Page 37
Bland, was my first thought. Or just unmemorable, maybe. Nebulously middle-aged; casually dressed; neither handsome nor ugly. The sort of guys you saw in the street, growing up in the suburbs: so-and-so’s dad, inoffensive and unremarkable, who you’d nod to as he mowed the lawn or washed his car on the driveway.
And now these bland, unremarkable men were going to watch me strip for them. Sip overpriced drinks as a college freshman who could be the same age as one of their own kids slowly peeled off his clothes. Beyond that, I couldn’t believe their expectations would be for anything less than what I’d done on-stage.
I felt a churn of something nameless in my stomach at the thought of it.
It should be easier, knowing fewer people were watching, and yet it felt so much more intimate. The lights - even dim as they were - conspiring against any attempt to ignore the attention facing you. On the stage, I’d barely been able to see the audience. Here, short of closing my eyes, there was no way to forget the other people in the room with me.
One of the men, standing closest to the door, smiled. “You made it, then.” Said like I was a few minutes late to the neighborhood cookout, leaning in close to my ear in deference to the thumping music. The scent of liquor already heavy on his breath.“What’s your name?”
I swallowed, my throat feeling like it might close up and choke me. “Eoin,” I managed to get out, then winced at the realization that I probably should’ve made up a name, a fake one. Brayden hadn’t said whether he used his real name or not, but then again my teammate hadn’t said if he did private shows at all. Nobody cared what you were called when you were in front of the big crowd.
“Eoin, neat.” The grin didn’t waver as he slung his arm around my shoulder. Pulling me in tighter to the heat of his side. “We’ve heard great things about you, I guess you’re the rising star?”
Funny, how it could be that - an unexpected compliment - which made your cheeks flush.
“I... I don’t know about that.”
His chuckle was generous. “Oh, quite the show, that’s what I was told.” He shared a glance with his friends before looking back to me. “But I think we’re your first private performance?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Hey guys, this is Eoin,” he announced. “He’s here to party.”
Loud cheers to that, enthusiastic enough to compete with the speakers. Glasses raised in my direction.
“You want a drink?”
Frowning, I looked at the bottles on the table.
“Uh, I don’t...”
“We have club soda,” he interrupted, smoothly. If he felt my flinch as he patted my stomach, he didn’t show it. “I’m sure you have to be careful what you eat and drink, being in such good shape and all.”
You did, only my mom also loved to remind me that my metabolism was voracious and usually indifferent to what fed it, and the memory of that - of my mother’s gentle teasing - felt so at odds with where I was, what I was planning to do, I had to derail my brain somehow.
“Sure, uh, club soda. Please.”
The guy next to us bent to grab a glass from the table. Held it out to me, bubbles sparkling.
“Sure thing, Eoin. We want you to feel real comfortable.”
My mouth really was dry; I reached for the drink. Aware of their eyes on me - on the flex of my throat - as I gulped at it, greedily.
“That’s a good boy.”
I felt a flicker of annoyance; chewed down on it.
“Should I dance?”
The guy laughed. “Right now I think we’re all dancing, aren’t we?”
They weren’t, not really. Swaying at most, stood around the table in what little floor space there was left. Like the too-loud music was an afterthought, just another thing adding to the claustrophobia of the tiny room.
I tried to smile back, to look as friendly as I knew Harvey would expect me to be. To hold that grin, even as I was jostled from the other side.
“You look like you’re an athlete, yeah?”
The question shouted into my other ear, a stranger’s breath hot on my cheek. I grit my teeth; pulling away would’ve meant pressing myself further into the first guy.
