Jonah raises his eyes from the bride, and our gazes collide. A smirk takes over his face, and I roll my eyes. Male strippers have never been my thing. Well, no male stripper before Lucas.
Leaving the guests to their own devices, I retreat to the kitchen and help the other staff members with dishes and clean-up. I don’t need to know what’s happening in the other room. In fact, I’d prefer not to know anything. Makes it easier if I’m ever asked about what happened here tonight.
I’m bent over, pulling cleaner from under the sink, when a throat clears behind me.
“Now it all makes sense. I’d be wallowing, if I didn’t have that in my life.”
Jumping to attention, I turn toward Jonah with a towel in one hand and my other armed with a squirt bottle of bleach-based cleanser. Eyes wide, I stand still as a mannequin, waiting for him to say something else.
When seconds tick by and he hasn’t said anything, I ask, “Excuse me?”
“I said, I get it now. Why he’s been acting like such a little bitch the last few months. If I had that ass in my hands and it walked away, I’d be bummed too.”
“I. What? Whose ass?” I stammer. Words and not sentences because really, how do you respond to that statement? Lucas has been wallowing? I like that a little too much as hope rises within me.
“Girl, relax. The maid of honor said I could get a beer. That cool?” he asks, motioning toward the refrigerator. Nodding, I set down the towel and cleaner before quickly washing my hands. Watching Jonah, I take a moment to appreciate how he moves around the kitchen. He’s larger than Lucas, probably about four inches taller, and it’s obvious he spends a lot of time in the weight room. If I was guessing, I’d say he’s probably about five or six years older than I am, putting him around thirty. His blond hair is cut short on the sides, with the top a little longer. I imagine the ladies love to tug on it when he’s in front of them. The way his crystal blue eyes sparkle when he smiles, I’m sure the offers he gets are endless. There’s no doubt about it, he’s hot. But not my type.
“That hits the spot. I worked up quite a thirst out there.”
“I can imagine,” I murmur, unsure of how to respond to that. What do you say to someone who takes his clothes off for strangers? Is there some sort of handbook for a conversation like this? If so, I’m going to need to one-click that bitch.
“I have to say, seeing you here is a bit of a surprise.”
“Yeah? Well, I could say the same about you.” Needing something to do, I take a towel and wipe down the counter. It doesn’t need it, but I need something to do. When my co-workers return from taking our supplies out to their cars, the look they give me instantly sends a chill up my spine. I offer a quick explanation of the “entertainment” needing a beverage and send them home early, promising I can handle the rest of the evening alone.
“So you’re in charge? That’s cool. Jessi said you’ve been hoping to get more responsibility.”
Wait, what? He talks to Jessi?
“You talk to Jessi?”
“Yeah,” he says while tossing his empty bottle in the recycling before grabbing another. I’m surprised he’s making himself at home here, but whatever, it’s not my house to care. “After we met that weekend, we ran in to each other at school. We’ve hung out a few times. She’s a cool chick. It’s nice to have someone to bitch about school with, and she’s not trying to get in my pants.”
I’m not sure why, but that comment has me laughing. Usually, it’s women complaining about men wanting in their pants, but I suppose that’s his reality. Each of their realities. These women throw themselves at them constantly, and while I assume they take most offers, I don’t know that for certain.
“Huh, she never said anything.” My bestie and I are going to have a long talk about her secret friendships. I can’t believe she wouldn’t tell me. Then again, I’ve been pretty self-absorbed these last few months. God, I’m a horrible friend.
“So are you guys . . .”
“Just friends. I have a girlfriend.”
“You do?” I shout.
Laughing, he takes a drink before answering. “Why is that so crazy? Yeah, we’ve been together about four years. Just waiting to pass the bar before we get married. I’ve tried putting a ring on it for a year, but she’s stubborn as fuck. You’d probably love her.”
“You think I’m stubborn or something?” I tease.
“I have a feeling. Anyway, Jessi has been great and Carmen, that’s my girlfriend, she thinks she’s slightly nuts but adores her and her ability to get me to lighten up when I’m studying. She says she’s the law school ying to my yang.”
Baffled. I’m baffled.
“You look confused. Ya okay, Whitney?”
“Fine. Sorry. Your girlfriend doesn’t have a problem with your job?”
“She hated it at first. Boy, did she,” he says, exasperated. “But, it was my job before I met her, and she knows I’m only dancing because the money is too good. You’d be surprised to find out how many of the guys are students. The money is good, the hours are decent with my school schedule, and Carmen’s been to the bar. She knows what it’s really like.”
“Wow. She’s a better person than I am. I don’t think I could handle it.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. It’s a job. It doesn’t define me, and she knows that. She knows the man I am and how much I value our relationship. I’d never do anything to hurt her, and that’s why she tolerates it. Plus, there’s an end date for me.”
I take what he says to heart. I still don’t know if I could handle it. Finding out Trenton was cheating was hard, and I will admit the idea of trusting another man with my heart is scary. To trust someone who literally gets naked for other women? Women who are fantasizing about taking him home and having their wicked way with him. That’s a line I’m not sure I could cross.
Jonah and I talk a little more while I put away the cleaning supplies I had out and he finishes his beer. Looking at the clock, I realize it’s been quite a while since I’ve checked on the party.
“Yeah, I’ve given Tom enough time to flirt and get a few numbers. I swear that guy is a walking cliché.”
Jonah and I return to the den where the party is in full swing. Tom is front and center with a few of the ladies dancing. Another is lying on the couch, her feet crossed, and her phone focused on the group dancing while the bride is standing to the side with a plate of dessert and a huge smile on her face. I know that look, she’s getting ammunition for future necessity, in the form of a video.
Once he’s able to give Tom a two-minute warning they’re leaving, Jonah returns to my side where I’m gathering garbage. “Luke has been pretty bummed since you guys got back from your trip. I think you should call him.”
Stopping mid-wipe, I turn my attention to Jonah and note his sincerity and say, “I saw him a few weeks ago.”
“I know. Call him, Whitney. He’s a good guy, and I know he was pretty stoked at reconnecting with you.”
Rapping his knuckles on the table, Jonah offers me only a nod before turning and walking toward the bride. I watch as he takes her hand in his and places a chaste kiss to her knuckle. A blush creeps up her neck to her cheeks. With a simple head tilt, Jonah motions for Tom to follow him, and they leave.
I stay at the party another hour but as the ladies begin fading and the music lowers, I confirm with the maid of honor my services are no longer needed before wishing the bride well and confirm I’ll see her at the wedding in a few weeks.
After settling behind the wheel, I wait a few minutes for my car to warm up and tap the music icon on my phone. The opening chords of one of my favorite songs fills the small space of my car, and before I have to start belting at the top of my lungs, I pull up Lucas’s name.
Me: Hey. I wanted to see if you would like to meet for a coffee or something next week?
Delete. That’s the worst first attempt at communication. Instead, I toss my phone in my purse and let myself give in to the music and sing at the top of my lungs a little Night Ranger as I pull away from the curb. I’ll have to think hard about what I should say because “Hey” isn’t it.