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I shook my head but leaned forward and took her mouth with mine. I was just glad she had so many good qualities because holy hell, my wife was crazier than most.
“I better hear you cheering,” I told her before winking and jumping up on the stage. Pepper, just returning from the stereo, looked up at our positions in confusion.
I smiled at him and hooked a big, beefy thumb into my chest. “Oh, by the way. I’ll be the one competing. My wife prefers to watch.”
Pepper’s eyes widened and his cheeks reddened, and he took off for the back of the restaurant like he was going to lose more lunch than he’d made today. I laughed, and Cassie joined in immediately.
“He thoughtIwas gonna wet my shirt?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course he did.”
“Oh man,” she said. “That’s pretty good.”
I nodded. “Okay now, settle down and let me work. I’ve got the performance of my lifetime to give.”
“That’s right, Daddy,” Cassie agreed. “Show me how it’s done.”
Apparently, Pepper’s Britney selection pretty much equated to all of her greatest fluffing hits, and what I’d thought would be one,singulardance for my “wet T-shirt show” had turned into a goddamn Spears marathon.
And all of it occurred with Cassie sitting in the front row,the one and only spectator, cheering me on.
I’d thrust my hips to “I’m A Slave 4 U.”
I’d shook my pecs to “Womanizer” while I dumped an entire pitcher of water over my body.
And now, with “Toxic” providing the soundtrack to my current dance and my thighs starting to burn like I’d just finished up leg day at the gym, I knew this needed to be my big finale.
“Come on, T-bag,” Cass hollered between her cupped hands. “Shake those chesticles for me!”
I shimmied and shook and poured another pitcher of water over my head, and Cassie screamed and whooped like I was the second coming of Christ.
Thrusting my hips forward, I dropped my knees to the stage and pulled the carnation I’d tossed aside earlier through my mouth and presented my claws like a cat.
This was the sort of thing my buddies Kline Brooks and Wes Lancaster would come in their panties over, if they had the chance to make a recording for posterity. And trust me, I knew Cassie wasn’t above making a recording of her own to send to them. It was a large part of the reason I made sure to confiscate her phone before agreeing to get down and dirty for her.
“All the other girls in this contest wish they were you, Thatcher!” Cassie screamed.
“You’re damn right!” I shouted back.
I shook my head back and forth like I was letting down a long mane of hair and set my face’s attitude level toIt’s Britney, bitch.
After all, any performance quality I had, I could attribute to Brit. She knew how to command an audience, and thinking of her made it easier for me to let go and have the kind of fun my wife was obviously needing.
I knew there had to be something at the root of her desperation for a wild time—I mean, I was shaking my tits in a wet white T-shirt right now, for fuck’s sake. But when I took the oath to make her my wife, I knew I was promising to do absolutely anything she needed—tobeanything she needed.
Plus, she had a really strong backhand smack-move she liked to show to the Supercock on occasion, and with pregnancy hormones running amok, I felt like it’d be even more powerful. Kind of like being bitten by a radioactive spider and turning into a villain or some shit.
I didn’t know the exact science, but since I was still undecided about having more kids, I didn’t want to test it.
“Come on, Thatcher! Show me the action! I wanna see skin!” my wife shouted like a lunatic. “Take it off, take it off, take it off!”
For the first time since we arrived, I was feeling extra thankful that Panama City Beach was a ghost town. Things would be a little more awkward if there were other patrons in the bar, but being that my cute little wife was the only one, I obliged, reaching back with a hand between my shoulder blades and ripping my soaked T-shirt over my head.
“Woo-hoo! Oh yeah!” she hollered. “Mama like!”
I smirked. I was pretty dang confident in my own skin—a little too confident for the taste of some—but the value of a good hype-woman should never be underestimated.
“I’ve been working out,” I told her, leaning off the stage and holding out the flower for her to take.
