by Lauren Rowe
“Wow. You know that this fast? You just met her.”
“Don’t need time to know how I feel. I just know.”
“But you haven’t told her you love her, right? I hope and pray?”
“Of course, not. I’m not a fucking idiot.” He sighs. “But, damn, she’s amazing. I’ve seriously never felt like this before. It’s like I’m drugged.”
“You sure she didn’t slip something into your beer?” I snort.
“If she did, I don’t care.”
“I sure hope she doesn’t turn out to be batshit crazy like the last one,” I say.
“Who the hell knows?” Zander says. “She might be planning to chop me up into little tiny pieces and put me into seven garbage bags in her garage for all I know. I barely know the girl.” He laughs.
I join Zander laughing.
“I don’t need to know her to love her,” Zander adds. “But, yeah, fingers crossed she doesn’t murder me in my sleep and feed me to her cats.” He sighs happily. “But if she does, it was well worth it.”
“Wow. How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Go all-in like that, so fucking fast?”
Zander audibly shrugs. “I just trust my feelings. No regrets that way. If I’m wrong, fuck it. It’s more fun this way. So, anyway, where are you?”
“At a motel in San Luis Obispo, about three and a half hours north of L.A. We could have pushed forward instead of stopping for the night, but we both said, ‘What’s the rush?’” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Honestly, man, I’m having such a good time hanging out with this girl, I didn’t want the road-trip to end just yet. She did this tap-dancing routine on top of the bed last night that had me in stitches, brah; you shoulda seen her. Talk about ‘adorbsicles.’”
“So, um, what do you and Maddy plan to do tonight on top of the bed in your motel room? More tap-dancing or...?”
“Well, when we first got here, Maddy edited some videos she shot of me today.” I tell Zander about the videos Maddy and I have been doing and he says the whole things sounds awesome. “Then we watched Magic Mike,” I continue. “And when Maddy gets out of the bathroom we’re gonna watch this documentary about a spelling bee she was telling me about.”
“Um... what?” Zander says.
“What?”
“Peenie. Sweetheart,” Z says. “You just said you decided to stop at a motel with a woman with perfect tits instead of driving straight through to your destination so you could watch Magic Mike and a documentary about a spelling bee. Peenie, you said that shit out loud.”
Blood whooshes noisily into my ears. Oh my God. What the motherfuck is happening to me? “Shit,” I croak out, cringing.
“Please tell me you’re stoned outta your mind?”
“No. Maddy and I drank a couple beers while watching the movie, but that’s it.”
Zander sighs. “Then please tell me Maddy Milliken has surgically removed your aching balls from your body and put them into a jar on the nightstand?”
I don’t reply.
“Look, baby doll, it’s okay,” Zander says. “God only knows what survival strategies you’ve had to employ for the past thirty-six hours to keep yourself from boarding the bone-train with this girl, but your subconscious obviously wanted another night alone with this chick to take another shot at her. Either that or you sincerely wanted to take a woman with gorgeous tits to a motel room for no other reason than to watch Magic Mike and a movie about a fucking spelling bee.”
I pause, considering. “Well, in my defense, Maddy’s never seen Magic Mike, and the movie about the spelling bee—”
“Peenie!” Z barks at me. “Snap the fuck out of it! You wanna fuck this girl and you’re using Channing Tatum as your wingman!”
I bow my head in instant shame, even though Zander’s not here to witness the gesture. “You’re right,” I say. “This is a new low, even for me. Jesus.”
“Aw, don’t be too hard on yourself, baby doll. Now that you know what your subconscious is up to, you can put the kibosh on it,” Z says. “Use your head, not your head, son.”
“Okay. You’re right.”
“You can do it, Peenie.”
The hair dryer in the bathroom turns off and Maddy stops singing.
“Okay, Z,” I say. “I’ll grab the reins from my horny subconscious and show it who’s boss. Thanks for the sage counsel.”
“You bet. So, hey, did you talk to that talent agent yet?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m dancing at a club in Hollywood tomorrow night. The agency guy will be there, plus a ton of peeps from the entertainment industry. Sounds like it’s kind of a big deal.”
“No shit? Congrats.”
“Nothing to congratulate me about yet. It’s just an audition.”
“Why do you sound like that? You’re gonna do great.”
“I dunno, Z—it’s L.A. I might be a little fish in a big pond down there.”
“No way. You’re gonna blow everyone away. You’re the legendary Ball Peen Hammer, for fuck’s sake—ain’t no one better at shaking his ass in a G-string than my beloved wifey.”
“Yeah, but L.A. is next lev. Might turn out I’m a guppy swimming in a shark tank.”
“Pfft. No fucking way.” Zander pauses. “Hey, I tell you what, Peenie Weenie, how ’bout I come down to the land of milk and honey tomorrow and cheer you on? I can hop a flight after my morning clients and then we can fly back to Seattle together on Sunday night.”
“That’d be awesome.”
“Cool. I’ll book it.”
“You da best, ZZ Top. That’s why I love you da most.”
“No problemo, Chiquito Banano.”
“Maddy’s gonna be stoked to meet you.”
“I’m excited to meet her, too. I already adore her from afar, as you know.”
I let out a huge exhale of relief. “I’m glad you’re coming, man. Thanks.”
“I always got you, baby doll, even if all you need is someone to cheer you on extra loud while you’re shakin’ your ass.”
“Thanks, brah.”
Without warning, the bathroom door swings open, and Maddy strides out, instantly blasting the small room with the scent of flowers.
“Hey, so did I tell you what Daphne said to me yesterday about...” Zander begins saying in my ear, but I’m too distracted by Maddy to hear another goddamned word he’s saying.
Because along with Maddy’s “Adventure Time” pajama bottoms, tonight Maddy’s wearing one of the tank tops I purchased for her—the pale yellow one, to be exact. And thanks to the shirt’s light color and the thinness of its fabric—plus the fact that the room is chilly and Maddy’s clearly not wearing a bra—I can, for the first time plainly make out the unbelievably perfect shape and size of Maddy’s very real boobs... as well as the jutting, boner-inducing outline of her two rock-hard nipples.
“Uh huh,” I say, not listening to a word Z’s saying.
Maddy approaches me on the bed, smiling.
“Gotta go, Z,” I bark. “Text me your flight info. Blah, blah. Bye.”
Chapter 29
Keane
Maddy hugs herself. “Is it chilly in here?”
“No,” I reply, even though, yeah, it’s totally chilly in here.
“Have you seen my sweatshirt?”
“No,” I say, even though I saw Maddy’s sweatshirt on the carpet on the far side of the bed.
“Who were you talking to?” Maddy asks.
I put my phone on the nightstand. “Zander,” I say. “He’s gonna fly down to L.A. tomorrow.”
“Really? Awesome. I can’t wait to meet him.”
“He feels the same way. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s coming to L.A. to meet you, although he claims he’s coming to watch me perform.”
“You’re performing? You didn’t tell me that. Where?”
“Oh. Yeah, I’m performing in a showcase at a Hollywood club tomorrow night. It’s an audition for that talent agency I told you about.”
“You think?”
“Of course,” Maddy says. “Makes you different—memorable. So, hey, can I come watch your show?”
“Of course. I’d love to have you there.”
Maddy’s bare arm rubs against mine. “It’s an audition?” she asks.
“Yeah, for that agency I told you about, to see if they wanna rep me. Plus, there’s gonna be a bunch of talent scouts there for other stuff, too. It won’t be your kind of thing, obviously—it’s gonna be Magic Mike type stuff—but, yeah, you’re welcome to come if you think you can stomach it.”
Maddy leans back onto her forearms on the bed and my eyes immediately train on her boobs as they settle into their new position. “I won’t have to ‘stomach’ it,” Maddy says, her tits on dazzling display. “I liked Magic Mike a lot, believe it or not. I loved how Channing Tatum and all those guys were having so much fun. Do you have fun like that when you perform?”
My eyes dart from Maddy’s chest to her face. “Uh, yeah. I have a blast.”
“Male stripping isn’t at all how I expected it to be, at least not if it’s anything like how it was depicted in the movie. I thought it’d be like female stripping—you know, kind of sad and smarmy and exploitative—but it’s just a big, fun party.”
Maddy’s nipples are rock hard. Jesus Christ, I wanna touch and suck those motherfuckers. “Uh, yeah,” I say, my eyes darting back to her face again.
“Is it okay if I bring Hannah and Henn to watch the show?” she asks, apparently unaware of the magnetic pull her nipples are having on my fingers and tongue.
“Um,” I say, clenching my fists. What the fuck did she just ask me? “Sure. Bring whoever you want. The more the merrier. Like you said, it’s just a big party.”
“Cool!” Maddy chirps. She does a happy little shimmy and her boobs jiggle softly with her movement.
Oh my fucking shit—did Maddy Milliken just waggle her boobs at me? Did she mean to do that? ’Cause it was spectacular.
“So what are you gonna do in the show tomorrow night?” Maddy asks, seemingly oblivious to the show her gorgeous tits just gave me.
“Uh. It’s just a one-song slot, no big deal. I’ll just wing it—probably do my Magic Mike rip-off.”
I lean back next to her on the bed. Damn, she smells good. And those freckles on her nose are so goddamned cute. And, damn, I love the way her Tootsie Pop eyes sparkle when she’s smiling at me like she’s doing this very second. What I wouldn’t give to be the guy who makes those pretty brown eyes of hers roll back into her head with pleasure.
“You’re gonna do a Magic Mike routine—like, literally?” Maddy asks. She bites her lip, drawing my attention to her mouth.
“Uh, yeah, I have a routine where I basically steal all Channing Tatum’s moves from when he danced to ‘Pony.’ Makes things easy for me and women go crazy for it.”
Maddy’s bare arm brushes against mine again.
“Oh my God. I can’t wait to see you do that,” Maddy says. “Word on the street is Ball Peen Hammer is amaaaaaaazing. Of course, it was Ball Peen Hammer who started that rumor, so take that with a grain of salt.” She snickers.
God, Maddy’s hair looks so soft and smooth. Without thinking, I reach out to touch it, but then sharply pull my hand back like I’ve touched a hot stove. Fuck! I need to stop this shit right now. This isn’t gonna end well and I know it.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, well, believe the hype. Ain’t no one better at dolin’ out lap dances and smoove mooves than Ball Peen Hammer, son.”
“So I hear, son.”
There’s a beat.
Shit.
My balls hurt so fucking bad.
Maddy pokes my forearm with her index finger. “So, come on, tell me the truth: doing those smoove mooves for horny, screaming women turns you on at least a little bit, doesn’t it?”
I shake my head.
“Not at all?”
I sit on my hand to keep myself from stroking Maddy’ hair. “Ain’t no time to pop a woody when you’re doing a flip.”
“But what about the part of your routine where you pull someone out of the crowd and give them a lap dance?” she asks. “You do that like in the movie, right?”
“Yep.”
“And that doesn’t turn you on?”
“Not at all.”
“You’re seriously not into it at all?”
“Oh, I’m into it—totally into it—I’m just not turned on sexually.”
Maddy looks thoughtful. “Hmm. Now that I’ve seen the movie, I must admit I’m excited to see you in action. I’d love to see you do Channing Tatum’s smoove mooves.”
I close my eyes. I shouldn’t say what’s on the tip of my tongue. But my balls have a mind of their own. “How about I give you a little preview right here and now?” I blurt.
Shit. Bad Peenie! Bad, bad, bad!
Maddy’s face lights up. “Really?”
“Why not?” I say, my pulse raging in my ears. Why not? Gosh, Keane, maybe because you’re only suggesting this to make her want to fuck you—which you absolutely can’t do! “It’s only fair, right?” I hear myself saying, my voice as smooth as silk. “You tap-danced for me last night—the least I can do is return the favor and dance for you.” I flash her my dimples.
“Excellent point,” Maddy agrees. “But keep in mind you’ll be popping my lap-dance cherry, so be gentle with me.”
“Sorry, baby doll, there ain’t no such thing as a mild lap dance when it comes to Ball Peen Hammer—only wild.”
Color floods into Maddy’s cheeks. She abruptly sits upright on the bed, fidgeting. “Oh my gosh. So, how do we start? Where should I sit?” Maddy looks down at her tank top. “Is this okay for me to wear? Oh my God, this is so exciting. Gah.”
I put a hand on her forearm. “Calm your gorgeous tits, baby doll,” I say. “Your only job is to sit-and-submit.”
“’Sit and submit?’” Maddy giggles. “Oh my God, Keane. You gotta say that in a video. That’s hilarious.”
My skin is suddenly on fire. “Dude. Are we gonna do this or talk about doing this?”
“Sorry, yes, we’re totally gonna do this.” Maddy makes a big show of shimmying her shoulders and shaking her hair, apparently readying herself for her lap dance like a method actress preparing for an emotional scene, and her boobs jiggle delectably with her effort.
Okay, holy motherfucking shit. Maddy totally meant to waggle her glorious boobs at me that time, I’m sure of it. I mean, she can’t possibly be so clueless as to not realize when she’s waggling her braless tits at a defenseless man, can she?
Maddy places her palms together after she’s done shaking her body. “Namaste,” she says. She shoots me a solemn expression. “Okay, Ball Peen Hammer, I’m ready to ‘sit and submit’ now.”
Wow. It turns out Maddy Milliken is sexy as hell. Who knew? Which means I should stop this shit right now.
Yep.
That’s the right thing to do.
“Okay, let’s do it,” I say eagerly, rubbing my palms together. “First off, let’s take care of bid-nass, shall we?” I hold out my palm to her. “You wanna see Ball Peen Hammer shake his ass, you gotta pay for the privilege.”
“What?” She laughs.
“Pay me,” I say evenly, shoving my open palm at her. “I’m a professional.” And if you’re a paying client, I can’t fuck you.
Maddy slaps my open palm with hers. “Here you go, hot stuff—an imaginary buck. Go buy yourself an imaginary cuppa coffee from 1991, on me.”
“I’m not kidding. Pay me. It can be a buck, a penny, whatever—but real money must exchange hands for this lap dance to occur.” Because if you’re a paying client, I can’t fuck you.
Maddy rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine, you dork.” She pops off the bed and rummages around in her purse. She pulls out a crumpled
dollar bill and lays it in my palm. “Here you go, hot stuff. Now go buy yourself a real cuppa coffee from 1991. Boom.”
“Thanks.” I toss the bill onto the nightstand next to our empty bottles of beer and look around the small room, trying to figure out how the hell I’m gonna do my Magic Mike routine in such a cramped space. “Okay. It’s gonna be hard for me to do what I usually do in this tiny room,” I say, my pulse pounding in my ears. I pull the only chair in the room out from under a small desk next to the dresser. “I’d normally have a speaker with a full light show, so you’ll have to use your imagination a bit.” I lead Maddy to the chair, place my palms on her bare shoulders and guide her to sitting.
“A light show?” Maddy says, settling herself into the chair. “Wow, you really are a pro. Gosh, should I be scared?”
“Not at all. I’m just gonna show you a good time.” And make you want to fuck me.
Maddy giggles. “What exactly are you gonna do to me?”
Make you want to fuck me. “Well, since you’re a newbie,” I say, “I’ll keep it simple. I’ll just serve up a little fried eggs, bacon, and toast with jam.”
Maddy giggles again. “Which would be... ?”
“What you saw in the movie. I’ll dance, tease you a bit, turn you upside down, flip you over this way and that, and then strip down to my briefs and shake my ass.” I pause. “Unless, of course, any of that makes you uncomfortable, in which case, I’ll only serve up what you think you can handle.”
Maddy’s eyes are sparkling. “What I can handle? I’m a baller, baby. Bring it Salt-N-Pepa style, son.” She winks.
I look at her blankly.
“’Push It,’” she says.
“Now who’s the dork?”
She giggles. “Just treat me like any other paying customer, Ball Peen Hammer. No holding back.”
“You sure?” I ask. Because when I’m done with you, you’re gonna wanna fuck me.
“Hell yes!” Maddy shouts, pumping her fist into the air like a cheerleader. “Hit me with your top-of-the-line smoove mooves. Don’t think of me as Maddy; just think of me as another nameless pickle with a dollar bill.”
“All right. But fair warning: you’re gonna be obsessed with the idea of sleeping with me when I’m done.”