“Yes. Because that’s what I asked for. A bachelorette party with just you two at a Sip ’n Paint where I can create a bad landscape I’ll hang on the inside of my closet.”
“Yes, please tell me it will be that type of party.” Liam’s hazel eyes sparkle, and his grin is wry.
Kya shakes her head. “Have you met Blaire?” My shoulders fall, and I mentally resign myself to whatever night of reckless abandon Blaire will shove me into. Anything short of a strip club.
“I thought you’d be freaking out about the wedding more.” She changes topics and looks me over with narrowed eyes, presumably for signs of stress or an impending Bridezilla rampage.
I smile and radiate the peace I feel. “It’s all done. The venue, the decorations, the caterers. It’s all handled, and Mom’s on call for any last-minute emergencies, which she says I’ll never have to know about.”
Kya bobs her head knowingly. “Yeah. Your mom’s awesome.”
“She really is.”
“Tell her I want her to plan my wedding. In two years. After I find a fiancée.”
“Will do.”
“You ready?” Liam nods at Tarek in that bro’s way that can mean asking a question or answering it and anything in between.
“I guess, since I’m not getting any cookies.” Tarek lingers too long on the word and makes it sound suggestive.
“I always get cookies.” Liam smiles smugly, and I tilt my face up for a kiss, but he bypasses me and snags an actual cookie from the pan.
“Wow! That’s hot.”
“Told you,” I say without looking over.
“Hey, throw me one,” Tarek says over my head.
“No, don’t,” I tell them both.
Liam ignores me and flips one from the pan straight into Tarek’s waiting hand.
“Oh, yeah, that’s hot.” Tarek winks at me and then ducks as I brandish my oven mitt at him. “Don’t wait up for him, Duchess!” He drags Liam out the door so fast I don’t have a chance to kiss my fiancé goodbye.
Kya munches on a cookie beside me. “Yup. I give it another two weeks and Tarek will have Liam forgetting your birthday and ducking your calls.”
“Bite your tongue.” A deep rumble in my stomach that’s more than hunger disturbs my sense of well-being. I ignore it and transfer the rest of the cookies to a plate. The rising panic started three months ago when Tarek took a genuine interest in befriending Liam. Tarek is the textbook definition of a player. The last thing I want is for him to rub off on Liam in any way. But I’m stuck because my best friend will never ditch her hip-attached brother.
“Since Liam and I are getting married tomorrow,” I remind her, “Liam will be too busy on our honeymoon in the Bahamas to get further corrupted by Tarek.”
Kya laughs. “You’re right. Liam’s spared for those two weeks at least.”
By the time Blaire arrives—late by almost seventeen minutes—Kya and I have eaten most of the cookies and decided that Ryan Gosling should be single (me) and Jennifer Lawrence should be gay (Kya).
“What up, nerds?” Blaire greets us each with an insult and a hug but refuses to come inside, claiming we’ll make her late. She’s polished posh with an edge in her tight black skirt and revealing sequin-trimmed top while Kya is casual comfort in jeans and a T-shirt, and I’m what I’ve secretly dubbed romantic restraint in a knee-length straight skirt and cream-colored blouse with a bow.
I glance at Kya, still looking for a clue about tonight. She shrugs, and I give up because tonight, apparently, is now. “We’re ready,” I tell Blaire.
“You’d better be,” she says as she pulls me by my arm out the door and into the adventure of the night. Which had better not be a strip club.
Chapter Two
It’s a strip club.
The car rolls up to the line in the parking lot. Before us rises the giant illuminated boot and spur of the largest male strip club in Atlanta, Cowboy Corral.
“Wow.” I mentally sort through my emotional knots and wonder how I’m going to make it through tonight.
“Wait till you see the inside!” Blaire bounces in her seat and points out the valet stand to Kya, who’s driving.
“You’ve been here before?” I don’t know why I’m surprised.
“Of course.” Blaire swivels her head to stare down her nose at me. “We had to try it out, didn’t we? Make sure it was good enough for tonight.”
“We?” I cock my head at Kya. She shrugs.
“Of course it’s not my taste,” she says as she unhooks her seatbelt, “but, you know—quality control.”
I nod, but I don’t know. My gay best friend is frequenting a male strip club, and I’ve never been to one even once. I’m practically a nun.
I take a deep breath. I’m only going to have one wedding and therefore one bachelorette party in my life. I should let loose and enjoy it. “All right, ladies. I’m here. Let’s have some fun.”
“There she is!” Blaire throws her hands up in the air. “I knew we’d be seeing Fun Marissa eventually!”
“I just thought it would be three drinks in,” Kya adds.
“Ha ha,” I say. “I’m fun.” And now I’m feeling like I have to prove it.
I take three tentative steps past the velvet rope like Dorothy setting her feet on the yellow brick road and feel like I’m already getting an education.
Inside the club are men of various shapes and sizes, but they all seem to have one thing in common—very little body hair. That and a fondness for being shiny. I wonder about their waxing bills and if they buy their body oil in bulk at Costco.
“Isn’t this great?” Blaire gestures at the room like a game show model and then flags down a waiter to order our drinks.
“Yeah.” I bite my lip. I feel like I should cover my eyes and view the room through secretly separated fingers.
Kya digs her elbow into my side. “Plenty of eye candy for you, right?”
“Right.” I try to muster interest in the eye candy, which isn’t that hard since there are several attractive men here. I find myself ogling and feeling guilty for ogling by turns. I should ignore the spectacle going on around me and focus on Liam. My love. My soul mate. My asiago bagel. And not the rippling abs of the almost-naked man on the platform beside me.
“Show us your willies!” Blaire yells before anyone even takes the stage, and I wonder if we’re going to get thrown out.
Unfortunately, we don’t.
The lights go out and a single spotlight illuminates the stage. Loud, pulsing music blares with fresh enthusiasm and a handsome fireman carrying a gigantic hose steps into the spotlight.
To my left, three young women who look like they’re celebrating a twenty-first birthday shriek so loudly I have to hold my ears.
The fireman swivels his hips and rocks a counter-clockwise turn around the stage. A cacophony of sound erupts around me. He pulls the hose between his legs and the blonde next to me screams that he’s making all her dreams come true. A wave of pity washes over me, and I lean over. “You could do better,” I tell her, forcing my sincerity into my eyes since I’m not sure my voice carries over the music. She stares back at me with a horrified expression, and I realize I’ve slipped into my past self—the judgmental, straight-A student who only read about passion until she was made to feel guilty about it.