He claps my back and pushes me forward into the line as it’s moving into the theater.
I’m thankful I get an aisle seat. Wyatt plops next to me, and the guys continue down the row. Disappointed when Jade sits in the front row, a few seats down.
Wouldn’t have put it past Jade to assign these seats with her fancy little clipboard if we were still fighting.
But we’re not.
We’re on—I don’t know what the hell we’re on.
It’s good. I think. I’m not sure. I haven’t felt this awkward since I told her I liked her in the events storage room inside the kissing booth—her favorite hideout.
“Good seats, right?” Dean would think the second row is perfect.
Doesn’t he realize how personal this show is about to get?
Wait, how far are they going to strip?
Lord, why the hell did I agree to this?
I rake my hands down my face and catch Jade’s ponytail. It does something to me. Tied neatly, soft strands moving slightly. There’s something about the way it hangs, so simple, so perfect—the way it’s always hung.
I need a distraction, so I look everywhere else until the theater lights dim.
Dean claps his hands loudly.
“Showtime.” His rumble of excitement ripples into the air, thickened with anticipation from the crowd.
I’ll never not think my brother has a weird, demented little sense of everything.
A hush falls. Then, the first beats of an upbeat country mix slam through the speakers.
The spotlight hits the center of the stage, set like an old saloon, with wooden barrels, ropes, and hay bales scattered around.
I take a sip of my beer.
Not my scene, not my scene, not my scene.
In a cloud of dust and flashing lights, a tall, broad-shouldered guy steps into the spotlight. He’s got a cowboy hat pulled low, throwing some mysterious vibe, and wearing chaps with only a fucking thong underneath.
Real cowboys don’t wear assless chaps.
My grip on the glass tightens.
He struts toward the edge of the stage, his boots thumping with each step.
“Hey there, darlin’s.” This guy’s voice comes through the microphone low, smooth, and dangerous.
And he’s lookin’ at every damn woman like he’s ready to make ‘em all fall in love.
“I hope y’all are ready for a little fun tonight, ‘cause I’m gonna show y’all just how wild a cowboy can get.”
This Boot-Scootin’ Faker ain’t got nothing on a real cowboy.
A pair of lace panties hit the stage, landing near his feet. Doesn’t seem he’s got a shortage of legs opening for him.
He paces over to the panties, a wicked grin creeping across his face. He takes a moment, letting the cheers build, before bending down and scooping them up.
The audience loves every second of it, including our gals. They lean into each other, whispering and laughing, but it’s evident that their attention is fixed on the man on stage. It’s not just the show, it’s the way he wraps them around his finger with each flex, each move.
