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“He’s infuriating, or the fact that you’ve been called out is infuriating?” Amy asks.
“If I’ve been caught out, I blame you. You’re the one always messaging me in class. I simply just respond.”
“Fine, but it’s your responses that are getting you into trouble, not the fact that you are responding,” she insists. “Want me to come down there? We could team up. I’ve always wanted to try the Double Dip.”
“Thanks,” I snort. “But no thanks.”
“Fine, then maybe you need to see this as an opportunity?” she suggests. “You’re single, I’m guessing he is too. Sure, he’s your professor, but so what? If you were ever really going to go for it, there’s no better time than this.”
“I’d need at least another ten drinks in me to do that,” I mutter.
Wait, how many am I up to?
“Then do it. You’re at your friend’s bachelor party, Becca. You’ll never have a better excuse than this to let your hair down.”
What is it with everyone telling me to let loose? Have I really changed that much over the last few months? I nod as I pace the small bathroom, my heart racing as I think about what Amy’s saying.
“Okay. I’m going for it. I’ll be in touch.”
“Good luck.” Amy giggles.
I shove my phone back in my pocket and stare at myself for a moment. The signs are there, aren’t they? I’m not imagining it. He is definitely interested. Otherwise he would’ve told me about the messages earlier. I should be angrier about that, but I kind of like that he was watching. It’s like he was in my head, listening to my dirty thoughts.
Confidence is usually something I have in spades, but when it comes to guys, all bets are off. I become as insecure and unsure as every other girl out there and I hate it. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t give a fuck. I’d be out there, being Becca and having fun. But I like this guy and that’s a scary position to be in.
Just go out there and be you. If he’s not into that, then he’s not worth it.
Pumped, I march out there and over to the guys. I throw my arms around Jake and kiss him on the cheek. He laughs and raises his eyebrows at me. I glance at Liam, my heart racing when I see his eyes are on the hem of my dress as it rides up my thighs.
“Wondered where you’d got to.”
“Having fun?” I ask him.
“Strangely, I am. Thanks for this, Becs. It means a lot to me that you’d do all of this for me.” I’m about to answer when I look up and see a professionally dressed woman marching toward us, carrying a briefcase.
“Don’t thank me just yet. I think the showcase just arrived.” I grin.
Jake turns around and groans. “You didn’t.”
“What’s going on?” Liam asks.
“I think Jake thought I was joking when I told him the fist was for hitting the ping-pong balls away.” I giggle. “You need to hit fifty percent of what she fires at you, or you’ll suffer the consequences. Come on, Jake. You can do this,” I cheer, letting off a wolf whistle.
Liam chuckles. “If you think that, then you clearly haven’t seen Jake try and hit a ball.”
“What do I get if I win?” Jake asks, narrowing his eyes at me.
I shrug. “I’ll buy you a drink?”
“A drink?” he scoffs. “No, I want something else,” he muses. I frown as his lips part into a wicked grin. “If I win, then you’ll be giving your own little performance.”
What?
I shake my head adamantly. “No fucking way am I putting ping-pong balls anywhere near my—”
“Oh God, no. Trust me, I’d never want to see that,” Jake grimaces. “No. I mean if I win, then you get a lap dance off Ms. Venezuela over there. No!” His eyes light up. “Even better. If I win, you’re giving her a lap dance.”
I start to protest—until I see the spark in Liam’s eyes that makes me want to do it. Amy’s words ring in my head. Maybe this is my best chance…
I shrug and narrow my eyes at him.
“I hope you’re ready to fist some balls.”
Apparently, Jake’s ball handling skills have improved somewhat, because we’re halfway through the show and he’s nearly won our bet already. With every ball he smashes across the room, a cheer erupts and twenty sets of eyes flick to me in anticipation. I don’t doubt that every single one of his friends is hoping to see him win, just so they can witness me make an idiot out of myself—or possibly so they can see my boobs.
I wave down a passing waitress and order another shot. My head is already woozy, but if I’m going to do this, then I’ll need to block everything out.
