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“Yes. That’s the end goal. I’m . . . working on it,” I tell him.
Okay, so letting Eric distract me lately isn’t exactly working on it, but I think I might be ready to finally bite the bullet. Maybe if I just have PJ put me on the schedule, it will be a done deal and I won’t be able to back out of it.
“Perfect. Then you can teach me how to strip, so I can see if I’ve got what it takes to shake my ass for this all-male revue,” he says with a smile.
“The fuck you say?!”
* * *
“Okay, let’s assume for a minute you’re serious about this.”
“I am serious about this. I am soooooooo serious,” Eric informs me, placing his hands on his hips, the motion causing his dress shirt, which he unbuttoned a few minutes ago, to gape wide open, so I can see every glorious inch of his muscled chest.
As soon as he announced this ridiculous plan, I turned and walked away and disappeared into the bathroom without saying another word. I took a long hot shower to kill some time, hoping that when I came back out, he’d be lounging on the couch petting Derrick Alfredo, telling me he was just kidding. And, you know, to remove the Pringles cheese and powdered sugar from my body. When I come out of the bathroom twenty minutes later in a pair of fitted black cotton shorts, a T-shirt that says Life is not a fairytale. If you lose a shoe at midnight, you’re probably drunk, and my thick, wet hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun, Eric is standing in the middle of the living room, waiting for me. He hits a button on the remote for the boat sound system as soon as I enter the room, tosses the remote onto the couch next to Derrick, and slowly starts gyrating his hips.
Derrick and I both look at him like he was insane.
“Fine. You cannot possibly think it’s a good idea to strip to this song,” I mutter with a shake of my head as D4L fill the room.
“What’s wrong with stripping to ‘Laffy Taffy’?” he complains, throwing his hands up in the air as that damn song blasts through the speakers he connected to his Bluetooth while I was in the shower. “Listen to that catchy beat. It’s hot.”
He jerks his hips erratically to the music and it is anything but hot, regardless of his gorgeous chest on full display. Probably because of the duck face he’s currently making as his hips do some sort of weird spasm from side to side.
“You don’t look like you’re enjoying this,” he shouts over the music as he runs his hands up his chest.
I immediately stalk over to his phone, which is resting on one of the side tables, and cut off the song that’s probably going to haunt me in my dreams forever.
“I’ve been to an all-male revue before. Once, years ago, for a bachelorette party. There is nothing enjoyable about that shit,” I complain. “The men are strangely oily. They thrust their pelvises in your face while they put their foot up on your chair. Things are flopping around right in front of your eyes that you can never unsee. It’s not hot. It’s horrifying.”
Eric lets out a huff and crosses his arms over his chest.
“That’s where you come in. Teach me how to make it less horrifying.”
“Unless you want to become a eunuch so your bits aren’t flopping around like a helicopter, it will never be less horrifying,” I inform him.
“I don’t have bits. That’s just insulting. I have a huge cock, thank you very much. And there is certainly nothing floppy about it.”
He stresses that point by reaching down and cupping himself. And let’s just say his hand is open pretty wide to hold on to whatever he’s packing inside those pants. I stand stupidly staring right at that hand.
“Eyes up here, princess,” he laughs. “Wait, never mind. The whole point of this is for your eyes to be down there, so keep right on staring.”
I let out a groan and force my eyes back up to his face.
It’s pretty clear that he’s serious about this, and I know he won’t shut up about it until I do something.
“The first thing you need to do is pick a better fucking song. Haven’t you ever seen Magic Mike?” I ask, turning around and grabbing his phone from the table, clicking on his Spotify app and doing a quick search.
“Do I look like I sit around on a Saturday night watching movies with naked dudes in them?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” I laugh, finding the song I’m looking for and hitting play.
Setting the phone back down, I walk over to the dining room table, grab the back of a chair, and drag it over to the middle of the room. Sitting down on it, I cross my arms in front of me as “Pony” by Ginuwine starts playing.
