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Or what if they fucking tried to kiss her? And they could taste her?
“Excuse me, boys,” I murmured, trying to sound cool instead of like I was freaking the fuck out. I kept my walk even as I strodeout to the hallway…immediately greeted by the sight of two oiled down guys lugging an old-fashioned boombox. One was dressed as a cowboy, the other as a police officer, looking a bit snug in his uniform.
Not fucking happening.
"Oh fuck, no one told you," I exclaimed, acting chagrined. “The groom canceled your gig—he got cold feet about another guy’s balls all over his bride-to-be.” I shook my head. “We called your company…”
The cowboy and the cop sighed. “Fucking hell. That’s twice in the past week,” the cop grumbled, setting the boombox on the ground.
I eyed it, where had they even gotten something like that? It was basically a collector’s edition at this point.
“Yeah, I feel awful about you guys coming out here. Let me pay your fee. There was probably some late cancellation bullshit anyway. How much do I owe you?”
The guys glanced at each other, still looking unsure about the late cancellation. I made a big show of getting money out of my wallet and handing it to them. “How about this, here’s $300 for each of you, because I’m assuming you would have gotten tips tonight.” I pressed a wad of bills into their hands.
Both of their eyes lit up and they took the money without question, so evidently I’d overpaid. I wasn’t exactly up on what male strippers were making nowadays.
I eyed the cowboy hat, wishing I had my own. My new Dallas Knights ball cap was going to have to do though, there was no way I was going to ask that guy for his hat. I could only imagine where it had been.
This might have been the most ridiculous thing I’d ever done in my life. Thank fuck the guys were not here, because I would never live it down.
Although knowing how possessive Lincoln was over Monroe, he probably would have just burned down the bar so that the bachelorette party had never happened in the first place.
Food for thought if I was ever in this situation again.
Not that Olivia would be having a bachelorette party where I wasn’t there.
Taking a deep breath, I turned on some random song from a “stripper playlist” I’d found on Spotify—that was literally what it was called. And then I sauntered into the room, ignoring all of the girls but Olivia, who was whispering with Maddie at one of the tables, a tray of shot glasses in front of them. I grinned as I stared at her, because how could you not in the face of all that perfection.
She’d changed into some kind of black halter top and tight jeans get-up and it was doing something to me…and my balls.
"I heard you all are causing trouble, and someone called for backup," I announced, my voice laced with playful authority.
The room erupted into cheers and catcalls, no one seeming to recognize that I was actually a guest at this wedding. I’d been very incognito at the engagement party though, basically lurking in the shadows like a creeper while I waited to make a move on my girl—so that was understandable. I locked eyes with Olivia now, her cheeks flushed with surprise, confusion…and wariness as she stared at me.
“Let’s get this party going, y’all,” I yelled, turning my hat backwards, a move that for some reason made all the girls go crazy. Women were weird.
I turned on "Don't Blame Me"…which was not on the “stripper playlist,” but was definitely fitting for my current life situation, and I began to move my hips.
What I’d forgotten with this master plan of mine…was that I was actually an awful dancer.
So this was going to be fun.
Tay-Tay, please don’t fail me now.
Olivia
It felt like I had stepped into an alternate universe—one I didn’t want to leave. As "Don't Blame Me" blared from Walker's phone, he did some weird shaking move that reminded me of jello bouncing in a bowl.
A giggle slipped out of my mouth because he wasterrible, and he grinned at me, like he’d been waiting for that.
And then things fucking changed.
His movements suddenly became hypnotic, each sway of his hips and twist of his body sending a surge of heat coursing straight to my core. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. The smirk on his lips was driving me crazy—he knew he was the hottest thing on this fucking planet.
Even that was hot.
I was jealous for a second-wondering how he’d gotten so good at this kind of thing. I didn’t know him very well obviously, but it seemed doubtful that he moonlighted as a stripper after hockey practice.
