The policeman is thrusting his pelvis out, jumping a little closer to me in rhythm with the song, and when I scurry back to the couch for safety, the other women laugh even louder.
“Oh yeah, take it off!” Lindsey cries, as the office sends his hat sliding across the floor.
The stripper. Not an officer. A stripper.
Lindsey returns to her seat, and all of the women settle in for the show. I’m not sure I’ve blinked once since he started dancing. I may not be breathing, either. My heart is definitely still beating though, maybe twice as fast as usual.
The stripper is dancing in front of Kelly now, flexing his muscles, which are impressive even though his shirt. “You’ve been very bad girls, and I just might have to take you to jail if you don’t behave,” he says.
Kelly is giggling and covering her face with her hand, though she doesn’t block her eyes.
He pulls a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, and Lindsey squeals. “I know just what to do with girls who can’t obey the law,” he says, dancing over to the friend sitting next to Kelly, dangling the cuffs just over her lap.
I’m an equal mix of fascinated and uncomfortable. This man is so good looking, and I’m intrigued to see more of him as he starts to unbutton his shirt, but why in the world did they hire a stripper? Lindsey has a boyfriend, and Kelly goes on plenty of dates, so it’s not like they needed to pay money to see a naked male body.
His shirt is off now, revealing a thin white tank top that fits him like a second skin, and shoulders that could fuel a thousand fantasies. If the real cops around here looked like this, women would be committing crimes on the regular. He’s unbuckling his belt, and teasing it open, moving down the line, coming closer to me, but I can’t relax and enjoy this like everyone else is.
Much as I’m curious, I feel like I shouldn’t be watching. I can’t meet his eyes when he’s right in front of me, gyrating his hips, pulling his shirt off over his head. My god, his chest is spectacular, though. And those abs. Ridiculous.
I reach for my drink as soon as he edges around the coffee table, moving on to someone else. When, in one quick motion, he tears off his pants, which must be specially made for such a feat, my cheeks flame.
Those thighs. That butt — covered only by a very small, very snug pair of black Speedo-type shorts. His back view is incredible, but I can’t dare even think about what the shorts must look like from the front.
My heart is threatening to pound out of my chest, and I feel like I’m making a fool of myself sitting here. I can’t cheer for him like the others are. I just can’t.
Mumbling something about my drink, I rush off to the kitchen, which is at the back of the house. Once through the doorway, I let out a long breath and consider sticking my head inside the freezer.
Did my friends think I’d enjoy this? Me, who’s never had sex? Maybe they thought I was desperate to touch a naked man? A few of them, including Lindsey, are touching the stripper. I will not be doing that. It doesn’t seem right; I don’t even know him.
I finish off my drink and set about making another one, not that any amount of alcohol is going to make me feel comfortable. Will they notice or care if I go up to my room for the rest of the night? I can apologize tomorrow and tell them that I got tired.
There’s a long pause between songs, and when another one starts, I notice that things have gone quiet in the living room. There’d been nonstop cheering ever since the stripper started dancing, but now it’s completely silent except for the music that’s playing. No one is even talking, as far as I can tell.
Did he get completely naked and then abruptly leave? Even though I’ve never seen a strip show before, I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.
Curiosity and concern get the best of me, so I go back to the living room, where I find the stripper standing in the middle of an empty room. He’s still moving to the beat, facing the kitchen, waiting for my arrival.
He’s still in the tiny Speedo — and nothing else — and my eyes briefly detour to the fascinating size and shape of what’s displayed there before I look around the room again. There’s no sign of my roommates or their friends except for their abandoned drinks on the table.
“Where did they go?” I ask him.
Still moving his hips with the music, he holds out his hands, gesturing with his fingers for me to come closer. “They wanted to give us some alone time.”
“What?” Panic shoots up my spine like a rocket. “Are they upstairs?”
He shakes his head and slows the sway of his body. “They left.”
At the window, I verify his report. Their cars are all gone. I yank out my phone, ready to stab at one of their numbers, but instead find a text message from Lindsey: “Enjoy! He’s all yours. We paid for the special virgin-breaking package. Trevor will take care of you!!”
I reread the message three times, getting angrier each time, until I’m actually shaking. “You’re Trevor?” I ask the man, who, though he’s stopped dancing, is still shifting in time with the music, as if he can’t be still. “There’s been a big misunderstanding.”
His easygoing expression changes to concern. “You didn’t know about this, did you?”
“None of it.”
“I guess it’s not a good surprise?” His dark brows come together, and he almost looks hurt. Maybe I’m the first woman not to be all over him like the others were.
“I’m sorry. It’s not that I wasn’t enjoying your show, but I don’t want to … do anything with you.” My arm is rigid, holding my phone out at a distance like it’s been infected with Lindsey’s message.