Page 97 of Make Me Laugh

And I have one mystery number in a box hiding under my bed, just in case someone comes along who wants one.

I did a giveaway for the other forty-four shirts and had Frankie pack them so I didn’t know what number was missing.

There were dupes floating around for a little while, but they were obvious. I spent a lot of money on my fifty, going as far as shopping for an ethical shirt company.

West isn’t wearing a dupe.

How the fuck had he gotten his hands on one of them?

Cutting the shirt into a crop wasn’t enough. West had to remove the sleeves too, making one of my rare Hex shirts the perfect boxy crop top for his body.

I can’t decide whether to stare at his biceps, the deep V between his hips, or the hands decorated with corded veins and an assortment of rings.

It’s giving 1992 Calvin Klein Ad… but better!

“Guten tag, Philadelphia,” West annunciates every syllable of the city, finally addressing the crowd once they’ve quieted enough for him to speak.

Laughter ripples through the crowd.

“I’m so glad you all got the memo that I like it loud.” West crosses his arms across his chest, resting the microphone against his bicep.

“I gotta get you somewhere you can scream for me.” West’s words from the night we hooked up in NYC replay in my head, making it hard to stay calm.

“We’ve gotten a few memos about you,” Olive says, reminding everyone she’s there.

He raises a brow. “Oh?”

They play off a couple things people towards the front shout.

Playboy. “They’ve approached me, but I’d never be able to sit through another family dinner again, so I keep politely declining.”

Big. West says nothing at this, only winks.

I cross my legs and swallow hard. I’m not going to make it through this entire show without spontaneously combusting.

“You love MILFs.” It’s Olive who speaks this time. She sizes West up, publicly checking him out from the floor up.

I’ve been on tour with West long enough. I’m used to women throwing themselves at him, but there’s something about the way Olive’s looking at him that makes me uneasy.

And by uneasy, I mean jealous…

West doesn’t miss a beat. “Hex does have a pet snake.” Any bit of jealousy I felt seconds ago dissipates, and I’m suddenly reminded how I’m almost always the center of West’s attention.

He’s had four weeks to bring another girl home… and he hasn’t.

He won’t.

The crowd gets louder at the mention of Hex.

West hands Olive the cordless mic when she exits the stage, settling in by himself as he grabs the wired mic from the stand and wraps the cord around his arm.

With a show this big, West has to adjust his delivery, relying more on his natural ability to tell a joke than the improv of crowd work.

It works, because he continuously keeps everyone laughing, and there’s never a lull in his flow.

He’s able to sprinkle in some of his famous crowd work with the front few rows, saving enough time at the end of the show to do what I’ve been expecting him to do since the moment he stepped on stage.

My heart’s been racing with anticipation for an entire hour.