“See, that’s one perk,” I tell him with a nudge in the ribs as I pull the money out of my wallet.
He narrows his eyes. “I need tequila for this.”
I grin. “The first few are on me. You deserve it for being such a champ. Plus, you’re gonna need it to shake your ass up there.”
“I’m convinced you just wanna see my huge dick.” He lets out a booming laugh as we walk through the club.
“Nah, I just wanna see what humiliation looks like,” I counter. A long bar splits the room into two separate spaces, and the male and female performers are in different areas. I’ve never seen a strip club this large and have only ever been to one little hole-in-the-wall in San Antonio with a few friends. Vegas is magical.
We push our way to the bar, and two shots quickly turn into four. At some point, I lose count, but Diesel keeps them coming. When I look around at the crowded room, I notice a group of gorgeous women in the corner, obviously here for a bachelorette party. They all have sashes across their bodies, and one’s wearing a bride-to-be crown. Sitting as close to the strippers as possible, they look up at the half naked man with googly eyes, giggling their asses off and throwing money like confetti. I can’t help but notice one of the girls with blond hair and sun-kissed skin wearing the sweetest fucking smile I’ve ever seen. Damn, she’s so beautiful, it nearly takes my breath away.
“Fuck,” Diesel says, pulling my attention away. He stands and wobbles, and I realize we drank too much. We’re doomed. Especially Diesel, considering he still has to put on the performance of his life. After two more shots, all the contestants are called to the far stage. Glancing at him, I nod toward his competition, who are all standing by.
“Imma get you back, Bishop,” he tells me between gritted teeth, and I don’t doubt him one bit. Diesel begrudgingly orders a beer to take with him and stumbles to the large group of participants eagerly waiting for instruction. He hates losing so much that, combined with all the liquid courage, I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually tries to win.
I sit on the barstool, not able to stop grinning as Diesel makes his way behind the curtain. Trying to be somewhat responsible, I order a beer and pace myself while I wait for the show to begin. If he’s stumbling around like a baby giraffe in heels—considering his tolerance is higher than mine—I’ll probably fall flat on my ass if I don’t sit for a while.
The lights flash and brighten, grabbing every person’s attention in the room, and the wannabe strippers make their way to the front. Most of them look like total douchebags, and then there’s Diesel looking like he fell off a horse with his cowboy hat and boots. The emcee, Nicole, introduces herself before explaining how this will work. Once she’s done, Nicole sends out the first guy, and I watch, feeling secondhand embarrassment for the poor dude.
“And next up, we have Diesel! He said they call him that because he’s big in all the right places. So hold on to your horses, this cowboy is ready to rock your world,” Nicole says in a flirtatious tone.
Diesel walks onto a low-lit stage to Ginuwine’s “Pony.” It’s one of the oldest, most cliché songs in the goddamn world, but I’m laughing so hard I nearly choke on my drink. He moves around like he’s been stripping for a decade, and I’m convinced the bastard needs to join Magic Mike. All the women in the club are gathered around, ready to eat him up, and he’s teasing them like he’s the whole buffet. I swear I see their tongues hanging out.
Diesel takes it to the next level and calls up one of the pretty ladies from the bachelorette party to dance with him. Placing his cowboy hat on her head, Diesel slowly removes his clothes, piece by piece. She’s absolutely mesmerized, tracing her fingers across his abs. My mouth falls open, and my eyes widen in shock when he slips down his pants and reveals a man thong.
“Jesus Christ. He’s never living this shit down,” I whisper as he sings the lyrics to the thirsty group who are ready to fuck him in front of everyone. As the song ends, fifty or more women scream out for more of Diesel.
“Well, it looks like someone’s a professional,” Nicole taunts as Diesel picks up his clothes and steps off the stage.
One by one, the other guys come out and do their thing. They don’t compare or have the charisma Diesel exuded. After each performance, those watching aren’t wooed and surprisingly continue to chant his name for an encore. When the last guy finishes, Nicole calls everyone back and has them line up on the stage.