Page 27 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

Glancing up at her from under my lashes, I study Jeanie with sudden concern when she’s unable to look me in the eye. Did I take this too far? There’s only one way to find out.

“Will you let me see you tomorrow?” I ask.

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jeanie

A Re-Virginized State of Chaos

When Nathan asks me a question, I can’t hear it over the music but nod anyway. Which, in fairness works, because I’m still too stunned to speak.

I should be mad he fibbed about being a life coach, but instead, I’m reliving the ways he lap-danced for me. Or on me.

My sex still throbs at the attention. A little high-school rubbing over the clothing made it alert and hungry for more. I squeeze my thighs tight to suppress the long-forgotten need and pray to the stripper gods that I don’t come from reliving it all in my mind.

Did he touch me like that on purpose or by accident? Was it part of his routine? Is that how he dances with every woman?

I can’t be sure. I’ve never been to a bachelorette party with a stripper. Heck, I haven’t had a girlfriend to hang out with since high school.

I’ve always gotten along better with men. And by men, I mean one man. I’ve been busy catering to Roman for years by abandoning any real relationships outside my immediate family.

Everything about this night is new to me—from pretending to be Sophia’s friend, the instant comradery with the ladies, to the recently thawed waterfall between my legs. To say I’m in shock would be an understatement. So much so, I’m unable to move from my chair.

Nathan says something else, his lips curving, and dances away.

He performs for the other girls too, but not like he did with me. His next dance routine doesn’t have the same heat. All his moves are toned down. He maintains a wide buffer, never touching them in the same manner.

We are fake dating, so maybe the extra attention was part of his act to convince Sophia. When I reach this obvious conclusion, I adjust my askew dress and compose myself.

After tugging at my top to fan my chest, I blow out a breath as my body temperature finally regulates. But when I stand, my legs are still quaking. So much so, I’m unable to stop Sophia when she drags me to the bar.

She’s laughing at the video she filmed of the lap dance. When I watch over her shoulder, an entire story plays out on my face. In under a few moments, I swing from mortified to revved and turned on.

“Can you send me that?” I shake my phone but immediately realize my mistake. To do that, I’d have to share my phone number.

Sophia taps her screen. “You definitely need to post this on your social media.”

I’m relieved when my phone chirps with an airdrop. Crisis averted.

“Your boyfriend is smokin’,” she says and orders another bottle of champagne. “I can’t believe he surprised us. Thank you. I know you planned that for me. I didn’t even know he was a stripper!”

Neither did I.

“You’re welcome?”

My shock has been replaced by an unmovable smile. Not because Sophia mistakenly believes I set this up, or that I’m killing it in wedding-sabotage mode, but because I haven’t stopped thinking about the way Nathan rolled his hips near mine. I squirm in my seat as I replay the video on my phone.

My thoughts wander into dangerous territory when Nathan’s head dives between my thighs on my phone’s screen. His forehead nudged so close to my clit, I was two seconds from smashing his face into it like a cherry-pie-eating contest. A pop of a laugh escapes me at the image in my head.

I liked it . . . way too much.

Remorse creeps in like I’m deceiving Roman. I quickly toss the phone in my purse to try to forget. I blame Nathan’s unearthly hotness first, and second, because I have no other reason, the champagne. The bubbles clearly clouded my brain function, making it hard to remember why I’m here—kind of like Nathan.

At the thought, I sober up.

Focus. Must break up the wedding.

“That’s the thing about being a virgin. Everyone else has all the fun.”