Chapter 8
Rebeckha
The ultimate test of a relationship is going to a wedding together. I wasn’t kidding when I asked him if going to a wedding together was too fast, too soon, but I’m learning that I don’t want to hit the brakes when it comes to the two of us. We are going full throttle on a straight road, and I am loving every second of it.
I gave all the wedding information to Malcolm since I’l be with Deena at the off-strip hotel where the wedding will take place for the majority of the day. He has two training clients today and then he promised that he will arrive before the wedding is supposed to start. I keep looking at my phone, wondering what time he will get here, since the wedding is supposed to start in less than thirty minutes. I’m also wondering how he looks in a suit. I am especially interested the latter.
I am dressed in a long, flowing lavender dress with an empire waist, and my long hair is in curls cascading to just below my shoulders. With my makeup subtle, I feel like a goddess, even though today isn’t about me. Deena looks beautiful with her hair in a french twist and her makeup done in a classical style with a hint of lavender hues.
Deena keeps getting more and more nervous as the day goes on. She’s sipping on her third glass of champagne when my phone goes off and Malcolm’s name flashes on the screen.
“Is your stripper boyfriend bringing his hot stripper friends? Because I was serious that Nate’s side really needs some more pretty.”
“D, Mal isn’t joining the wedding party. We talked about this last night.”
“Lame,” she huffs, taking another sip as I answer my phone.
“Babe. I just got here. Is there somewhere that I can change?” he asks in a panic.
I covered the receiver. “D, do you mind if Malcolm comes in here to change?”
“Do I get to watch?” she asks without a thought as she leans into the mirror and cleans off the lipstick on her teeth.
Ignoring her, I turn my back and walk to the window, I pull aside the window curtains and see his SUV.
“Come to room twelve-eleven,” I say, hearing the ding of the elevator.
“You’re a lifesaver. I’ll be right there.”
Moments later, a knock echoes through the hotel room and I quickly answer the door.
“Did someone order a stripper?” Malcolm asks as he enters the room, passing me.
I close the door with a roll of my eyes. As I turn back around, his hand is around my waist pulls me to him.
“I’m sorry I’m late and barging in here. I picked up an extra client this morning and we ran a little longer than I expected during the evaluation.”
I blush as his lips meet mine in a chaste kiss.
“It’s okay, we’re just here… well, she’s just here drinking.”
“Okay, party boy, strip!” Deena yells from her chair by the mirror as her hair-stylist laughs.
“D, shush. Mal isn’t going to strip.”
“But, why not? What’s the point of my best friend having a male stripper as a boyfriend if he won’t strip?”
“She has a point there,” he whispers to me, leaning in and kissing my neck.
“He is going to get dressed for the wedding, your wedding.”
“Hold on, let me get my playlist queued up.” Deena fumbles around in her chair with no coordination and right when she’s about to reach her phone on the table beside the mirror, she goes face first toward the floor. However, she never hits the floor, instead she’s being held up across her sternum by both of Malcolm’s arms, his ninja-fast reflexes coming to her rescue. Deena’s mouth is wide open in a silent scream.
“You ‘right?” Malcolm asks her, as he lifts her up.
“I’m good. Wow, thanks,” she breathes out, looking flustered.
“Good, good.” He turns back to me, walks over with a swagger and a smile, as if he just saved the world.
“You might want to close that mouth up before I get real improper in front of your friend and stick something in it,” he whispers, as he strokes his thumb across my lower lip.
I close my mouth quickly as he smirks and picks up his garment bag. He drapes his bag on the couch, opens it and pulls out a navy blue suit.
He begins to undress as if he’s alone in the room, and all three of us are standing there watching with anticipation. It isn’t until the faint beat of Ginuwine’s “Pony” comes through Deena’s phone that he looks up from unbuttoning his pants. He looks to me and when I shrug, he continues pulling at his buttons, but now with a smile and the knowledge that he has an audience. When he just drops his pants, I hear two sighs off to my left. Then as quickly as Malcolm steps out of his pants, he has his slacks on just as fast. His shirt follows and I watch as every button is carefully placed through their slots.
Fuck! I knew watching him take off his clothes wassexy, but so is watching him put them on!
Malcolm
I sit beside one of the other bridesmaids’ blokes and we get to talking while we wait for the wedding to begin. Once the wedding starts, we are in awe of the sights – our women. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting Rebeckha to outshine the bride, at least in my eyes. She is lovely. The bride looked stunning, but I am definitely devoted to the lady beside her. Beck periodically looks out to the crowd during the nuptials and when her eyes meet mine, I shoot her a smile. She smiles back at me and then refocus her attention on the bride and groom.
After the ceremony, when all guests congregate in the reception room, I find my seat at one of the front tables beside Rebeckha and place my jacket on the chair.
I notice a few ladies looking my way and whispering. They must be wondering who I am and why I’m sitting at the wedding party table, when they know I was not in the wedding. I don’t mind the attention until one of the women come to standing front of me.
“You look familiar,” she starts out, her pointer finger on her chin, tapping as she thinks.
“Hello ma’am. Name’s Mal.” I reach out my hand, in proper introductory fashion, and remind myself to try and quell my accent.
“My god,” she gasps, as our hands clasp in a shake.
“You’re…you’re…” She turns and motions for one of the other women she was previously standing with to come to her side. “Mary, you remember that show we went to last year, the one with the men who dance and take off their clothes?” she loudly whispers the last part. Her friend Mary’s eyes grow as wide as saucers and she puts her manicured hand over her mouth.
“You’re one of them dancing fellas!” Mary says from behind her hand.
“Yup.” I nod.
Mary’s face pales, then she turns and motions for another pant suit-wearing older lady to join us. She whispers something into her ear and, as she finishes, the new arrival’s jaw is practically on the floor and she mimics the hand-over-mouth gesture the others did.
“Do you know Deena?” she asks, her voice a loud whisper.
“I do. I’m Rebeckha’s boyfriend. Name’s Mal.” I offer my hand out again.
“I’m Deena’s mother, my name is Abigail. Any, um, friend of Beck’s is a friend of ours. Welcome,” she says, giving her two friends an odd look.
“Thanks,” I say in return.
I’m fairly sure she’s saying it simply to be nice, because I can see her jaw ticking and can sense her discomfort as we shake hands. I’m not quite sure what just happened.
Suddenly, the lights go down and the sconces along the wall glow. A spotlight shines on the double doors at the end of the room. My new companions and I turn when the Black Eyed Peas’ “I Gotta Feeling” blares through the speakers.
The wedding party begins to enter the room, and each pair dancing. The bridesmaids have a lot more coordination than the blokes do and I’m eagerly anticipating the moves Beck brings when she saunters out. She appears in the doorway and slinks down a bit then shimmies herself across the floor for a few counts, turns and breaks out the running man, pumps a few hip thrusts, and then her partner is waiting with his hand out to spin her. My focus is entirely on her, so I don’t even hear the roar of the guests as the bride and groom enter the room.
When her eyes find mine, they are smiling – yes, her eyes smile at me – and then they widen when she notes the three older women by my side. She takes her place in the line that the rest of the wedding party creates as the bride and groom do their thing for a few beats. When the MC announces the new couple, the guests cheer and then the group disperses.
I watch as Rebeckha strides for me. She is wearing an overwrought, not-quite-genuine smile on her face. When she reaches me, her hand reaches to grasp my forearm as she nearly trips over her dress.
“Whoa, you ‘right?” I ask her, as both my hands go to hold her and help straighten her out. She nods.
“So, I see you’ve met my mother,” she says quietly.
“Your what? No, I met Deena’s mother.”
“My mother is that one.” She points to the one closest to Deena’s mother.
“Mary?” I ask.
“You even know her name? Oh my gosh, what did they say to you? What did you say to them?” she whisper shouts at me, worry evident in her eyes.
“Your mother called me a ‘dancing fella’.” I smile, as I reach my hand around her waist and pull her closer.
“Oh, god. That was not the way that I wanted you and my mother to meet.”
“She seemed to know who I was.”
“Well, you realize your face, your everything is on a billboard here and there around town, right?”
“Yeah, but who really looks at those things?”
“Middle-aged women in heat,” she deadpans.
“In heat? This is Vegas, babe, not just middle-aged women are in heat.”
“You’re cute, you know that?” she smooths out my shirt across my chest.
“Are you patronizing me?”
“Not at all.” She smiles as her mother and friends approach us.
I feel Rebeckha’s body tense as her mother reaches her arms out for a hug. They hug each other and then separate. Her mother looks back to the both of us.
“So, Beck, darling. How long have you been hiding your boyfriend, here?” Mary asks.
“Not for long,” she says quietly.
“I see.” Mary doesn’t look happy and Rebeckha’s posture is tense. “Well, enjoy your evening. I hope to see you again,” Mary directs to me.
“I’m sorry about that,” Rebeckha breathes.
“About what?”
“My judgmental mother. She judges a book by its cover, and I’m afraid you’ve been judged.”
“She didn’t really say much.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Beck says quietly.
“She’s seen the show,” I say.
“What?” Rebeckha’s eyes bug out as she takes a step away from me.
“She and her lady friends, they’ve been to the show. Or they at least implied they had.” I smile, as pull her body back to me. She’s shaking her head and trying to not laugh.
“Great, my mother – and likely half of the country! – has seen you dance in your G-string.”
“It’s a mixture of briefs and G-strings, love,” I correct her, knowing I’m poking the bear already.
She rubs her palms over her face and groans out in frustration.
“No more talk about this. I want tonight to be a fun night.” She straightens. “And we’re going to mingle.”
“What about if someone asks me what I do, or recognizes me?” I ask sincerely.
She rolls her eyes and then just looks at me with an exasperated look on her face.
“I’m just worried, about what people may think. It’s shitty of me, I know that, but just for tonight?”
I put both my arms around her, pull her against me fully and kiss the top of her head.
“I’ll play along, babe. I don’t like it, but I’ll play along.”