STRIPTEASED (Roommate Reverse Harem Romance)

1

Emma

“Are you having fun?” the curly-haired brunette across the table shouted.

Resisting the urge to tell the truth, I did my best to project my voice above the throb of the music. “Of course!” I didn’t think she heard me, but she gave me a thumbs-up sign. She seemed nice—too bad I couldn’t remember her name.

The women at the surrounding tables roared. On stage, a blond, good-looking man had just whipped off his breakaway pants, revealing the shiny red jockstrap he wore. Sonia, my future sister-in-law, called out, “Yeah, baby!” I couldn’t tell if she was really into this scene or just going through the motions since she was the hostess of my bachelorette party.

Okay, it was a bit awkward to watch nearly naked men with women I didn’t know, but it was still kind of Sonia to do this. We only met a week ago when my fiancé Clint and I left Pennsylvania to move to Tennessee. Our wedding was in two months right here in his hometown of Riverside. Clint had insisted that Sonia be my maid of honor, and it wasn’t like I knew anyone else here yet.

“Shake that thang,” shouted a woman from another table. I sipped my drink as I watched the stripper shake his, ahem, thang at the women nearest the stage. They responded by screaming and shoving money under the tiny elastic strap that held up the pouch in front.

Well, mostly held it up. He looked like he was seconds away from a wardrobe malfunction.

The final chords of the deafening music faded out, and before a lack-of-clothing-related disaster could strike, the spotlights on the stage turned off. There was a round of applause as the inebriated women realized his act was over. To my surprise, the cheering went on for quite some time and was gathering strength. In my opinion, the guy hadn’t been that good—not that I could talk. I couldn’t dance to save my life.

Then one of Sonia’s friends leaned over, the taller one whose name might have been Pam. “The headliners are up next—twin brothers. You won’t want to miss this.”

Ah. Judging from the whoops and screams coming from all around me, I was the only one in the room that hadn’t known that. This really wasn’t my scene, but then again, most crowds weren’t. But since Sonia had taken the time—at Clint’s urging—to arrange for a bachelorette party, I should do my best to seem like I was enjoying it.

I took a deep breath and plastered a smile on my face as I turned to look at the stage. I bit back a wince as the neckline of the black cocktail dress Sonia had lent me threatened to reveal more than it should. The dress definitely didn’t fit me as well as it did Sonia’s curvy, feminine figure. Though it was pretty, I’d spent half the night worrying that my breasts were going to spill out of the loose, low-cut neckline.

The lights were still low, and the women around me were drumming their hands on the table, clearly excited about the next act. The rhythmic thrumming was getting to me—or maybe it was the alcohol. Whatever it was, my pulse seemed to align with the pounding sound, and in spite of myself, I was curious about what was coming.

Then there was a loud whoop, like a cowboy sound, and the spotlights flashed on, aimed directly at the absolute sexiest men I’d ever seen in my entire life. My breath caught in my throat for reasons that had nothing to do with the tight dress, and then I muttered, “Holy shit,” at the same time one of Sonia’s friends said the same thing.

The two identical men were dressed in military fatigues, green camouflage complete with matching caps. They stood tall and strong, surveying the crowd as if they were real soldiers gearing up for a mission. The twins seemed oblivious to the screams and shouts surrounding them.

Good God, I’d never, ever seen men like that in person. They could’ve been movie stars. Rock stars. Hell, I’d vote for them for governor. Or president. Or supreme leader of the universe.

The men marched forward, their movements crisp and precise. The music had a drum cadence to it, and I half expected a drill sergeant to emerge and start to put them through their paces at any moment.

I’d like them to put me through my paces.

Where had that thought come from? It wasn’t like me to entertain thoughts like that, especially not about strange men. Hell, I didn’t even think things like that about Clint.

Then the men started to dance. Except dance was too tame of a word. Their rigid posture gave way to fluid movements of their hips, abs, torsos… suddenly they were rolling and snapping their bodies as if they had at least two times more joints than the average person.