Three male dancers emerge from the back, and the crowd erupts in cheers.
They’re dressed as construction workers, complete with plastic hard hats, reflective vests, and tool belts. The lead dancer takes center stage while the other two flank him from behind, holding fake stop signs.
I watch as they start moving to the music.
The lead guy is gyrating his hips, turning, flexing. His movements are fine. Serviceable. He’s hitting the beats, doing the basic moves you’d expect, but it’s not anything incredible.
Ruby sidles up next to me, and I’m grateful for the company.
She’s stunning as always, about my height at five four, but built curvier. Her reddish-blonde hair frames her face, and she’s wearing leather pants with a chunky cream sweater that hangs off one shoulder, and combat boots.
“They’re okay,” Ruby says, watching the dancers.
“Yeah,” I agree, but I’m studying them more critically now.
The lead dancer spins, and it’s a bit clumsy. Not terrible, but not smooth either. His movements are mechanical, like he’s going through motions he’s memorized rather than feeling the music.
“Actually,” Ruby leans closer, lowering her voice. “Is it me, or are they lacking something?”
I’ve been thinking the same thing. “It’s not just you. They’re fine, but they’re not great, you know? Like they know the moves but they’re not really selling it.”
“Right?” Ruby is fidgeting with her snowflake pendant. “And they’re not exactly hugely built either. I mean, they’re fit, but I’ve seen strippers before. These guys are just sort of average.”
She’s right. The dancers are in decent shape, but they’re not the chiseled specimens their website photos promised. More like guys who go to the gym occasionally rather than live there.
“Maybe I’m being too critical,” I whisper. “The crowd seems into it.”
We watch as the dancers strip off their reflective vests with no buildup or tease. Just pull them off and toss them aside.
“Eh, the women are drunk and happy,” Ruby says diplomatically. “But yeah, these guys aren’t exactly setting the stage on fire.”
“I’m paying them a lot,” I admit quietly. “Like, a lot. They came highly recommended. Their website had all these professional photos and glowing reviews.”
“Well, they might have oversold themselves a bit.” Ruby grimaces sympathetically. “But hey, the bride seems happy.”
I search the front row for Sarah, the bride-to-be. She’s wearing a white veil with pink netting and a sash that saysBridein rhinestones, and she’s laughing and clapping along with her friends.
Okay. Maybe it’s fine. Maybe I’m overthinking this because I want everything to be perfect.
The dancers finish their number to decent applause, and they exit backstage. The music keeps playing between sets, and women are chatting, getting refills at the bar.
“They’re fine,” I tell Ruby, trying to convince myself. “Not amazing, but fine.”
“Sure,” Ruby agrees, but she doesn’t sound convinced either.
The second song starts, and the dancers emerge in different costumes now. Old-school prisoner outfits with black-and-white horizontal stripes, fake ball-and-chain accessories.
This should be better, right? Fresh energy, new look.
They’re shuffling around the stage, doing the same basic moves as before. One of them is stripping off his striped shirt.
“Okay, these guys definitely oversold themselves,” Ruby mutters.
“Yeah.” My stomach is sinking slightly. Not a disaster, but definitely not the high-energy, professional show I was promised. “I’m definitely asking for some money back after this.”
Heavy boots thunder across the stage from the back entrance, and I stare at the side of the stage, wondering what’s going on.
Three massive figures burst onto the stage, dressed head to toe in black tactical gear. They move fast, coordinated, charging straight for the dancers with purpose.
