Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
As I’m getting the drinks, the room gets darker and the lights flash. The show is starting. “Where do you want to go?” I ask Autumn when I hand her the cocktail.
“Let’s try to get a little closer,” she says. “I don’t think I’ll be able to see from here.”
It would suit me just fine not being able to see the stage at all, but I take her hand again and weave us through the crowd to get closer to the front. Women all around us are starting to chant, “Men, men, men!” It’s a really bizarre situation I find myself in tonight.
A guy comes out on stage dressed like a cop and starts talking about the noise in the place. I instantly dislike him. “Is that the guy who was at your place last night?” I ask Autumn, careful to keep my tone neutral.
Not taking her eyes from the stage, she shakes her head.
The audience is going wild as the man scolds them and teases them. When he clutches his crotch at one point, I roll my eyes. Is this really what women like? Apparently so.
The music picks up and five more guys come out on stage, backing up the first man. I watch Autumn scan the new arrivals and see her focus in on the side of the stage furthest from us. “That’s him,” she says, pointing. “Second from the end.”
I don’t really even want to look. Presumably, the guy she’s pointing out is her type, and though I work out and keep fit, I have a leaner body type, and I already know from the posters here that none of the men on stage are going to look like me.
Still, unable to help myself, I zero in on the second to last guy in the row of dancing men. He looks familiar. I study his face for a minute, doing my best to ignore the rest of him, especially when he rips his shirt off and tosses it aside.
“I know him,” I tell Autumn, bending to her ear again.
She turns and looks at me with wide eyes.
“Trevor, right?” When she nods, I say, “We went to school together.”
She looks back at him for another minute and then tears her eyes away to talk to me. “Were you friends?”
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “Not really friends. We knew each other. He was a good guy.”
She smiles at that, more pleased than I’d hope she’d be.
Trevor Johnson is a stripper. I’d have never expected it, but then, who would you expect to become a stripper? Part of me is relieved that it’s him that Autumn was alone with last night, because I think he’d be respectful, but another part of me realizes I’m doomed. Trevor was always popular with the girls. If he’s interested in Autumn, he’ll have no problem getting her.
5
Autumn
Garrett knows Trevor.
I’m used to everyone on Four Points Island knowing each other, but I wouldn’t expect it to be like that on Whitman, where Garrett grew up. What are the odds?
Another unexpected thing: My body is responding to the show, and its response seems entirely out of my control. I can probably count on one hand the amount of times I’ve been truly turned on. My usual lack of physical response has made me wonder if I was even meant to be a sexual person, but watching the Club Red revue, my body is clearly telling me that I am.
There’s a gnawing ache between my legs that grows needier with each performance, especially when Trevor’s on stage.
I had no response when I watched the Magic Mike movie. Sure, Channing Tatum is attractive, but I thought the stage performances were mostly cheesy. It’s different now though, knowing one of the dancers in real life, and knowing — from the small amount of data I have — that he’s a decent guy. A decent guy who can move his body in incredible ways.
Last night, I thought he was good looking, but here on stage, there’s something special about him. Something magnetic.
He’s up there dancing now, wearing a cowboy hat, jeans, and chaps, and I can’t tear my eyes away, even when Garrett tells me he’s going to the bar.
My heart literally flutters when Trevor and the two other men on stage fling their hats off, tuck their thumbs under their belts, and strut forward and back to a honky tonk tune. I remember the little pair of briefs he had on last night, and how close I was to him. Close enough to touch, not that I would have dreamed of doing that. Well, maybe dreamed isn’t the right word, because I did have some wild dreams last night.
Now the men are in a line, their backsides facing the audience. I didn’t realize it was possible to develop so many muscles on a human back. Fascinating.