Page 157 of The Reason I Married Him
“I really liked her outfit.” I turn toward Wyatt and place my hand on his chest. “For a moment, when she flung her head around and her boobs bounced everywhere, I thought her titty tassel was going to fall off.”
Wyatt chuckles. “That would have been a great show ender.” He then pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Why are you sitting so far away?”
His eyes are glazed over, and I can only imagine mine are as well. I’m most definitely drunk. There isn’t a part of my body that doesn’t feel like it’s floating on a cloud, nor is there an ounce of me that cares.
Yup, this girl is feeling good. Capital G, goo-ood. Oh yes. So good that I’ve contemplated going up on stage myself to shimmy at the crowd. When that thought came into my mind, I knew I was drunk.
“Am I sitting far away?” I ask.
“You are,” he says as he places his arm around me, cups my hip, and then pulls me all the way up against his side. “See, that’s better.”
“Ooo, you’re warm. There’s a breeze, and it’s making my nipples all tingly and hard.”
His eyes fall to my chest and then back up to my eyes. “I can’t tell.”
I puff my chest out and then run my finger over my hard nipples. “See, hard as stone.”
His teeth pull on his bottom lip as his eyes meet mine again. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble if you keep stroking your nipples like that.”
“Oh,” I say, glancing around the room. “Do you think they get mad about that kind of stuff here? I mean, I don’t know why they would. The lady that was up two songs ago touched her crotch at least five times while she thrust it at us.”
He chuckles. “That was a bit aggressive.”
“I liked her top, though, and I was jealous of her boobs. They were so big.”
“Why were you jealous?” he asks as the next person comes on stage. “You have great tits, Aubree.”
“You haven’t even seen them. For all you know, I could be stuffing my bra.”
“Are you?” he asks.
“No, but I did in high school when I was as flat as the freaking wall. I found a great way to make tissues look real.”
“Welcome to the interactive portion of the night,” the new singer says. “I’m Lady Marmalade, and I’m looking at all these couples out here and wondering why none of you are taking advantage of this moment. Can we dim the lights, please, and cast our fellow patrons in the dark?” The lights dim, and the woman with bright red hair, red lingerie, and black knee-high boots so large that I think they’d swallow my entire leg snaps her finger, lighting up the club with music.
“What’s going on?” Wyatt whispers.
“Ooo, I think she might be doing the Simon Says game.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
“You’ll see.”
“Now that the mood is set, I want to see everyone find a comfortable place to sit.” She spins and whips her head around with the music. “And when I say comfortable, I mean, you better be on each other’s laps.”
A few people in the crowd let out catcalls.
I’m not one of them.
“And if I see you’re not participating, I think you all know what will happen. You’ll be brought up on stage.”
I turn toward Wyatt and say, “If you want to leave, we can.”
“Mrs. Preston,” he says as he spreads his legs and sits taller on the couch. “Sit on my goddamn lap.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to?—”
“More than fucking sure,” he says before wetting his lips.
