Copyright © 2006 Rhonda Stapleton
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
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A startled hush falls over the roomful of women as a gorgeous man steps into the middle of the rec room. He's wearing a blue button-down shirt and khaki pants, and he looks like he just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine.
My heart stops for a brief second, then restarts at a furious pace. Is he lost? Did he wander into the wrong house by accident?
He's so hot, who cares?
GQ moves into the center of the room and turns his deep brown eyes to me. With an arched eyebrow, he dramatically tosses his head back, then rakes a short, dark brown lock from off his brow.
"I hear you're the special party girl today," he says to me, "and your friends asked me to cheer you up."
"Oh...is that right?" I ask, a slight slur in my voice. In shock, I glance at Stephanie, who smiles and shrugs innocently.
He grins, a flash of white. "Yes. So just sit back...and enjoy the ride."
The music starts, a slow, grinding song that had to come straight out of a 70's porn flick. His eyebrows dart up, and he pauses for a second but recovers, rotating his shoulders while thrusting his pelvis and moving closer to me.
Oh my God. My friends hired a sexy stripper. And he can't dance to save his life.
The sheer absurdity of this strikes me, and a giggle erupts from my mouth. I swallow the last of my drink and drop the cup on the carpet.
The women at the party start to clap and whistle. "Let's see some skin, you hunk!" someone calls out.
GQ laughs and rolls his eyes. With his long fingers, he undoes his shirt one button at a time. His pelvis pushes toward me with more intensity, matching the thumping bass of the music.
He licks his lips and winks at me. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" he moans, running the tips of his fingers over his bare chest.
The catcalls and laughs in the room get louder as a couple of women wave folded dollar bills. "Come on, stud," one of my friends yells. "I wanna see the goods!"
I watch him, amazed at his boldness. His grin grows bigger with each tacky dance move.
He shrugs his shirt off and straddles it between his legs, rubbing it back and forth through his crotch.
How in the world can a man dance so badly but look so hot at the same time? His chest is fabulous--tanned and defined, with broad shoulders, muscled arms, and a tapered waist.
His crazy self-confidence feels wildly contagious. I think it's my turn to have a little fun, too.