Page 1 of Double XL Mountain Men (Cold Mountain Nights #11)

Cindy

“ N o, Kiki. Absolutely not. I couldn’t possibly,” I frown.

My best friend and roommate shoots me a pleading look, and to my consternation, there are literally tears in her eyes.

“Please, Cindy,” she begs. “I really need to study and I can’t go out tonight. You know this exam is going to be hard because you’ve taken this class before, and you know what’s on the line if I don’t pass. My entire life!”

I let out a small huff because in fact, I do know what Kiki’s up against. We’re both veterinary science majors at Western University, and I’ve taken the class she’s studying for now – Intro to Bovine Anatomy .

And yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like.

It’s knowing the insides of a cow so well that you could practically butcher the poor animal, tend to one of its wounds, or help them deliver a calf.

More likely, it’s all of the above because a successful vet treats animals through all phases of life.

Plus, Intro to Bovine Anatomy is a critical course for our major because as vets, Kiki and I plan on seeing a lot of cows.

We’re not planning to be the type of vets that open up a shop in a small town, with the majority of our clients cats, dogs, rabbits, and birds.

Instead, we’re planning to become livestock veterinarians, who care for a multitude of animals including cattle, swine, goats and sheep.

So yes, Intro to Bovine Anatomy is critical to our careers, and I understand when my roommate says she needs to hit the books with a vengeance.

But still, it’s Friday night, so why can’t Kiki just relax tonight, and then go hard over the weekend? I give her a serious look while planting my fists in my hips.

“Ki, it’s fine. You have more than two days to prepare,” I say in stern tone. “That’s more than enough time.”

To my consternation, Kiki really does begin to cry then, her face going blotchy as big tears roll down her cheeks.

“I know that I have exactly fifty-eight hours until my exam on Monday morning. But I need all fifty-eight hours!” she blubbers, her words coming out between heaving sobs.

“I’ve calculated that I need an hour for the chuck, another hour for the ribs, another hour for the brisket, thirty minutes for the shank?—”

I cut her off.

“Kiki, you’re losing it,” I say in a gentle tone. “You’re speaking like a barbecue pit specialist and not a veterinarian. You know that we don’t use words like “brisket” and “chuck.” The correct anatomical terms are withers, back, pin, and thigh.”

“See?” Kiki bawls, her face tomato red now as tears course down her cheeks. “I’m losing it, which is why I need you to show up in my place tonight! I need to budget in some sleep in addition to my studying, otherwise, I’m absolutely going to fail on Monday. Please, Cindy, please! I’m begging you.”

Then, to my horror, my beautiful blonde friend slides off her desk chair and collapses on her knees on our dorm room floor. She clasps her hand in front of her chest before addressing me through shaking, violent sobs.

“Please, Cindy!” she pleads from her submissive position. “It’s life and death!”

My shoulders slump because I really don’t want to go to a party tonight, and yet Kiki’s so desperate that I feel really bad for my buddy.

She’s in a tough position, and I know what it’s like to be stressed, seeing that I’ve been in similar situations myself in the past. The difference is that I’m a huge nerd and school comes easy to me.

I took Intro to Bovine Anatomy two years ago, and it was pretty straightforward, if I recollect correctly.

It took some hardcore memorization, sure, but it certainly wasn’t the dumpster fire that Kiki’s experiencing right now.

Letting out a defeated sigh, I reach for my friend’s hand and pull her up to sit on her twin bed before handing her a box of tissues.

“Okay, fine,” I say in a defeated tone. “What do I have to do? It’s a catering job, right? You’re a server at an exclusive VIP party tonight.”

Kiki grabs a tissue and wipes at her red, swollen nose.

“Thanks Cindy,” she says with a pathetic sniffle. “I appreciate it. And yes, I’m working a party, but it’s not exactly catering. It’s a little different.”

I nod.

“I know, I know. You probably have to do set-up, clean-up, and tend the bar too, right? And do you also have to help cook?”

Kiki shakes her head, still wiping at her swollen nose.

“No, not that. It’s not exactly catering, Cindy. It’s um ... a little more.”

I stare at her.

“I thought you worked for Campus Catering Services. You have the uniform because I’ve seen you wear it,” I say in a slow voice. “What do you mean, it’s different?”

My friend stares down at her clasped hands, the used Kleenex twisted into a small, sodden ball between her fingers.

“Well, I have the uniform but it’s kind of a disguise?—”

“A disguise ?” I ask in a surprised voice, my brows going up. “What do you mean? Why would you need a disguise?”

Kiki looks ashamed, and continues to twist the Kleenex between her fingers.

“Well, I started with Campus Catering Services at the beginning of the year,” she says defensively. “But they don’t pay much, and you know I don’t get help from my family for tuition. So actually, I quit after a month and started a new job. It’s also client-facing, just in a different way.”

I stare at my friend, my look suspicious.

“Okay, so what do you do?” I ask in a low voice. “Tell me, Kiki, if I’m going to be filling in for you tonight.”

My friend swallows so hard that I see the lump in her throat move.

“Well, I tried out for this new company, and they liked what they saw, so I got hired?—”

“What company?” I demand. “Like a ballet troupe? I know you like to dance.”

“I do like to dance,” Kiki responds immediately, her cheeks flushing pink. “So it was a natural fit for me. Basically, I dance at parties. For customers. For men.”

My heart begins to race as I stare at my buddy.

“You’re a dancer for men? What does that even mean? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

My pretty blonde friend looks alarmed and shakes her head.

“No, no! It’s not bad, or horrible, or anything like that.

Basically, guys throw shindigs and they don’t want it to be a sausage fest, so they hire female companions.

We’re not doing choreographed routines or precision dancing or anything like that,” she adds quickly.

“You don’t have to learn dance steps, or special moves.

But yes, we wear sparkly dresses and party with the men,” she says in a faint tone. “Is that okay?”

“ No!” I practically screech in response. “Ki, no way. Come on, this is me we’re talking about. I have two left feet, and there’s no way I could fit into a sparkly dress. I gained the freshman fifteen, which became the sophomore thirty, which has turned into the senior forty. There’s no way.”

“But you’re beautiful, Cin,” Kiki pleads in return, a hint of desperation returning to her voice.

“You’d fill out one of my dresses really well, and honestly, those outfits are meant to be tight.

They look bad on A-cups, and are meant to cling to women with curves. Please, Cindy, don’t back out now!”

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose as if in pain. Then I open my eyes and pin my friend with another look.

“Yeah, but what about the dancing? I can’t dance, Ki. Seriously, I’d trip and fall and land flat on my face. Besides, this is so weird! Who goes to parties just to please men? Oh my god, you guys are strippers, right? OMG, OMG!”

“No, we’re not strippers!” Kiki denies vehemently, waving both of her hands in front of her face.

“I would never agree to be a stripper because it’s so low-brow, and that’s not what our clients want either.

It’s just dancing around in a slinky outfit, and acting sexy and flirting a little. I promise, it’s not stripping.”

Now, I really feel a migraine coming because this is not what I planned to do with my Friday night.

Again, as a big nerd, I have nerdy habits and Friday nights are usually my time to relax with the latest copy of The New Yorker , and a nice pot of chamomile tea.

Instead, my friend’s blowing up my cozy evening in by sending me in her place as a raunchy stripper cum entertainer!

But I can’t help but feel for Kiki because I know how hard she works.

I also know what it feels like to survive on very little because I’m here on scholarship too.

We’re living on the precipice of existence, and sometimes it feels like our entire future hangs on a single midterm or exam.

Again, however, the difference between me and Kiki is that good grades come easy to me.

I have an excellent memory, and veterinary science has been a good fit.

Meanwhile, Kiki struggles like most other students I know. She hits the books night and day, and while her grades are good, it’s not without struggle. Plus, my friend lives hand to mouth, and my heart contracts because poverty is never easy. So with another reluctant sigh, I nod.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” I say in a grim voice. “But you owe me big time, girl. I mean, this isn’t a small favor. It’s a huge one.”

Kiki’s big blue eyes go wide with appreciation.

“Yes, of course, and thank you, Cin,” she sniffles before enveloping me in a big bear hug.

“I’m so grateful, and yes, I’ll owe you a billion dollars and a trip to the moon!

Plus, I have just the outfit for you to wear.

” Then, my curvy buddy scampers to her closet before rummaging around in its depths.

She reappears with a tiny scrap of fabric dangling from a hanger.

“Here it is!” she says with a smile. “This is perfect for you, Cindy. You’ll look ravishing in this.”

I eye the pink material skeptically because it’s nothing more than a rectangular piece of cloth fluttering in the AC.

“Okay, I get it. A sparkly pink tube top. But what should I wear to go with it? A black skirt? Black heels maybe?”

Kiki lets out a melodious peal of laughter, mirth in her blue eyes.

“No, girlfriend, this isn’t a tube top. This is a tube dress ! This is your whole outfit, other than shoes and a purse of course.”

I blink with astonishment at the pink rectangle.

“No way,” I say in a low voice. “There’s not enough material for it to be a dress, Ki. There’s no way that’s an entire outfit in and of itself.”

“But it is,” Kiki reassures me while detaching the scrap from the hanger. Then, she holds it up and pulls on the fabric. “See, it’s stretchy,” she murmurs. “It’ll look amazing on you, Cin. You’ll be a knockout, not that you aren’t already,” she says in a hasty tone.

I wince because this evening is going from bad to worse.

Not only have I been guilt-tripped into subbing for my friend, but now, it seems she’s not a caterer – she’s a so-called “dancer,” which is obviously a euphemism for something filthy and wrong.

To add insult to injury, I’m expected to go out and shimmy and shake my generous assets while basically nude!

I can already tell from the thin fabric that everything will be on display – from my generous bust to my round, heart-shaped ass. OMG, what in the world is going on?

But ever the people pleaser, I snatch the fabric from my friend’s hand before stomping into our attached bathroom. “Okay, but you owe me,” I call again before closing the door. “Big time!”

“Of course!” Kiki calls right back with a big smile.

“You’re going to love it, Cindy. This is a million times better than staying in on a Friday night with the latest issue of The New Yorker .

I mean, the guys will be hot, and the music pumping.

Meanwhile, The New Yorker’s mascot is Eustace Tilley, who’s a total nitwit.

They should sub Eustace out for a dude from Magic Mike .

Seriously, Condé Nast’s revenue would skyrocket if they put a hot, muscular male stripper on the cover instead of that ridiculous cartoon man.

I’m just saying because Eustace is the opposite of sexy, and I’m not the only person who thinks so! ”

I stifle a giggle because Kiki’s right. We’re young women who adore ripped and muscular alpha males, and Eustace and his monocle can stuff it.

The problem is that said alpha males don’t adore us in turn.

Instead, the big men on campus swagger by with a posse of girls trailing behind them in a cloud of perfume, and don’t even see me and Kiki.

We could be invisible, or members of a local convent, for all the attention we get.

But maybe tonight’s my chance. Maybe this party of men will be tall, handsome, and possessive, with athletic, muscular builds and charming smiles.

Maybe they’ll have huge packages ... wait a minute, where is this going?

I’m supposed to be a good girl, and yet somehow, I already know that after tonight, everything’s going to change.