Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
It's all in good fun, and Ami especially seems to be enjoying herself, crunching on her chips and salsa and catcalling to her favorite performers, which is the point of the evening.
The next act starts and a tall, sandy-blonde, sharp-jawed Adonis with steely blue eyes struts out in black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a power tie. He stalks over to the desk and chair that’s been set up in the middle of the stage, grabbing the chair and spinning it on one leg, his pecs flexed beneath the thin material of his shirt.
Ami fans herself. “Jeezus, is that what your office is like, Raven?”
I snort, shaking my head. “Definitely not.” I get why she’d ask. The guy on stage has the whole powerful boss vibe going on, and though he’s sexy, he’s nothing compared to Dylan’s charisma and magnetism.
A few seconds into Adonis’s routine, he leaps off the stage and into the crowd. Women go insane, screaming and reaching for him, and he smiles as he dances through the tables. Ami sits up taller, straining to see him, and then suddenly, he’s right in front of our table.
He folds at the waist, holding his hand out to me like he’s asking me to dance. But I shake my head wildly. “No, no, no, no,” I mumble, having no intention of going on stage. For so many reasons. Yeah, one is Dylan, and I wouldn’t disrespect him by dancing with a half-naked guy. But also, two, I am not a dancer. I mean, I have rhythm and can do a little wiggle when the time’s right and the alcohol’s been flowing, but that’s on a crowded dance floor, not a stage, in front of people.
“C’mon, I don’t bite… often,” he purrs.
I shake my head some more and then push Ami his way, shouting, “It’s her birthday!”
He takes the hint and holds his hand out to Ami instead, and she promptly grabs it. “Happy birthday to me!” she squeals, letting him pull her to her feet.
And thank God I volunteered Ami as tribute because Adonis squats down, wraps his arms around her thighs, and picks her clean up off the floor, carrying her back to the stage. She ends up sitting in the chair, looking giddy as can be about whatever’s about to happen.
“I don’t think you’ll have to get her a birthday present now,” Maggie shouts, and we lock eyes, laughing.
Adonis gyrates around Ami, sitting in her lap, and ultimately, leaning the chair back to the floor and climbing over her. Ami’s hands are pressed to the floor, which he seems to have instructed her to do, and he runs his nose up her body from her belly button, over her cleavage, to her ear. He grips her hip, and she wraps her legs around him, an active participant in the show at this point.
“I don’t think I’ll ever have to buy her a birthday present again,” I correct when Adonis does some fancy move that scoots the chair from beneath them while he flips them over. In a blink, Adonis’ back is on the floor, his legs bent, and Ami is sitting on his hips like he’s a mechanical bull. When he starts body rolling, holding her firmly in place against him, I send up another silent prayer of thanks that it’s her and not me. The music reaches a crescendo, and Adonis bucks his hips rapid-fire, bouncing Ami roughly while she shouts.
And then the stage goes black.
“Holy fuck,” Maggie says. “I think I would’ve embarrassed myself, coming right then and there.” I stare at her wide-eyed.
“Think Ami’s gonna kill me?” I ask, suddenly not so sure. That was… a lot.
The next act starts seamlessly, Ami and Adonis nowhere to be seen. But within minutes, Ami returns to the table, pink-cheeked and smiling. “Oh, my God, girls. That was so much fun!”
“Did you seriously just have fake sex on stage?” Maggie hisses, her eyes wide.
Ami draws a checkmark in the air. “Off the bucket list,” she jokes. “Did it look okay?” Her eyes cut from Maggie to me and back again. We must look as confused as we feel because she clarifies, “He whispered in my ear asking if I was okay with putting on a good show, and I told him to bring it. He was great, telling me to make my O face and throw my head back, but he nearly bounced me off him. I was afraid I was gonna die on a strip club stage.”
She doesn’t sound sad about that possibility. In fact, she sounds like it would’ve been a great way to go and a funny story to tell at her funeral, and we can’t help but laugh, reassuring that nobody could tell and it looked sexy as hell.
After a laugh escapes me, I shake my head, telling Ami, “I could not have done that in front of all of these people. I would’ve panicked and totally frozen.” I pull a horrified face, freezing in place, and they laugh.