Page 61 of Take Me
That’s probably true, since we didn’t exactly have the world’s most present parents.But now’s not the time for dwelling on that.“Ready?”I ask her, and she nods.
“Let’s do it.”
I grab Erika’s hand and head for the stage.“Later, losers,” I call to my brothers.
We bound through the bar, leaping onto the stage just as The Carpenters croon to an end.Snatching two mics off the stand, I switch them both on and hand one to Erika.
The crowd goes wild when they see us, cheering and yelling and chanting for Kenny and Dolly.“The fans love us,” I murmur as Erika takes her position.
“Should a guy who nearly went freeballing in a skirt really have fans?”
“I don’t make the rules, babe.”Grinning, I lift the mic to my mouth and address the cheering crowd.“Howdy, folks.”I toss my Dolly Parton tresses and do a little hip wiggle.“What do you say we get this night started with some island magic?”
The crowd goes nuts, shrieking and whistling as I shimmy my oversized assets.The music starts, and Erika cues up her Kenny Rogers swagger.She belts out the first few lines, doing a damn fine impression of the late, great country crooner.I chime in next, hitting Dolly’s high notes as well as I can.Nottoowell.That’s the point with this routine.
But something feels different this time.
Maybe it’s how we keep touching.We’ve done it before, clutching each other in a choreographed embrace.We grind our bodies against one another through the chorus like we always do, singing about relying on each other—uh-huuuuh.
Only this time I’m hyper-aware of Erika’s body pressed against mine.Of just how thin this skirt is; that these boxers don’t hold me in quite as well as my normal, snug briefs.
By the time it’s my turn to howl about sailing away together, I’m half hard and hoping this song ends soon.It’s disorienting, to be honest.Never in my life have I felt aroused by my pal while performing a cheesy pop-country hit dressed in drag.
And I’ve sure as hell never felt turned on by a woman wearing a beard and gray chest hair.We warble our way through the final lines of the song, hands clasped together in a sweaty tangle.
Then we’re taking a bow and clambering off the stage to a hearty round of applause.Three different people get up and beeline it for the signup sheet.Two more start pawing through the costume box, one guy laughing as he pulls out the sequined jacket and jeweled glasses my customers love for their Elton John numbers.A lady shouts in triumph as she finds the cone-shaped Madonna bra buried at the bottom of the box.
I guide us away from the stage to a quiet corner behind one of the speakers.We’re not exactly hidden, but we’re not on display anymore.Catching my breath, I hold up a hand for a high five.“We did it.”
“Yeah we did.”She smacks my palm with a glance at the far corner table where Kaleb and Jake sit swilling their beer.
Frowning, she grabs both my shoulders.Peering at me from under her gray Kenny wig, she looks deep in my eyes.“Okay, I’m just gonna say this fast so you can have whatever reaction you need to have without an audience.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”I’m reeling a bit, seeing Erika so serious behind her gray beard.
She spins me around so my back is to my brothers.Holding my gaze, she tightens her grip on my shoulders.“Annabelle and Neil are dating.”
“I know.She wanted to see other people, so?—”
“They’re datingeach other.”
“What?”This must be a joke.
“I’m not joking,” she says, reading my goddamn mind.“Neil dumped it on me at the diner today, and I’m sure that’s what Annabelle’s been trying to tell you.That’s it.That’s the big fucking thing they’ve been dying to talk to us about.”
“Holy fuck.”My body goes numb.It’s not anger or sadness or even hurt.Just… shock.
“I had the same reaction,” she continues.“Which I why I wanted to give you a chance to do it without your brothers turning it into some man-to-man talk, or Annabelle giving you poor-baby eyes.I thought you should hear it from a friend.”
“Friend,” I repeat like a big fucking idiot.
She’s right.Better to hear it like this—fake boobs and rhinestone bustier aside—than to have someone peering at me with a face full of pity.
“I need to sit down.”
“No, you don’t.”She squeezes my shoulders.“You need to show those motherfuckers they can’t get to us.”
She’s right once again, and I nod.“Yeah.Yeah, okay.”I’ve got this.I do.“Fuck having people feel sorry for us.”
