and he still managed to sleep with someone else. Like it didn’t even take him a week.”
Poppy winces. “Amber…”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly, lifting my next shot in a half-assed toast. “I’m not mad.
I just can’t stop thinking about it. I know I say I don’t care who it was, but I kinda do.
When I cheated on him, I was a wreck. I couldn’t eat or even think straight.
And he…” I pause, watching the tequila tremble in my glass.
“He got laid hours after breaking up with me.
“Men cope differently,” Mallory offers, shrugging. “And to be fair, you weren’t exactly innocent either.”
I glance sideways at her. “I know. This just feels different, I guess. I know I’m not an angel, but still. Something feels off.”
“You need another shot,” Pippa interrupts, handing me another glass. “Stop thinking about what happened in the past and start thinking about your future. You love Eddie, don’t you?”
I nod, swallowing the lump forming in my throat before chasing it with another shot. The warmth floods my stomach and dulls the ache. “More than anything.”
“See, that’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter what we fucking think; all that matters is that you’re happy.” Her tone is a mixture of overly happy and a bit condescending. One minute she’s anti-Eddie. Now she’s all gung-ho. What the fuck?
“I’m over it,” I lie, laughing a little too loud. “You’re right. He’s mine now. We’re getting married…and that girl? She doesn’t matter. If anything, that bitch got a taste of my sloppy seconds.”
“Cheers to that,” Poppy says. She and Mallory both look ecstatic, and ready for the night to commence. It’s Pippa that’s making me nervous. The way she looks at me sometimes, like she knows who Eddie slept with the night we broke up.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that every time I bring up the girl he slept with? Do you know who it was?”
Pippa quickly shakes her head. “Of course not, why would I?”
“Because you’re friends with Eddie too,” Poppy interjects. “It only makes sense that you would know.” Poppy pushes up her glasses, staring at her sister attentively.
Pippa brushes it off, smiling way too widely. “Come on, if I knew what slut slept with Eddie that night, I would tell you, wouldn’t I? Why does it matter? You were broken up.”
“True,” I agree. “But it still sucks.”
“The world sucks, Amber. Just drop it, okay? Whoever the girl was doesn’t matter.
Not tonight. Not when we still have a shit ton of festivities planned.
” She pulls me out onto the dance floor just as one of our favorite songs blasts from the speakers.
“Have fun tonight and stop thinking about Eddie! You’re single tonight. Act like it!”
I lose track of how many drinks they’ve given me. My head is in that funny fuzzy stage. I’m still coherent, but there’s a shaky line between drunk and sober, and I crossed it at least three drinks ago.
“Are you having fun?” Poppy shouts over the music.
“A blast!” Looking around, I scan the club for Pippa. “Hey, where’s Pippa?”
“I think she’s at the bar getting more drinks,” Mallory says, hip-checking me with her sweet dance moves.
Laughing, I get lost in the beat, allowing the pulse to vibrate my blood and keep me moving.
Mid sway, I see Pippa at the bar, leaning over our drinks.
Her back is to me, shoulders slightly hunched, looking like she’s up to something.
People block my view, but when she straightens and turns toward me, the way she grins makes my stomach curl. Why is she smiling at me like that?
Alcohol is doing backstrokes in my brain, the fog curling around me as she makes her way through the crowd, four shots in hand.
“You good?” Pippa asks, handing me a drink.
I hesitate before taking it, watching the liquid shift, not knowing if I should take another shot. “Yeah… just getting way too drunk.”
“Good,” she giggles. “You’re supposed to be.”
The next hour is a blur of neon lights, pounding music, and blurry photos taken in front of slot machines.
We pile into a hotel elevator, and I’m giggling so hard I almost fall into a tourist couple trying to find the buffet.
Poppy holds me up while Mallory chats up a group of rowdy guys in rugby shirts.
“We’re not done yet,” Pippa purrs as the elevator dings to the top floor. “I have a surprise.”
The door opens to reveal a stage; the place crowded with women. Every single one of them is hooting and hollering to bring out the men, and that’s when I realize we’re at a male dance revue.
“Oh my god,” I burst out, clapping. “You did not take me to a strip show.”
“Straight from Australia, baby,” Pippa winks. “Get ready to see some hot and sweaty men on the dance floor.”
An announcer takes the stage, introducing himself as both the DJ and the emcee for the night. A girl to my right shouts for him to take his shirt off, because damn, even the announcer is packing something underneath that button-up shirt he has on.
A grin moves across his face as he Hulks that shirt right off, every muscle defined, his ebony skin basking beneath the overhead lights like it’s licking every part of him. “If you like what you see here, ladies, let me introduce you to my friends.” He waves a hand at the stage behind him.
A low rumble blasts through the speakers, making the girls go absolutely wild as, one by one, each male dancer is lit up, all of them wearing fedora hats and dressed in well-tailored suits.
“Ladies and gents, I’m so pleased to introduce you to my friends, the all-male Australian review! Get ready for a night you’ll never forget, because these men are hot, tan, and ready to be your next guilty pleasure!”
The emcee finishes just as the dancers start to move.
The next few minutes are a blur of sexy as fuck men struts, broken buttons flying everywhere, ripped shirts revealing mouthwatering abs, and gyrating.
Goddamn that gyrating is something I’ll never forget.
That first in-sync hip thrust with a ripping of pants will be permanently scarred into my memory.
Girls are fucking screaming so loud I’m surprised glasses aren’t breaking.
“You bitches are insane,” I yell over the music, spinning in a circle to take it all in.
Poppy is already at the edge of the makeshift stage, waving a hundred-dollar bill in the air like she’s front row at a concert.
Mallory has her phone out, recording everything.
Pippa hands me another drink. It’s something pink and fizzy.
Poppy’s smile explodes on her face as one of the men reaches down, allowing her to stuff the money she has in her hand down his underwear.
“I think I touched his dick!” she excitedly cries, facing me as I bring the drink to my lips. “Drink up, bride-to-be! This shit is about to get bananas!”
“B-A-N-A-N-A-S!” Mallory, Poppy and I scream in unison.
Another man comes forward, his bits and wiggles jumping inches from my face.
Somehow, we’re right near the stage. He’s goading me to load his banana hammock with something monetary, but I hesitate.
This feels way too familiar. Like I’ve seen this show before.
Seen him before. But then Poppy screams happily as she grabs my arm, “He just winked at me!”
The men all take a bow before leaving the stage, the excitement dying down, the song at its completion. I’m definitely feeling it now. Everything is blurring together. The lights, the sounds, the people, but it’s like I know what’s about to happen.
My stomach twists as the room is sucked into near-darkness. A low roll of thunder rumbles through the sound system, followed by the slow teasing trickle of rain. It starts falling from the rig above the stage. A cool mist curls across our faces, making the front row squeal in delight.
A lone figure steps onto the stage. He’s shirtless, his torso carved like stone as the glistening water drips down every chiseled crevice.
His face is cloaked in shadows, hidden beneath a black hat pulled low, droplets sliding down the hard line of his jaw.
The music swells, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The lights snap on in a burst of gold and white, slicing through the darkness and illuminating his face. That charismatic smile glides across the Adonis’s features, it’s like he knows he owns every woman in the room the way he struts to the front of the stage, his cocky smile locked and loaded.
My breath catches in my throat.
It’s him.
The guy.
My guy.
The one I cheated on Eddie with in Vegas.
He stalks the stage like its prey, every step smooth and hungry.
Water trickles from the ceiling, cascading in cool sheets across his sculpted chest and shoulders.
He grips a chair sitting in the middle of a puddle and thrusts against it like he’s fucking the cheap wood, hips grinding, glistening skin flexing with every powerful motion.
The audience erupts in howls and screams. The women can’t get enough.
My mouth parts in stunned silence as he rips his pants off in one clean, confident motion, revealing a barely there metallic thong that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. The outline of his cock strains against the fabric, and for a moment, my legs tremble.