Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
A pretty stripper approaches me, dances in front of me. “Care for a lap dance, stud?”
She reminds me kind of…
Can’t go there.
The thought of Mandy dancing around a pole…
Except it kind of excites me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“No thanks.” I stuff a twenty in her thong. Maybe she’ll leave me alone now.
Penn’s friends are buying him beer after beer. I’ve been nursing the same gin and tonic since we got here.
I was a last-minute invite, to be sure, which says a lot in itself, since I’ve known Penn for the six years he’s been dating Frankie. I’m Amanda’s plus-one at most family events, so Penn and I have been thrown together a lot over the years. Has Mandy been blackballing me in her family?
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
Yeah, I’ve become very adept at lying to myself over the last month.
I finally finish my drink. It’s after midnight, and this party shows no signs of breaking up. Penn is between lap dances at the moment, so I rise and go to his chair.
“Thanks for the invite, man. I’m going to head out.”
“Jack, buddy, the party’s just starting.”
I smile, pat him on the back. “Congratulations, man. I know you and Frankie will be really happy.”
He snorts. “Yeah, sure thing.”
Then another stripper straddles him.
I’m out of here.
This is his last hurrah. If this marriage even happens. I have no right to judge him. He’s far from the first guy who sowed wild oats with a stripper before the wedding. That’s kind of the idea behind a bachelor party.
Still, the whole thing rubs me the wrong way. This is Mandy’s sister.
What if it were Mandy? What if someone was going to marry Mandy and I saw him sucking a stripper’s tit?
I’d flatten him. I’d flatten him so badly, he’d never walk again.
And honestly?
It wouldn’t be because he was sucking some stripper’s nipple. It would be because he’s marrying Mandy.
Damn. I really am an idiot.
I head back into the bar.
“Hey, Penn,” I say.
He’s busy squeezing the globes of his lap dancer’s ass. “Yeah, man? You decide to stay awhile?”
“No, I have a question. Where’s Frankie tonight? Where’s her bachelorette party?”
“Some club over on Seventh. A male stripper show is playing there. The Long Island Playboys.”
Male strippers. Great. Not that I should be surprised. It’s a bachelorette party.
Easy enough to find. A quick search on my phone tells me exactly where the Long Island Playboys are performing.
I grab a cab.
And I hope to God I’m not too late.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Amanda
These Long Island Playboys are friendly. Too friendly. Three of them wanted to climb onto my lap so far. I desperately shoved dollar bills in their G-strings so they’d find someone else more enthusiastic.
Isabella and Gigi are being their normal flirtatious selves, making out with any of the dancers who will have them.
At least Frankie’s being good. She is engaged, after all, and her ring is on her finger.
I’m on my third drink. More than I normally imbibe, but I’m not driving. And after three sidecars, I’m not all that worried about paying for a cab to get home. So I use my credit card. So I don’t pay the balance in full next month. Who cares? I’ll get back on track soon enough.
Before I know it, though, one of the dancers grabs my hands and pulls me up to the stage.
Warmth and embarrassment surge through me, but after three sidecars… While I’m not exactly a willing participant, I don’t put up much of a fight. Amazing how alcohol can evaporate shyness in even the most timid. And me.
He touches my hips, shows me how to move them to the beat of the music. All the other dancers have pulled someone up as well, but I’m the only one from Frankie’s party.
I glance back at Isabella and Gigi; both of them have giant grins on their faces as they cheer me on to follow him up.
The man dancing with me has long black hair, and it’s pulled up in a man bun. Normally, I hate man buns, but this guy makes it work. He has tanned skin, no chest hair. Sleek as satin, actually. He probably manscapes. A guy with that dark of hair must have chest hair.
He’s wearing only his G-string, and I have to admit his ass is very nice.
Not as nice as Jackson’s, though. I shake my head.
Why do my thoughts always come back to Jackson? How do you fall out of love with someone?
Dancing with a male stripper is as good a start as anything. These guys are paid to act this way. He’s not really attracted to me. He pulled me up because he saw the pile of bills sitting in front of me on the table, and he probably expects most of them will end up in his G-string. He’s not wrong.