Page 10 of Allured (Love and Burlesque #1)
CHAPTER TEN
ALEK
Something to choke on.
S eb’s voice is loud over the speaker system, though I’m sure my flamboyant friend could be heard from his booth fine without a mic. While he finishes off the spiel about audience participation and introduces the brides and grooms—to—be, me and the guys are doing some last minute checks in the wings of the stage.
“Ah shit, I ripped my damn pants.” Benny attempts to whisper somewhere behind me.
“Bitch you’re gonna fucking yank them off in a few minutes, I think you’ll be fine,” Dean emphasizes.
“Yeah— just give ‘em a little peek!” Andre whisper—shouts.
“Serves you right, lugging that fat ass around everywhere,” Laz sasses.
The guys are horrible at whispering so I’m glad Seb’s voice demands all the attention of the audience right now. Also, I can’t be mad when it’s these fools’ banter that gets us energized for a great show.
It’s a Thursday before a long holiday weekend for most, but today’s the start of our hectic work week. After having a drink and an almost crying sesh with Emma earlier this afternoon, I’m feeling a little better about this whole Ezekiel situation.
If he’s not interested, I can’t do anything about it. If I’m too interested the only thing I can do is get over it. Sure, it was the first time I’ve felt such an instantaneous connection with someone, but what good does that do if he doesn’t feel the same way? It kills me that I was possibly wrong about him being attracted to me and a tiny part of me is still holding onto hope that he is.
“Without further ado—” Seb’s voice takes me out of my thoughts right in time for my opening speech.
“Please welcome our main attraction, and the reason you’re leaving hot and bothered tonight, The Bad Boys of Burlesque.”
A quick blackout is our cue to head onstage. To the audience it looks pitch black on here but we’ve got hidden little markers on the stage floor to set up our formation. Good thing too because some of these bitches are clumsy.
Double checking the mic taped on the side of my face, I set up near the edge of the stage, arms in front of me, one hand over the other clasped over the v—shape of my hips and one of my legs is kicked out casually. The pose makes my abs even more visible in my plain white crop top. To be honest, one of the reasons I love Bach Night is because I get to wear a cotton tee, some cowboy boots, and fairly comfortable jeans. A man can only wear thongs so many days of the week without suffering the consequences.
Chafing thoughts aside, the spotlight turns on and illuminates me in a bright white—pink.
The rush of seeing the inviting shadows of the audience is something I’ll never get over. They’re screaming and jumping as I toss a teasing smirk over to Seb in the sound booth.
“Now, Seb.” My voice drops just a bit, in a faux chastising tone I typically only use on stage and in the bedroom. I plant one hand on my hip while I shake my finger at him with the other. “I think you forgot one of the most important rules.”
“My, my, Alek, now what would that be?” I can barely make out his silhouette through the hazy glow of the stage lights but I know he’s glancing at the audience and making some kind of gesture or cheeky face at them. They eat it up, a chorus of ‘ooh’ filling up my ears.
My eyes drift back to the crowd. My arms cross over one another on my chest, purposely placed so that my muscles strain over the fabric of my white tee.
“The dancers may invite you to play, but you need to be a good little audience member and follow their rules.” I begin, a raised eyebrow accompanies my smirk as I scan the silhouette of the crowd.
“Is this show fun? Sure. Frisky? Hell yeah. But it’s nothing without mutual respect. If I’m understood, I need you to say yes, daddy.”
Among the different variations of ‘yes, daddy’ from the crowd, I also hear a cough so violent I’m nearly rushing off stage to help the poor guy. It seems like it was a loud enough noise that some people in surrounding booths go over to help the man. Although the commotion is close to the stage, I can’t see much detail past the blinding lights. I can barely make out the blurred shadow of a man sitting and waving the helpers away.
Is my next joke low—hanging fruit and at the expense of this guy? Oh, you fucking bet.
“Let’s get started and give that guy somethin’ to really choke on!”
A laugh leaves my lips as I throw my arm around like I’m tossing a lasso towards the front row. The movement helps me turn to the side and set up in my next position as the lights go out once again.
‘Dance the Night Away’ by Dua Lipa starts playing over the speakers.
Just as the audience starts to sing along, the stage is blasted with pink and white light, illuminating the rest of the performers behind me. For this opening number the boys and I are arranged at the front of the stage and we’ve got all the supporting acts behind us. There’s our guest aerial silk artists, our drag queens, and some of our singers already dancing to the beat and spreading throughout the stage behind us as we dance in what is basically a conga line, hands on each other’s hips as we sway to the beat.
The song continues and it’s organized chaos; dancers begin to spread out and tease our patrons with flashes of skin, the aerialists twist, wind, and own the silks with their moves, while the drag queens strut off stage and begin mixing with the crowd.
The lyrics right before the catchy chorus starts are a cue. The guys and I are set to do one of our signature moves in sync, where we fall forward, catch ourselves with our arms, and do a pushup on the way down to the floor before we thrust our hips down a few times. Yes, it’s basically us dry—humping the stage but it’s hot.
Ready to start the move, I wind up close to where I was introducing the show a few seconds ago. I fall forward to the floor and begin my move. My biceps flex as I lower my torso in a controlled manner and here comes my favorite part. Let the humping commence.
During this move, I love looking at an audience member and shooting a little wink their way. Yes, I’m a fucking tease and I know it, I own it. As soon as my legs are lowered onto the floor, I look up toward one of the front booths occupied by a large bachelorette party.
Only, I’m caught dead by sapphire eyes behind thick rimmed glasses staring back at me. So caught by surprise that I missed one of my fucking stage humps.
Holy shit, it’s him.