Page 5 of Make Me Laugh

But I’m twenty-fucking-five. I have time for that later.

I wonder if Tattoos over there dreams of chickens and kids running around in rain boots too… My eyes scan back to her. Goddamn it, she’s hotter than I remember!

I need to find a way to talk to her, but I can’t come up with a single idea on how to start. This has never happened before. Never. I flirt with women every night… and they pay to come see me do it.

The only logical explanation is that this woman is a witch, and she’s put me under her spell.

“West, give me your hat!” someone in the front row calls out.

I know where this is going, but I egg it on anyway.

I pause my movements, spinning slowly on my heels. “My hat?” I ask, eyes immediately falling on the girl leaning against the stage with her hand outstretched, fingers wiggling in anticipation.

“What is it with everyone and my hats?” I saunter to the edge of the stage, popping down on one knee to lean closer. “I can’t keep losing them to become trophies.”

She’s batting her eyes at me, twirling her hair, and resting her tits on the stage floor to give them a lift.

I should love the view. I would usually love this view… And yet, my stupid fucking brain starts to wonder if Tattoos is here with someone. I chance another glance her way, searching the table for someone who looks hot enough to be with her.

I have to multitask here, returning my attention to the girl in front of me with tight curls and bronze skin glowing under the stage lights. She’s beautiful and would have been someone I invited to some after-show fun…

“I just wanna see it,” she says, reminding me I have a job to do.

Be funny.

I lean even closer, giving her ample time to steal the hat from my head. She stands on her tiptoes and plucks it off. My hair is somewhere between dark blond and light brown, and I always keep it cut with a little extra length on top.

I’ve been told it’s nice to hold onto.

The girl pulls away with the hat, moving to sit down, but I don’t let her get that far before snagging it out of her hand. It earns me a proper pout. Hip popped, arms crossed—she covers all the bases.

I give her my best West Parker smile—dimples included—run my free hand through my hair and put the hat on backwards. “You said you wanted to see it, and that’s fine. I’ll let you, but I’ve gotta finish the show first, ya know?” I nod to the audience. “I’m not really into the whole voyeurism thing, unfortunately.”

No kink shaming here! I’ve got a laundry list of them myself, but being watched by anyone not involved isn’t one of them.

I’m rewarded with more laughs as I send the girl a wink and stand up. The stage lights are somewhat brighter now that my hat is facing the other way, but I can still see Tattoos.

The redhead beside her throws her head back laughing, smacking a straight-faced Tattoos on the arm. It’s almost like she’s inviting her to laugh along with her.

And that’s when it hits me… I don’t think I’ve seen her laugh yet.

Unacceptable.

Without my approval, my brain has already made up its mind.

It’s now my personal mission to make her laugh.

My eyes lock on her, and this time I know for sure she feels them there because she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair—her body language tells me to fuck right off, but her eyes… her eyes beg me to throw the line.

I walk to the edge of the stage, setting her in my sights.

I know she bites.

And I toss the line anyway.

CHAPTER THREE

THE ONE WITH WEST FUCKING PARKER