Chapter 17
Becky
2:10 PM THURSDAY
On the drive to the strip club, I try and close my eyes. Surely, there must be an itty bitty tiny memory somewhere in that brain of mine. Absolutely anything about what happened last night.
I wait.
And wait.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t recall where or how I met this fucking husband of mine, the man known as Liam Black.
I sigh. If Dan calls our wedding off when he finds out what I’ve done, I won’t be surprised.
Actually, he’s really going to have to call the wedding off unless I can track Liam Black down to sign some divorce papers by Saturday morning. Can’t get married if you’re already married, can you?
As we stand outside The Post Office, my heart beats a little faster, and the palms of my hands are sweaty.
I’m torn by an intense desire to find Liam Black and a longing to run away and hide.
I look at the building and feel a sense of foreboding. It looks like a castle dungeon. A castle dungeon with a billboard on the side of it featuring a half-naked man holding a UPS box in front of his junk.
Special delivery, my ass.
Sammi leads the way inside. Mysti May and Percy follow. But for some reason, my feet refuse to move. It’s as if I’ve grown roots on the pavement.
A taxi pulls up and a bunch of middle aged women spill out of the yellow vehicle. I might not be able to move, but they’re plenty eager to shove past me.
“Muttons dressed as lambs,” Sammi says, shaking her head as they giggle their way through the door.
“Come on, darlin’,” Mysti May calls over her shoulder. “No time like the present.”
“Or the package, as it were.” Sammi casts a dubious glance at the billboard model and hooks an arm around my waist, dragging me in.
When the door shuts behind us, I can’t see anything for a few seconds.
“Remember,” I hiss into Mysti May’s ear, “we’re here to speak to someone from management to ask about this Liam Black—and not to have a good time.”
Judging from Mysti May’s swaying hips, she’s not paid any attention to anything I just said.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and we inch slowly forward. As you’d expect, the lights are dimmed. And yes, I can see half naked men everywhere.
The music’s loud, and on the dance floor are several men. I suppose they’re dressed in postal uniforms to keep in theme with the name of the joint.
Some of the men wear the khaki shorts of a UPS driver. Some wear funny little hats. All of them have glistening upper bodies. They’re well-oiled. Six packs are the norm, as are well-muscled chests and broad shoulders.
None of them wear anything over their torsos.
“Man meat,” whispers Mysti May.
Percy chuckles. Sammi breathes on the lenses of her glasses, then cleans them off on her shirt.
“Can you see anyone that looks like a manager?” I’m not at all in the mood for fucking drooling over any of these fucking hot bodies.
“Any one of them can manage my entire life,” breathes Percy, and I can practically feel the heat coming off of her cunt as she says it.
“Come on,” I hiss. “Stay focused. Liam Black. No distractions.”
“If they wore name tags, you might spot him,” jokes Sammi.
I roll my eyes even as I size up a passing waiter’s bulging pectoral.
Where the fuck would they even pin them?
Slowly we walk along the side of the club. I think I’m the only one fucking looking for someone who could give us any information.
By now, the guys on stage are starting to sway their hips and…other body parts. I’m pretty sure my friends would rather grab a drink and sit down to watch the show, as opposed to keep searching for Mr. Black.
“How about we get a drink?”
I fucking knew it.
“Sammi.”
She smiles at me. “The barman might know something.”
Okay, so it’s not a totally useless idea.
It’s also easier said than done. The bar’s in the center of the club, and we’re on the edge. To get there, we’ll have to push, shove, and elbow our way through a thick crowd of semi-hysterical women.
And so we start our assault.
I wish I did carry a weapon of some sort. I’m not at all violent, but I would like to push some of these over-heated bitches out of the fucking way.
My sensitive head finds the high-pitched screeching also incredibly unpleasant.
We make slow progress. For every step we take forward, we seem to get pushed back six. Some of the women are half-naked, and others are trying to throw themselves at the pelvis-thrusting demi-gods on-stage.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a couple of them on stage take off their tie and swirl it over their heads. Then they take the material and rub it between their legs before throwing it into the crowd.
The women go fucking mental.
I’m being pushed hard in the back as a hundred pounds of flesh try to grab the tie.
I lose my balance. I stumble. I try to find something to grab to stop my fall.
It’s no good.
Part of me prepares for the worst. You can’t really prepare for a fall. What’s going to be worse is no one will notice me fall, and a hundred or so wild women will stomp all over me.
I suppose it’s nothing more than I deserve. If Dan were here, he would say it’s karma.
Fuck.
I still have no fucking idea what I’m going to tell Dan.
If, of course, I get trampled into the ground of The Post Office, there won’t be anything left of me—and I won’t have to explain anything.
I sigh. There is a silver lining to every cloud.
Whilst I’m not prepared for the fall, I’ve resigned myself for the inevitable. The inevitable is a huge amount of pain—possibly broken bones and maybe blood.
All this, I think while I wobble on my feet and lose my balance.
Screeching and flailing, I feel the floor give way underneath me—
But then fate intervenes.
Someone grabs me, snatches me out of the jaws of certain death—okay, the certain death bit is a bit of a fucking exaggeration, but it did feel like I might die for about a microsecond.
Before I can get a look at my knight in shining armor, I find the world has gone pitch black.
What the fuck was going on now?
“Well, well, well,” I hear a male voice whisper into my ear. British. Weirdly familiar.
Bold fingers pluck at the edges of my SLUT veil, which I’m still wearing, god help me. “Looks like a bride to be. Why don’t we take this little lady on one last wild ride?”
There’s laughter around me.
I find myself pulled up onto the stage. Not willingly, but all these muscles are obviously good for more than just looks.
I should have ditched the SLUT veil back at the apartment when I had the chance. Now, it’s like a hair shirt alerting the world to my shame.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The stripper presses his body into mine, and my skin tingles. Each and every one of my nerve cells tingle in anticipation.
Please, somebody help me. I can’t be doing this.
The absurdity strikes me. I’m a married woman, engaged to another man, and now a stripper at a strip joint is seducing me.
Could my life get any more complicated?
The hoots and cheers from the crowd watching us tell me that, yes, it indeed can.
“So tell me, my little bridezilla,” the man murmurs into my ear, his hand tracing my spine. Predictably, I shiver at his touch. “Any last requests before Dan the Man makes an honest woman of you?”
Wait. What?
How the fuck does he know Dan’s name?
His hand finds his way from the bottom of my spine to the back of my neck, and he puts his mouth to my ear. “Anything at all you want, Becky?”
Almost paralyzed with desire, I’m unable to respond in any kind.
That’s right. Becky is horny.
Again.
Pure animalistic lust is threatening to fucking take over and send my brain on vacation. Come on, Becky, don’t be weak, don’t let your fucking flesh rule your body.
The stripper seems to sit down and pull me on top of him. With incredible ease, he flips me backwards, so my head nearly touches the ground while my abdomen stays on his knees and my legs are on the ground.
One of his fingers now draws a circle around my belly button.
By now, my breathing is fast and shallow, and my mouth is completely dry.
I wonder where the fuck my friends are.
What does one have bridesmaids for if they don’t come and rescue you out of an emergency?
I vow to have words to them when this brute of a sex god finally lets me go.
Maybe, for once, it’s a vow that I’ll actually be able to keep.