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)
“I don’t want to go so far away,” I tell her, an uncharacteristic whine in my voice. “I want a good view.”
“You’ll still be able to see them.” She slips a hand under my arm to better support me when my legs wobble.
“Are you all ready for the final performance of the night?” Chase asks the audience, earning him some boos. The crowd cheers again when he adds, “Don’t worry. We’ll be here every week, Friday through Sunday, and all of our dancers will be available after the show for pictures.”
“I want pictures,” I say, whipping my head in Becca’s direction after I’m seated again.
“Okay, we’ll get pictures.” It sounds like she’s still laughing at me, but I don’t understand what’s funny. Who wouldn’t want pictures?
12
Overserved
A new song starts, one with a long lead in, and all six men come out, one by one, and line up across the stage. They’re in ripped jeans and tight t-shirts, the most ordinary they’ve looked all night, although the word ordinary could never be applied to them.
When the beat picks up, they start dancing in unison, and then each of them starts doing their own unique moves. At various times, they remove their shirts, and I have a hard time knowing where to look; it’s too hard to watch all four of my men all at once when they’re spread across the stage.
After a few minutes, Chase takes up the microphone and starts calling out each dancer’s name, giving the audience a chance to applaud for each man individually.
I cheer loudly for the men — all of the performers, they all did really well, but most especially my men — my men. Or, at least I think I’m cheering. I’m trying to. I’m yelling, but I can’t even hear my own voice with so many other women screaming around me.
Those other women, who don’t really know the Stanton brothers like I do, are all starting to push toward the exit doors. Stretching onto my toes, I see that the dancers are standing near the door, and the women are forming lines, waiting for a turn to take pictures with the men.
“Let’s go, Becca. Let’s go get pictures.” I tug on my friend’s arm, but she leads me in the opposite direction to a table even closer to the bar.
“Wait here. I’ll get some water for you.”
“I want to get pictures.”
“The lines are really long. Let’s wait a while,” she says, leaving me at the table before I can protest. I’m frustrated at having to wait for her, but it is nice to have the table to lean on.
Becca returns with a bottle of water and a small bowl of pretzels. She uncaps the water and pushes it into my hand. “Here, you’re going to feel terrible very soon if you don’t get some water in you.”
I frown at her. I’ve been drinking all night. I feel plenty hydrated; in fact, I could stand to make a bathroom stop.
She nudges the pretzel bowl closer. “Have a few of these.”
“I don’t want to wait, Becca. I want to see my men right now.”
She smiles at me in the way you’d smile at a child. “Your men are busy right now. If you wait until you’re the last one in line, then you’ll have more time with them. No one else will be waiting for a turn behind you.”
“Ah, okay. Good thinking.” She’s so smart.
I eat several pretzels at her urging and drink half of the bottle of water before she finally tells me we can get in the line for pictures. The room is nearly empty now and the lighting is brighter. Club employees wander the area, collecting trash in large bags.
Two women are hanging on Dodge and Diesel and taking selfies as we approach; another is in a conversation with Maddox that involves a lot of hair-twirling and eyelash-batting on the woman’s part.
The strangers have seen so much of the men tonight, but they don’t know them like I do. I’m impatient, and start to go up to the twins, but Becca takes hold of my arm. “Wait until they’re done. Have another sip of water.”
My mouth is dry, and the water tastes good, though not as good as the cherry drink.
Finally — finally — it’s our turn. I dig my phone out of my little purse and hand it to Becca. “Take our pictures. C’mere guys.” Chase and Maddox are at a distance from the twins, and I gesture for them all to gather together. Sorry, other dances whose names I forget, I don’t have room for you in my pictures.
“What a great show!” I tell the brothers, throwing my arms around as much of the four of them as I can. Such strong bodies. So much bare skin. I want to cling to them like a koala, and I’m so frustrated that I can only hold so much of them at once.