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Chapter Twenty-One
Lexi
“We need more penises!” Grandma bellows, clapping her hands victoriously.
“Seriously? There’s more cock in this place than a Chippendales Show,” Levi says, shoving another blow-up penis onto the end of the bar.
“Actually, back in the day, the first male dancers weren’t Chippendales. There was a group known as the Petal Teasers who had the ladies lined up with their quarters.”
“Petal Teasers?” Payton asks, moving the penis streamers hanging in front of her face.
“Lesser known, obviously. And their name could have used a little work. I tried to tell Ross that when he started the club, but you know men. They never listen to a woman.”
“Club?” I ask at the same time Jaime asks, “Ross?”
“Anyway,” Grandma says, waving her hand. “The boys couldn’t get along, each one wanting the spotlighted feature, which resulted in one of them leaving. Hence, the Chippendales.”
“Are you saying you know the people who started the Chippendales?” Dean asks, removing the blow-up cock from his mouth. Wait. That didn’t come out right. He was blowing it up, not blowing-
Nevermind.
“Knew them? Honey, who do you think taught them their trademarked hip thrusts?”
I swear you could hear a pin drop in Lucky’s. Everyone setting up for the joint bachelor and bachelorette party this evening is silent as we wait for her to elaborate. Or not. Maybe it’s best we don’t know the rest of this story.
“Anyway, what I learned a long time ago, kids, is that there can never be enough penises, especially when celebrating the pending nuptials of two crazy kids who enjoy getting their freak on.”
“Please don’t say getting their freak on,” I beg.
“At least she didn’t call it the sex,” Abby chimes in beside me.
“Oh, there will definitely be the sex going on,” Grandma adds. “We were right beside them at that bed and breakfast two summers ago. I think that stallion was capable of breaking the bed, if given enough time.”
“My ears are starting to bleed,” Meghan whimpers, shoving little rubber dicks into her ears like earbuds.
“That’s why they’re so perfect for each other. Two sexual creatures, destined to spend the rest of their lives together, procreating and lusting after one another,” she says, looking out into the room with some weird far-off dream look on her face.
“Gross,” AJ groans. “Stop referring to our sister – your granddaughter – as a sexual creature. It’s not normal.”
“Sex is normal, AJ. It’s healthy, and if you have the right dancing partner, the horizontal tango is a serious health benefit! I mean, how do you think your grandpa and I have lived such a long, healthy life? Regular sex is a big part of life longevity,” Grandma says, causing several faces to turn a weird shade of green.
“What time is the happy couple arriving?” Dad asks, breaking up the nightmare-inducing conversation from only moments ago.
“Seven. They’re having dinner uptown and coming by for drinks,” Meghan adds, helping Linkin hang a few more streamers (these sans penises) from the ceiling. “We have thirty minutes.”
“She thinks it’s for our monthly sisters’ night that we delayed two weeks and Ryan is just going to drop her off,” I say. No one brings up the reason for the delay, but I was told it was because of Meghan’s fiancé who passed away a year before, earlier in the month.
Grandma sticks her head beside mine, making me jump. “I still think we could have benefited from a couples dress-up theme.”
“Not everyone is a couple, Grandma,” I reply quietly, concerned about Meghan overhearing.
“Yeah,” AJ chimes in, a look of annoyance on her face.
“But I had my Christian and Ana costumes ready to go, Alison Jane. I suppose there’s still time to change. I could go put it on.”
“For the love of all things holy, don’t you dare dress up as Anastasia Steele tonight,” I beg her. As I turn, I’m hypnotized by the way Linkin moves on the bar as he’s hanging the rest of the blue streamers. His customary black t-shirt rides up, exposing a few inches of toned, sexy happy trail, which causes my overactive hormones to spark to life.
In fact, these pesky hormones have been so over-the-top lately. It all started earlier in the week with my boobs hurting and my sex drive revving up to a gazillion RPMs. In the last few years, I’ve been obsessed with conceiving enough to know what these symptoms point to. But I held strong, trying not to give in to my feverish desire to run to the drug store and purchase fifteen different pregnancy tests. Not until I was late.
