Page 42 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

“We both know I would be the most crooked life coach in the history of life coaching.”

“You’ve helped me.” I grin.

“So, we continue the charade?”

I ignore his question and put myself in his shoes. My brain susses out the reason he might fib. An obvious answer presents itself.

“I get it. You’re a big deal in certain circles and you didn’t want me to go all woo-hoo, I’m in a room with someone famous on you.” I twinkle my fingers in the air. “So, you made up something. I’m not mad. I might have done it too.”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” He gives me a look like I’m overlooking the obvious answer.

“But what I don’t understand is why you’re being so blasé about your accomplishments now I know the truth, when you’re so smug about everything else? You’ve clearly done well for yourself. It’s impressive.”

“It’s complicated.” He turns away to dig out underwear and a pair of shorts from his bag.

“Do you think you suck at your job or something? Secretly, you have demons that make you dance for money. Your family will never accept your scalawag ways,” I tease.

“Definitely yes, to all of it. Especially my brother Dean. He’s a priest and doesn’t approve. But here’s the good news. I have a show downtown tonight. Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll show you how I dance with my demons.”

He drops his towel. A foot away, his bare cock sits at my eye level. I swallow, my mind blanking.

Nathan steps into a pair of boxer briefs. They’re a special pair for my enjoyment, or embarrassment, depending on how you look at it. His briefs are printed with a sparkly and frothy mango milkshake that covers his junk.

19/

jeanie

Savage Boyfriends

I glance through the back window of the taxi. There’s nothing but bumper-to-bumper headlights and taillights for blocks on the downtown Miami streets. Around us, horns honk like unanswered ringtones.

“Why’s there gridlock on a weeknight?” I ask.

“We’ll jump out here.” Nathan hands the driver cash.

We slide out of the back seat and join the stream of pedestrians making their way to an old theater. A huge vintage sign reads neon in hot-pink crawling lights. Beneath it, a massive crowd waits at an entrance guarded by bouncers. Several spotlights slice through the sky, beckoning everyone within a twenty-mile radius to join the party.

The marquee reads:

TONIGHT:

SPECIAL GUESTS

Wolf Savage and DJ 2-Nice

“You’re Wolf Savage!” I stop in my tracks.

Nathan grabs my hand and tugs me into an alley like he’s trying to hide. And maybe he is.

I’ve heard the name a thousand times on Mom’s trashy entertainment TV shows, but I never placed a face. Then I remember all the girls at Sophia’s bachelorette party howling and clawing the air like rabid animals.

My heart drops.

I’m so stupid. This entire time, everyone knew but me. At least, some of them did. That explains several confusing questions they asked, and why Nathan always wears hats and sunglasses in public. He really is hiding.

Behind the theater and under a zapping yellow light, Nathan knocks on a door. It eases open, and he mumbles something to a man the size of a tanker ship. The man allows us inside, where we’re shown to a cramped dressing room dripping in red velvet. Waiting for Nathan are flowers and gifts, all tagged with his stage name.

“Um, I think you underplayed your fame a bit.” I pick up a stuffed animal wolf and howl.