Page 7 of Spiced!

I twirled her about.

She giggled again and nearly stumbled.

Her girls screeched in alarm, then “awed” when I caught her and pulled her close.

Dennis’s neighbor, who had done shots with the “Ride or Die” sash and was now operating at an elevated emotional register, shouted something from the edge of the circle. I didn’t quite catch his exact words, but the spirit of it was: Stop being polite and rock her world!

The crowd roared in agreement.

Madison’s wide eyes glittered in the bar light as she nodded eagerly.

“It’s my last night,” she said.

“You said that.”

“My fiancé knows I’m here.”

“Good for him.”

“He said to have fun.”

“Madison,” I said. “What exactly did he mean by fun?”

She grinned and winked.

Then the music shifted.

Jacks, who understood a room better than anyone I’d ever worked with, moved to something lower and slower and considerably more intentional, the kind of track that required the body to make decisions without the brain’s direction. What happened next will remain, in the canon of Barbacks Saturday nights, legendary.

I am a professional.

I want that noted.

What I did with Madison was tasteful in the way that things can be tasteful while also being completely unhinged. The distinction is real even if it is difficult to articulate.

The crowd had, collectively, been drinking for several hours and had opinions about what they wanted to see. They were not shy about expressing them.

Dennis cupped his hands around his mouth and said something that made Courtney spit her drink and knock her clipboard off the table.

The “Ride or Die” sash had resumed filming, which was probably fine—and possibly not fine, depending on how much the groom ended up seeing.

Benji was leaning on the bar with both elbows.

Rod’s head appeared at the pass-through. He watched for a full thirty seconds before going back into the kitchen. Then he came back and watched for another thirty seconds.

“You’re going to miss your kitchen,” I heard Jacks call over the music.

“I have a window,” Rod shouted back, pointing at the pass-through.

Madison and I dirty danced through one whole track and halfway through the next one.

The bridesmaids lost their shit.

Dennis screamed out like he’d seen Jesus—or Elvis.

When the music finally wound down, the circle erupted louder than when the Lightning scored on game nights. Madison hugged me with both arms and said something into my shoulder that I couldn’t hear over the noise. Before I could pull back, she planted a kiss on my cheek and giggled one last time. I patted her back and said her fiancé was a lucky man. This earned a duck of her head and a blush that flared all the way into her ears.

The bachelorette party never left Barbacks to pursue other venues.