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In an instant, UV lighting floods the place, highlighting a wall of men standing all along the top of the bar, their white tops glowing a luminous lilac-blue color.
Heads bowed, baseball caps covering their faces, hands behind their backs, they stand like soldiers waiting to be given their command.
My heart pounds in my chest and I don’t know why, but the mood in the room changes when a gritty instrumental harpsichord booms through the speakers. The boys lined along the bar stomp their right foot in time to the music.
The intro of the song builds and when the beat kicks in, they all march in time, raise their heads, and salute.
Oh, dear Lord. Is Lincoln going to dance?
I search for him and find him three away from the end of the bar, right beside our table.
Holy shit, I think he is.
The bass booms making the club vibrate. “If” by Janet Jackson picks up pace, and it springs the guys into action. Half of them jump off the bar and run through the club as the heavy metal intro gets louder. They jump on to the tabletops in every alcove and pick up the routine.
“Why do we not have a dancer?” Ruby screams across the noise.
My eyes are glued to Lincoln, who’s still dancing on top of the bar.
Perfectly synchronized, the guys all move in time, hand on top of their head, chin to chest, while they have one hand over their crotch and hip thrust, then grip on to their belts and dip up and down. The crowd goes crazy.
Sexy feminine vocals breathlessly sing the illicit song as the guys all move in time to the fast-paced music. They move together in the perfectly practiced routine. Every new hip thrust makes the women scream louder. The guys all raise their heads together as the chorus reaches its peak, then fling their baseball caps into the crowd. Scantily clad women search the air, jump around, and dive to catch one. You would think they were trying to catch a bride’s bouquet, defining their future as if they were the next one in line to get married.
The crowd fades away and all I can see is Lincoln. Undulating his body in waves, he moves about the bar like a professional hip-hop dancer. Hip isolations and body pops, I can’t draw my eyes away from him.
Shit, can he dance or what? That is so sexy.
On fast and nimble feet, he spins around on his crisp white chunky sneakers and just as he comes to a stop, he rips the neckline of his shirt off, pulling it off his body like he’s the goddamn Hulk.
My mouth falls open.
Please tell me he’s taking all his clothes off.
I hope the universe answers my prayers.
A warm flush of heat starting at my toes rises through my body. I’ve licked those abs and sucked his nipple, and holy hell balls, I’ve sucked his divine dick.
I fan my face with my hand. “Hot as hell,” I mumble to myself.
Hannah and Ruby are too distracted watching the guys to notice how turned on I am.
He drops to his knees and, as if by magic, water pours from the ceiling. The ultraviolet lighting hits the water, making it look like falling streams of diamonds. He flings his head back, letting the water soak his skin, and runs his hands all over his upper body as he slides his knees back and forth, gyrating his hips and pelvis.
Holy shit, he looks like he’s fucking the air.
I pat the side of my mouth to check I’m not visibly salivating over his droolworthy body.
Shaking his head left and right, droplets of water spray through the air, making the people nearest the bar scream for more.
He looks up and his eyes catch mine. He looks solemn, as if he’s worried I will be mad at him for doing this. This is why he asked me to leave. He didn't want me to know.
I throw him my biggest megawatt smile, throw my hands in the air, and cheer as loud as I can. “More.”
Relief washes across his face. Showing his white teeth in a shit-eating smile, they glow under the ultraviolet lights.
He springs off the bar and sprints toward me.
Ruby and Hannah let out excitable yelps as Lincoln leaps onto our tabletop.
