Chapter 6 #2
“Great!” Bea claps her hands together with excitement and pulls her phone from her back pocket. She gives it a quick once-over and tucks it away again before directing her attention back to Nat. “Shall we head over to the booth to get your dad set up, and then we can have some fun?”
“Do I get a say in this?” I tease.
“No!” Bea and Natalia answer in unison before linking hands and walking away in the direction of where I assume the booth is.
“I thought we were getting cotton candy?” I protest from behind the chatting duo. I’ll make sure to do my required hours with the fans, but I’m desperate for a little more time with the two of them. They freeze, and Bea looks over her shoulder.
“Candy floss is an acceptable detour,” Bea agrees, and I trail happily after them in search of a pink and blue cloudy sugar bomb.
“A dance belt isn’t really all that different from a cup,” Gus opines from behind the cracked bathroom door of my ensuite. “I’m not saying I want to wear one every day, but it isn’t as uncomfortable as I thought it would be.”
After eating our fill of carnival food and spending hours with our fans at the daytime event, the boys have gathered at my house to get ready for the nighttime party.
My place is the logical meeting spot, not only because it’s one of the bigger houses in our group, but the guys know how important it is to me to put Natalia to bed before we leave.
I’ve read her a bedtime story and tucked her in.
Ms. Margaret will be on duty until I get home.
Now I’m surrounded by my teammates in various states of preparedness in my bedroom.
One of our social media content creators, Amelia, is putting the finishing touches on Leo’s lipstick, while Crosby does his best to shove his feet into a pair of seafoam-green heels.
Charlie is in front of the full-length mirror inside my closet, twisting and turning as he flattens the skirt of the matching green dress we will all be wearing tonight.
There’s a slit that comes up to his mid-thigh, and he’s doing everything he can to lessen the way the material parts when he moves.
Obie is the only one fully dressed, and he’s searching for a place to put his phone.
Frustrated, he simply shoves it into the top of the bodice before throwing his hands up.
“Now I know why the girls are always complaining about their clothes. No fucking pockets,” he grumbles, while Amelia giggles and gathers her things. She bids us goodbye and wishes much-needed luck.
“I don’t know if this makes me understand people who willingly wear thongs all the time, but I kind of like how it cradles the goods.
” Gus opens the bathroom door just as Amelia slips out of the bedroom, murmured thanks following her.
We turn to face our friend, who stands in a flesh colored, well-padded thong and seafoam-green crown with seven spikes on his head.
“They came with briefs.” I rise from the edge of the bed, my own makeup and crown in place.
I have a pair of basketball shorts over my own dance belt—a “necessary” purchase Gus assured all of us would make sure nothing bunched or showed under the dresses.
Gus looks shocked by my announcement, but when he checks in with the other guys, they’re all nodding along. “The thong was entirely your choice.”
A moment of silence envelopes the room as I make my way to my closet to change into my gown.
As I pull it from the hanger, Gus scoffs loudly, drawing my attention back to him.
He spins around, showing the room his pasty white ass, and gives a shake, his cheeks slapping against each other.
“It was a damn fine choice. My ass is going to look great.”
“Get dressed,” Crosby barks with a laugh. “We still need to do a couple of rehearsals in full costume.”
Charlie groans next to me, but I just laugh.
We’re not getting out of wearing this get-up from Miss Congeniality without a full performance of “One in a Million” from the film.
My embarrassment disappeared the second time Natalia took it upon herself to be my dance coach after dinner a week ago.
Instead, I’ve loved every second of learning the steps because it’s been a great bonding experience with my daughter on the nights I’m home.
An hour later, the six of us walk with borrowed confidence into a refurbished industrial building’s grand ballroom.
It’s outfitted with Gothic horror elements of dripping candles, bats suspended in mid-flight, swathes of gauzy dark fabrics, and skulls as centerpieces on surrounding tables.
The mood lighting is low, and a warm amber color bathes the space, thrown from the robust chandeliers on the ceiling.
The overall impact is equal parts inviting and creepy, the perfect mood for a Halloween celebration.
And I feel perfectly out of place in this fitted dress and too-tight shoes.
Seriously, how do people wear these toe-murdering, back-killing, balance-threatening foot prisons?
My ass is going to be so sore tomorrow. Charlie shifts his weight from side to side, a grimace on his face as we both look to our feet.
I manage a small laugh at my friend’s silent agreement.
We’ve garnered a lot of attention from our teammates and front-office staff, but there’s one person I haven’t seen yet, and I try to be subtle in my search for her.
As if my thoughts manifest her, Bea and Violet cut through the crowd, making their way toward us.
Obie, Gus, and Crosby aren’t trailing too far behind, but all my focus is on Bea in a skin-tight, army-green jumpsuit.
It’s painted to her every curve, with her hips swaying in time to the easy way she navigates walking in knee-high black stiletto boots.
There are patches and insignia on her chest and biceps, a shiny pair of aviators perched in her curls.
They’re more tamed than usual, the spirals more uniform and bouncy in organized disarray atop her head.
Her eyes are outlined with black, and sharp points in the corners give her a dangerously playful sexiness.
Her lips are dripping crimson, the gloss catching the light, pulling my attention away from the patch above her left breast that proclaimed her “GOOSE” in bold letters.
“I should have known Gus would come up with something equal parts outlandish and amazing to ensure a win,” she says as she comes to a stop in front of me, eyes sweeping from my head to my toes.
My blood warms, rushing south, and I’m suddenly glad for the cup at the front of these briefs.
It grows tight as my cock gives a very interested twitch, but I think it will stay concealed until I can get my body under control.
“Did he even shave his legs? That’s some serious commitment.
” Bea flashes a smirk over her shoulder to my teammate.
He hasn’t heard her, but he sees her looking and gives a big smile in return.
Violet, in the matching “MAVERICK” ensemble, steps past her wingman to give Charlie a hug, whispering words of greeting and encouragement.
“We might have some competition now,” I finally manage to reply, gesturing to the fighter pilot getup. “Ty vyglyadish ochen opasno v etom, solnyshka.”
It’s the flirtiest thing I’ve said to her. A slip in my usual friendly and professional demeanor. Sure, I said it in Russian, and she doesn’t know exactly what I said, but I’m glad I’ve taken the chance. She does look lethal in that outfit.
Bea steps toward me, the familiar sweet orange of her citrus scent catching in the air between us. I follow it closer to her, chasing the intoxicating scent that matches the spellbinding woman who wears it. The sweet and zesty elements combine with hints of sunshine—just how I think of her.
“You do look like a princess. With fantastic legs,” she says in a low voice, a wicked smile spreading as I realize the slit in my skirt has split.
I’m caught off guard and can’t catch the laugh that rumbles up my chest. Bea looks equally surprised, but her face lights up at the sound.
Brow raised and mouth slightly open in shock.
It isn’t the first time I’ve laughed in front of her, but it still seems to fascinate her.
She giggles, the throaty sound spreading through me, emboldening me to swish the material of my dress for effect.
Bea whistles low, her eyebrows wiggling teasingly.
“No, no, no, no, no.” Gus waves his arms between us, forcing Bea and me apart.
I curb the desire to knock him out of the way for bursting the bubble we were in.
Instead, I push back the thoughts I have of finally being able to whisper in her ear that she’s the most beautiful person in the room.
But I don’t miss the annoyance and disappointment on Bea’s face, perfectly mirroring the way I feel, when she promptly shoves Gus back a few steps.
Undeterred, Gus continues, “This is too friendly. C’mon, Nicky boy, we’ve got a show to put on. ”
My stomach sinks at the reminder we have to sell this costume in our bid to win the contest. Bea lifts a sculpted brow at me in question.
I shrug, trying my best to appear unbothered at the prospect of pulling off this routine in front of every single person I work with.
My only respite is the lack of Andy and the crew. Then Bea lifts her phone.
“Ready for your close-up, Nikita?”
I love it when she uses my full name. She’s the only one who really does. While I have a nickname for her, I almost feel like this is hers for me.
“If I ask you not to submit this to the series, would you keep it to yourself?” I plead, already knowing the answer.
“Not a chance.” Bea smiles.