Page 128 of Blush

“Jack, buddy, the party’s just starting.”

I smile, pat him on the back. “Congratulations, man. I know you and Frankie will be really happy.”

He snorts. “Yeah, sure thing.”

Then another stripper straddles him.

I’m out of here.

This is his last hurrah. If this marriage even happens. I have no right to judge him. He’s far from the first guy who sowed wild oats with a stripper before the wedding. That’s kind of the idea behind a bachelor party.

Still, the whole thing rubs me the wrong way. This is Mandy’s sister.

What if it were Mandy? What if someone was going to marry Mandy and I saw him sucking a stripper’s tit?

I’d flatten him. I’d flatten him so badly, he’d never walk again.

And honestly?

It wouldn’t be because he was sucking some stripper’s nipple. It would be because he’s marrying Mandy.

Damn. I really am an idiot.

I head back into the bar.

“Hey, Penn,” I say.

He’s busy squeezing the globes of his lap dancer’s ass. “Yeah, man? You decide to stay awhile?”

“No, I have a question. Where’s Frankie tonight? Where’s her bachelorette party?”

“Some club over on Seventh. A male stripper show is playing there. The Long Island Playboys.”

Male strippers. Great. Not that I should be surprised. It’s a bachelorette party.

Easy enough to find. A quick search on my phone tells me exactly where the Long Island Playboys are performing.

I grab a cab.

And I hope to God I’m not too late.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Amanda

These Long Island Playboys are friendly. Too friendly. Three of them wanted to climb onto my lap so far. I desperately shoved dollar bills in their G-strings so they’d find someone else more enthusiastic.

Isabella and Gigi are being their normal flirtatious selves, making out with any of the dancers who will have them.

At least Frankie’s being good. She is engaged, after all, and her ring is on her finger.

I’m on my third drink. More than I normally imbibe, but I’m not driving. And after three sidecars, I’m not all that worried about paying for a cab to get home. So I use my credit card. So I don’t pay the balance in full next month. Who cares? I’ll get back on track soon enough.

Before I know it, though, one of the dancers grabs my hands and pulls me up to the stage.

Warmth and embarrassment surge through me, but after three sidecars… While I’m not exactly a willing participant, I don’t put up much of a fight. Amazing how alcohol can evaporate shyness in even the most timid. And me.

He touches my hips, shows me how to move them to the beat of the music. All the other dancers have pulled someone up as well, but I’m the only one from Frankie’s party.