Chapter 2 #2
Once we all have drinks in front of us, the one person in the group I do know, Sarah, Bethany’s best friend from college and her only other bridesmaid, raises a toast to my sister and we all clink our glasses together.
It would be a nice chance for me to get to know some of my sister’s friends, especially since I know I will be seeing them more over the coming weeks at various wedding events, but the music is so loud that, combined with the excited chatter of a room full of mostly women, I can barely hear my own thoughts.
I make small talk with the woman sitting to my left, one of Bethany’s co-workers, occasionally checking in with the woman of the hour to make sure her glass is constantly filled.
All of a sudden, the music cuts and the lights completely black out. The first thing I think is, That’s not very safe. The second thing I think is, Holy shit, I have never heard so much screaming in my entire life—not even when Bethany dragged me to a Jonas Brothers concert when we were teenagers.
We sit in the darkness for longer than is comfortable, the tension mounting, the screaming reaching near hysterical levels.
And then a single spotlight illuminates a man standing in the center of the stage. He’s wearing a full three-piece suit—he even wears a fedora and carries a cane. It’s about five more items of clothing than I expected to see, but I guess part of the fun is in the actual stripping.
The notes of a familiar song start, one I never would have expected to hear at a show like this, but “Singin’ in the Rain” is pretty unmistakable.
I’m surprised once again when the man begins to dance, because this is not at all what I was expecting.
He’s tapping. And he’s doing it well.
I am not a tapper and haven’t taken a class since I was a kid, back when I danced for fun. But it doesn’t take a trained dancer to realize this guy is good.
The shadows cast by the brim of his hat make it hard to see his face fully, but even with the limited view, he’s gorgeous.
And the way his muscles move under the tight-fitting fabric of his suit.
Phew. My mouth has suddenly gone so dry, I think about swigging right from the bottle of vodka sitting on the table.
The end of the song scratches and suddenly we’re listening to the beginning chords of Rihanna’s “Umbrella,” The room explodes as we collectively recognize the riff on Tom Holland’s famous Lip Sync Battle performance.
The light stays still on the main guy in the center of the stage as he slowly begins to remove his clothing.
I didn’t think it was possible, but the screams grow even louder as the man reveals himself, one piece of clothing at a time.
He whips off his belt and unbuttons his pants and even my normally levelheaded and calm sister is losing her proverbial shit.
But he doesn’t remove his pants, and when the intro of the song ends, moving into the first chorus, the entire stage lights up, revealing twelve additional dancers.
All of them are bare-chested, hairless and shiny and so ripped that even I’m impressed by their defined physique.
Bethany grabs my arm, shaking me a little. “Is this not the best thing you’ve ever seen?!?”
I’ve seen Kimin Kim and Olga Smirnova guest at the American Ballet Theatre, but rather than reminding Bethany of that fact, I nod and smile, trying to look impressed.
And if I’m being honest, I’m more impressed than I expected.
The first number concludes and the screaming once again ratchets up to extreme levels. I applaud along with everyone else, honestly enjoying the clever choreography.
The show continues, the dancers breaking into smaller groups to perform more targeted numbers.
They start pulling guests onstage during the second song, and that’s when the performance becomes more of what I had anticipated.
I have a hard time seeing what’s so appealing about a sweaty man grinding on my lap, but according to the faces of the lucky recipients, I must be missing something.
It’s during the fourth or fifth song when an unbelievably gorgeous Black man comes to collect Bethany. She pretends to protest for a half a second before shoving the rest of us out of her way to make her way to the stage.
The guy gently pushes her into a chair and proceeds to writhe all over her before picking her up, wrapping her legs around his head, and lowering her to the ground.
Aside from the sheer weirdness of watching my sister get a lap dance, I’m mostly just glad she decided to wear pants tonight. Also, I really hope these floors are disinfected after every show.
When Bethany returns to her seat after being fully debauched by a stranger, her eyes are wide and a bit wild. “Holy shit, I can’t believe I did that!”
I laugh, tugging her back down into her seat. “I can’t either!”
“Is it weird that that was one of the hottest things that’s ever happened to me?” She fans her cheeks, reaching for a glass of water and chugging the whole thing.
“Maybe just don’t tell your future wife that!”
Bethany shakes her head. “I think even Cassidy would give me this one. The way these guys move is like sex incarnate!”
I laugh again, pouring Bethany another cocktail and shoving it into her hands. The show continues, a few more small group numbers and several more women left panting after their turn onstage. For the most part, the music is loud and upbeat, hip-hop songs with steady beats and intense rhythms.
So when a slower song comes on, the lights once again dimming and leaving just a single spotlight onstage, the room pays close attention.
It’s the guy from the opening number, the tapper. He hasn’t been in any of the smaller group numbers that I’ve seen, but it’s clear from his commanding presence that he must be the star of the show.
This time when he strips, he takes it all off—or almost all anyway, leaving himself in a pair of tight, short black briefs.
With no hat hiding his face this time, my earlier suspicions are confirmed—the man is drop dead gorgeous.
His muscles look like they were hand-sculpted, but it’s his face, the cut of his cheekbones, the dark stubble covering a chiseled jaw, the bright blue eyes I can see from my seat, and the dark hair that flops in his eyes as he moves, that leave me momentarily breathless.
And I’m not the only one. The entire audience seems to be collectively holding our breath as we watch him move across the stage.
His movement is all at once graceful and sensual, hypnotizing to watch.
His lines are straight and perfect, but it’s the loose way he swivels his hips that has me absolutely mesmerized.
Holy shit.
This is what David was talking about, capturing sex appeal with dance.
Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything hotter than the way this man glides across the stage, each movement equal parts effortless and purposeful.
He radiates sex, not just from his perfect body, but from the tiniest quirk of his lips, the lift of an eyebrow, that swivel of the hips.
How does he make his body move like that?
The realization hits me square in the chest. I don’t have what it takes to dance like that. At least not right now.
The inkling of the idea sticks in my brain as the applause echoes around the room. It grows and grows, until I know what I need to do.
I call our server over and order a vodka soda because if I’m actually going to do this, I’m going to need a little liquid courage.
Bethany, who’s well beyond tipsy at this point, leans over to clink her glass against mine. “Of course you wait until the very last minute to start having fun!”
Fun I might be having, but when one of the guys comes over to our table and reaches for my hand, I wave him away, directing him toward one of the other screaming women instead.
Once he’s picked another lucky contender, I let my eyes drift back to the stage.
The main guy, the beautiful dancer, is standing in the wings and looking right at me.
My heart stops pumping in my chest.
It should be illegal, to look at someone like that, while looking like that.
He quirks an eyebrow and I shrug, hoping I didn’t offend him. But a grin splits across his face and just the sight of it makes me shiver.
The stage fills with all of the dancers, clearly coming together for some kind of final send-off moment. I chug the rest of my drink, wincing as the alcohol burns my throat.
The last number of the show is sillier than any of the others: “It’s Raining Men” blaring through the speakers as they call back to the opening number with their umbrellas and trench coats.
The show concludes with bursts of confetti and, somehow, even more screaming than before.
The houselights rise slowly, giving everyone a chance to reorient themselves, but it isn’t long before our servers are coming around to usher us out of the building.
I take my time, knowing I need a few minutes before I can put my very loosely laid out plan in motion.
Luckily, it takes a few minutes to get Bethany and the rest of the girls out of the club and into the car waiting for them. God bless Bethany and her planning everything down to the last second because I don’t know that I would trust any of them to make it home on their own.
I squeeze Bethany into a tight hug before opening the car door for her. “Text me when you get home, okay?”
“You’re not coming with us?” She stumbles into me, her words slurring.
“No, I’m going to take the train so I can get home faster.” It’s not a total lie, but it also isn’t the complete truth. I’ll tell her all about my plan tomorrow, assuming it actually works, and assuming she’s not so hungover she can’t even answer the phone.
“Right. Got an early day of rehearsals tomorrow, I’m sure.” It comes out more like shhhhhhure.
I don’t actually, because tomorrow is Saturday, so all I have is my daily workout and a class, but I don’t bother to correct her. “I usually do.”
She pats my cheek, her hand lingering for a few seconds too long. “You work too hard, sister of mine. You need to learn how to have some fun. Did you have fun tonight at least?”
I remove her hand from my face and smile. “I did have fun tonight. Just maybe not as much as you.” I half lift, half push her into the car, turning to Bethany’s co-worker Lyla, the one of the group who’s the most sober. “Make sure she drinks some water, please.”
The girls all pile into the SUV, shouting goodbyes at various levels of volume and drunkenness.
I wait until the car pulls out into traffic before turning on my heel and facing the club entrance once again.
It’s been about thirty minutes since the show ended, which means I might just have perfect timing.
Part of me can’t believe what I’m about to do, but the other part, the much larger part, knows I’m willing to do whatever it takes.
Even humiliate myself in front of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
I take a deep breath and head toward the back of the building.