Page 2 of Man Cuffed
Hooray! I’m saved by the strippers.
And I must say they’re looking fine tonight. Holy shit. Rent a Gent has hired some new talent. These cops...they’re fucking hot.
Especially the one in the middle. His blue shirt can barely contain his muscles, which I’m pretty sure are rippling. They’re either rippling or the collective lady-sighs are causing a warm breeze to drift over him. He’s got sandy hair, cool gray eyes, a strong jaw and shoulders that I could sit on.
I’m not the only one who notices, either. Moments ago the room was a cacophony of drunken screams and turkey noshing, but a startled silence claims the room. The air is suddenly heavy with anticipation.
Except for one big problem. The hottest stripper I’ve ever seen is apparently new at this gig. The newbies forgot their boom box. There’s not a bad 80s rap song in sight.
But it’s all right. I got this. There’s something to be said for improv training.
I make a beeline for the sound system and crank it up, then head over to the hunk of man and his two buddies. Clearly, Mr. Square Jaw is in charge.Alphajust rolls off him in waves.
Leaning in close, I say, “You’re a little buttoned up for tonight, aren’t you?” Then I undo the top button of his shirt. I feel something hard against my leg. Hard enough to turn me on. But then I realize he’s got a walkie talkie radio strapped to his hip.
I wonder what else he’s packing.
“Can you guys dance to this?” I ask, demonstrating with a bump of my hips. Although they don’t really need to dance. They just need to take their clothes off. Right now, preferably. “The woman in the white spandex unitard is the bride-to-be,” I add.
His jaw clenches. Gosh, he is the strong and silent type, isn’t he? But he just isn’t moving. Neither are his buddies.
This is going to get awkward fast if they don’t find their groove. So I decide to show them how it’s done. “All right ladies! Are you ready to get hot?” I scream.
“Yeah!” they scream back.
“Are you ready to get wet?” I call to them.
“Yeah!” they say.
“Who here is a bad girl?”
They all raise their hands. It’s a fucking frenzy of estrogen. Someone in the back actually passes out.
“Then check out these hard bodies!” I reach up to rip off Mr. Square Jaw’s pants. They’re velcroed up the sides, so they should come off really easy.
Only they don’t. So I give another tug.
Huh. That’s weird.
And that belt he’s wearing? It looks awfully heavy. That must be the problem. I start to reach for the belt to undo it, and a realization starts to creep over me.
This uniform is not a costume.
This dude is not a stripper.
This dude is an actual cop.
And I’m about to be arrested.
* * *
Luckily,I avoid arrest. I’m saved by two things. The first is the immediate arrival of the real strippers, striding in with “Baby Got Back” blaring and their sequined cop-pants sparkling under the disco lights of Ye Olde (Not Authentic At All) Tavern.
The second is the debilitating laughter of theothertwo real cops, doubled over, struggling for breath. “Maguire? A stripper?” one of them gasps as if it’s the funniest thing on the planet.
I realize my hand is still resting on his belt buckle. Oh, if only…
“Knock it off,” Maguire snips. “I’m not a stripper.” Then he does something I’m not expecting. He leans close to my ear and whispers, “At least, not for hire. Only when I volunteer.”
