Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
But then it comes to the part of the night where the men bring people on stage — bachelorettes, or birthday girls, or whoever else paid a premium for extra attention.
The two women who are brought up are really cute — coincidentally, both of them are slender, petite blondes wearing skin-tight dresses. One of them is wearing a “bride to be” sash. She seems embarrassed and mostly keeps her eyes on her group of friends who are cheering and taking pictures.
The other woman, however, isn’t wearing any bachelorette designation, and is solely focused on Diesel and Maddox as they move around her. The woman’s hands are reaching out to touch every part of them that she can reach, and the brothers seem to be enjoying it. But, of course, they have to. It wouldn’t exactly look good for their show if they appeared to be disgusted by a woman making physical contact with them.
Maddox stands behind her, bringing her hands up to his chest, just like Diesel and Chase did with me when I was on stage. Diesel dances, shaking his backside right in front of her as he smiles out at the audience. When he dances to the side, I catch a glimpse of the woman’s face. She looks like she wants them to fuck her right on the stage.
I squeeze my eyes closed, putting myself in darkness, even as the yelling around me seems louder than ever. This is just part of their business. It’s what’s expected. It’s what they’ve always done, and it doesn’t mean anything to them, but my stomach is clenched like a fist, and it physically hurts to watch them giving this attention to someone else, someone who clearly wants them so badly.
If I continue to see them, I’ll have to learn to accept this part of them. I’d never ask them to stop performing, of course. It’s their business, and they do a damn good job of it. Anyway, it’s not like they could suddenly change career paths and become accountants or pharmacists, or some other kind of job that my parents would approve of and that wouldn’t involve horny women coming at them with fistfuls of dollar bills.
An even louder cheer comes from the crowd, and I open my eyes just enough to see the woman’s hands on Diesel’s ass, one hand on each cheek. Even from this distance, I can see her fingers digging into the fabric of his little Speedo, his flesh pinched in her hands.
I close my eyes again for one long second, and when I open them I keep my gaze cast at the ground, looking up just enough to navigate through the room and out the door. Thankfully, there’s no one at the front desk to witness my departure. Duke is still standing just outside the entrance, but I hurry past him before he looks up, and hope he doesn’t recognize me from the back.
The night air is cool and I draw in big gulps of it, realizing I’m on the verge of crying but not wanting tears to come.
I’m such a child.
I don’t think the men noticed me among the crowd — at least, I didn’t make eye contact with any of them — but Duke may have told them I was there, so when I get home, I send a group text: I saw most of your show, but I’m exhausted, so I left early. Long day. I’ll see you tomorrow at the park.
Of course, I don’t hear back from them right away, and I try not to think about the post-show pictures that they’re probably taking at the moment. An image of that woman’s hand returns, her red-tipped nails burned into my brain. Safe in the privacy of my bedroom, I give in to a good cry, and let the tears fall. Tears of jealousy, frustration, and defeat.
31
Official
I wake up the next day feeling like I’ve slept on a bed of gravel. The aches and pains persist and are joined by equally uncomfortable, contradictory thoughts as I drive to meet the men for our picnic lunch.
Part of me is excited to see them, as I always am, but that excitement is overshadowed by the nagging thought that I shouldn’t be seeing them at all. There’s a small fear that some family friend might spot me with them and report the news to my parents, but at the same time, I resent feeling like I have to sneak around.
I should — and could — be stronger about standing up to my parents about my right to do as I please, but if I take a stand about seeing the Stanton brothers, where does that leave me? Maybe with four boyfriends who take their clothes off three nights a week for hundreds of strangers who all want a piece of them.