Once Upon A Half-Time: A Sports Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,141

an elbow.

“Mandy, gonna show Nate some of your moves?”

The images in my head were not fit for a strip joint let alone a wedding. “I think I’ve seen most of them already.”

Mandy awkwardly crossed her arms. “I can’t dance.”

“Sure you can.” I flexed my own hips. “You know how to bump and grind.”

Lindsey snacked on a piece of bacon, turning to rummage through the cooler. Mandy poked a finger into my chest, her eyes wide.

“Don’t start,” she whispered.

“Start what?”

“Anything.”

“Baby, I never stopped.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Lindsey poured Mandy a Bloody Mary. “Now, you’re gonna need the most help to learn this routine. It has to be perfect, so get focused.”

Mandy didn’t drink. “Then shouldn’t I be sober?”

“You’re even more awkward sober. Believe me. You need a drink.”

If I was sticking around to watch this, I’d want a drink too. And probably some popcorn.

The girls descended on breakfast like a pack of ravenous hyenas, laughing and braying and snapping at the others for being too loud with their headaches. It took them five minutes to destroy the meal I prepared and an hour to get ready to dance, which didn’t make much sense since most of them just tossed on yoga pants and put their hair up.

But, until last night, I only fucked women; I didn’t try to understand them.

Mandy was the first one I attempted to figure out, and she made chasing her into a goddamned competitive sport. I didn’t know if I was supposed to tackle her, drift behind her, or score. Not like she’d tell me what the hell to expect either.

“Okay, girls. I need you all in a line.” Lindsey clapped her hands. “You better stretch too. This isn’t going to be quick, and it’s certainly not going to be easy. You’ve been warned.”

Lindsey’s idea of a bachelorette weekend party included a mandatory dancing boot camp. Some of her plans weren’t bad. I liked watching Mandy squirm in embarrassment while she pranced in tiny boy shorts emblazoned with rhinestones slapping the word MAID on her ass. She tugged the clingy material down, but they hardly covered her little bridesmaid booty.

It might have been nice if the girls weren’t seven sticks of dynamite waiting to blow—both me and what fragile progress I’d made with Mandy.

Lindsey chose her college friends as her bridesmaids—Carmen, Peaches, Caitlyn, Amy, and…red head. I didn’t remember her name. That was a problem, especially since I had slept with her five months ago.

Well, I slept with most of the bridal party over the past few months. It hadn’t been a major concern before—they all knew it was just one night of fun. But what was amusing before suddenly became dangerous. The bridesmaids wiggled, shimmied, teased, and baited me with every shake of their tits or twerk of their asses.

And Mandy noticed.

Not sure if I should have worried about that. She wanted complicated? She got it.

Lindsey ordered me to move the furniture. I shifted the couch and TV into the hall so they’d have room to dance. Then the bullshit started.

Caitlyn squeezed my bicep and giggled about how strong I was. Not sure what I saw in her before…then again I couldn’t see much around her double D rack. But she didn’t rock curves nearly as well as Mandy.

Peaches—I was certain that wasn’t her real name but damned if I had bothered asking—blew me a kiss when the girls lined up to dance. Red head mimicked blowing something a little differently.

Thankfully Mandy didn’t see Amy grab my ass.

These girls stalked me, half-starved and drooling for meat.

“Where are you going?” Lindsey planted her hands on her hips as I attempted to sneak out. “We need you to watch.”

Mandy nearly spilled her water. “No, we really don’t. Not when we’re learning.”

“Shame is an excellent motivator.”

“If that were the case, I’d have mastered the steps by now.” Mandy waved a hand at me. “Go, Nate. Shoo. Be gone.”

As she wished. I took a step. Lindsey pinched my arm.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Lindsey pulled a camping chair from a closet and sat me in it. “You have to tell us if we’re in sync. I can’t see the entire ensemble, especially during Thriller.”

“So you’re really doing the Thriller dance?” I laughed.

“Why?”

“Seems cliché.”

I missed Mandy’s frantic arm motions warning me to avoid the confrontation at all costs. Lindsey screeched. The girls’ flirty pouts turned to legit irritation.

Great. Seven pissed off, underfed, hungover women sneered at me.

I cleared my throat. “But I’m sure your dance will bring something new and innovative.”

“Damn