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The theater lights dim and a loud techno beat starts, drawing our attention to the stage in front of us.
“No, but I met a guy.”
“What? Where?” She glances around the theater, but it’s pointless because the audience is dark now. The only light is the spotlight pointing down on the center of the stage. “This place is filled with estrogen.”
“Welcome to Rainin’ Men. We hope you enjoy tonight’s performance,” the speaker announces overhead.
I feel antsy. I take a sip of champagne and try to muster up the enthusiasm I once had for this show.
The curtain lifts to reveal five men onstage, fog billowing around them, their bodies shadowed by the lighting backstage. Their heads are bowed. The music stops for a beat. The audience is quiet, with the exception of a few catcalls in the back, everyone is poised on the edge of their seat, waiting for the action they know is coming.
A second later the music drops back in, the spotlight pops and the men’s heads lift. It only takes me a second to recognize him. There in the middle of the pack, rolling his hips to the music, is Griffin.
CHAPTER4
Griffin
“Did you see that pretty little thing in the front row?” Dallas crows as soon as we hit backstage. “She thinks she wants to get married, but one night with me and she’s going to change her mind.”
There’s no need to ask who he is talking about. I already know. It’s Emma. The crazy thing is before the lights hit and I looked up, it was as if I could feel her presence. There was an awareness that pricked at my skin the moment I stepped out onstage. The same buzz of electricity I felt when she put her hand on my arm. The second I looked up, our gazes locked. I saw the way her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. I figured she was here for the show, but I didn’t expect her to be sitting up front, her eyes following my every move, her tongue darting out to wet her lips when I ripped my shirt off.
I don’t get involved with Dallas’s conquests. I come to work, perform, then go home. All of the women I’ve seen him take home after a show, ring or no ring, are more than willing, but having him talk about Emma makes my blood boil.She’s single, I remind myself.Maybe she would have a good time with Dallas. My jaw clenches at the thought. Playing devil’s advocate is only making me hate the situation even more.
“You need to stop trying to sleep with married women,” I grit out through clenched teeth. I’m facing my locker, getting changed for my solo routine. Dallas must not see how much I dislike the thought of him pursuing Emma.
“They’re not married yet. And ‘trying’ would indicate I wasn’t successful.” Dallas smirks. “You’ve got to give me more credit than that.”
“Lay off the bachelorettes,” Ken tosses out. “There are a hundred women out there with no ring or white dress.”
“You know I like a challenge.” Dallas smirks again.
“Here’s a challenge,” I say, “don’t sleep with a woman from the show tonight.”
Dallas turns his attention to me. “Why do you care, G? You’re never at the after parties anyways.”
“I don’t,” I lie, because if there’s anything that I know about Dallas, it is he’s competitive as fuck. He’ll pursue a woman another guy’s into just for kicks. He’s an immature prick that I try not to associate myself with other than our work on the show. “It makes the revue look bad.”
“That’s not what all the satisfied customers tell me,” Dallas gloats.
Rita pops her head around the corner. “Griffin, you’re on in five.”
“Thanks, Rita.” I tilt my head side to side, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders that arguing with Dallas has put there.
I slide on my blazer and button it, then grab the wire-framed glasses from the top shelf. I exit the locker room without saying another word to Dallas. There’s no point in trying to reason with him. I know how he operates. Further discussion will only pique his interest more.
Backstage, Reggie greets me with a nod and a fist bump as he exits after his fireman routine. The crew resets the stage for my performance, wrapping up the firehose Reggie used to tease his ‘hot seat’—the audience member who is singled out by the performer to get a personal dance onstage—with and sliding my desk into place. Chad’s voice booms onstage, the audience’s laughter, and whistles, indications that he’s doing his job as MC.
While Rita likes to freshen up routines from time to time, she hasn’t changed mine. She knows I like the habit of it. And she knows how to play on our strengths when choreographing the routines. Giving a playful guy like Reggie props like the hose to bring his performance to life, having a shy guy like Ken do a slow strip tease that drives women wild, and having Dallas’s routine move through the crowd to appease his overinflated ego. As for me, I’ve channeled Grouchy Griffin into a stern teacher, here to take disciplinary action.
Seconds later, I’m seated with my feet propped on the desk and a book in my hands, and the curtain goes up.
On most nights, I have the ushers pre-select the woman that I will put in the ‘hot seat.’ It makes it less personal. There’s no connection, just a random woman that appears onstage.
Tonight, it’s going to be different. I made the decision on the walk from the locker room to the stage.
I can see Chad now, moving through the audience to make his selection. With two fingers in my mouth, I whistle to get his attention. He turns around in time to see me stop in front of Emma. I’ve never done this before, but somehow Chad understands my intentions. I know this because he starts to move back toward the stage where he announces that I’ve made my selection.
