He smiles slightly, then reaches out and unlocks the door, pushing it open. Taking my hand, he tugs me back into the dressing room. Thankfully, everyone is fully clothed now, all in identical grey suits. We get a few catcalls as Cyrus leads me to the corridor, but we both ignore them. Maybe I’m just being a total sap, but the fact that he’s holding my hand in front of all his colleagues is making my heart flutter.
We step out into the hallway, and he grabs my hips, pulling me to a stop. “One last question,” he says, his eyes sparkling. I nod stupidly. It’s hard to believe this is the same man I was talking to ten minutes ago. It’s like a cloud has been lifted from over his head—all of the hardness and defensiveness has been blown away, and he’s his flirty, charming self again.
He leans closer. “What kind of underwear are you wearing?”
“I… um, what?”
His hand slides up the curve of my hip, squeezing my waist. “I plan on chucking you around a bit. Don’t want you flashing any of the audience. That’s my job.” Through the fabric of my tight dress, he finds the wispy lace of my thong, running his fingers over it like he’s checking that it’s really there. He tuts. “These feel pretty flimsy. I guess I’ll have to improvise.”
My mouth falls open. He grins, bending to press a kiss to my slack jaw. “See you soon,” he murmurs. “I’ll miss you.”
Thirty-Two
Beth
I make my way back to my table on shaky legs. Most of the guests are already in their seats, chattering, taking photos, sipping drinks. All of the dancers have left the seating area, and the stage has gone dark again.
Benny’s busy texting under the table. I slump into the seat next to him and grab the fresh drink sitting in my spot, stirring it with the straw.
“Did Antonio send a nude?” I ask, conversationally, taking a sip. The drink is cold and sweet, slipping down my throat and chilling my insides. I take another gulp, then just hook out an ice cube and stick it in my mouth. I need to cool down.
He sputters, almost dropping the phone. “What—no!” He looks up at me, and his eyes narrow. “What happened to you?”
I try to look innocent. “What do you mean?” I wipe some cold condensation off the glass and press it into the hollow of my throat.
“You’re bright red.” His eyes trail down my body, and I shift uncomfortably. “All over.”
Sometimes, I hate my white-freckly-ginger genes. I blush with my whole body. “I’m just hot,” I try.
His eyebrow lifts. “You look like you’ve got a fucking sunburn, Beth. What happened?”
“Nothing happened!” I protest. “I just, um—” I flounder for an excuse. “I….”
Luckily, before I have to follow through, the floor lights go down. I lean back in my seat, sighing in relief as the darkness hides my red cheeks. Unfortunately, I only have about two seconds to relax before the stage re-illuminates, and my heart starts to pound in double-time.
The men are all back in position, lined up in their identical suits. This time, though, they have props; each guy is sitting backwards on a black wooden chair, their arms draped over the backs, grinning out at us. My eyes are drawn to Cyrus like he’s magnetised. He’s looking right at me. As I watch, he blows me a kiss.
“I think that one on the end fancies me,” Benny whispers loudly.
The screams start up again as the announcer bounces back into the spotlight, his silver jacket shining. “Helloooo, ladies!” He calls. Everybody shouts back, and he grins. “I hope you’re all refreshed and ready for the second act. The boys are going to need some lovely assistants for this part of the show. Any takers?”
The crowd goes wild. There are women climbing on the tables, chanting and stamping and yelling. A group of girls near the stage yank up their shirts, flashing the guys.
“Remember,” the announcer calls. “Those Magic Dollars you purchased at the bar are your ticket to one of these first-class seats.” He smacks the chair Hunky Harry is leaning on. “So make it rain, girls!”
The lights flash, and ‘It’s Raining Men’ suddenly starts pounding through the speakers. The men all jump up from their chairs and start posing and dancing as banknotes rain down on them.
One guy struts towards the edge of the stage, encouraging women to stuff money down his pants. Another starts doing push-ups on the back of the chair. A third looks like he’s humping the floor.
Benny and I collapse into laughter. “Dude, this is sofuckin’ funny.”Benny shouts over the music, choking on his drink. “Bet you’re glad I got you a ticket now, huh?”
I can’t answer. I’m laughing too hard to breathe. I always thought a strip club would be kind of seedy and awkward—but this is crazy, and sexy, andfunny.Somuch better than a regular club night.
The boys start picking out women and slipping off the stage to help them up. Most are from the front few rows; either the desperate fans tossing money at them, or the girls in theBride-to-BeorBirthday Girlsashes. Quite a few are getting shoved forward by their very drunk friends. Cy ignores them all, jumping right off the stage and making a beeline through the tables. Women scream and reach for him, running their hands over his chest and tugging at his belt as he strides past. He walks through them as if they don’t even exist, his eyes locked on me.
“Holy shit,” Benny says. “Oh my God. Is he looking atyou?”
“I would say so,” I squeak, clutching my drink like a lifeline.