Page 44 of Taking a King

“The first thing I want you ladies to do,” she explains, “is to stop thinking of your body as something to be ashamed of or embarrassed by. Period.” She raises a hand. “I know what you’re all thinking right now. ‘I’m not ashamed of my body.’ Am I right?”

We all nod.

“That’s what you think. I know. But trust me,” she says. “As soon as I ask you to get up on this stage and work through a dance routine, you’re going to get shy or feel embarrassed. It happens almost every time. I’m here to tell you to leave that at the door. This is supposed to be fun. It’s meant to be entertaining, and it’s meant to be sexy. Trust me when I tell you that it’s incredibly empowering to be able to captivate your partner’s attention with a few simple moves of your body.” Miranda winks and we all laugh.

“By the time we’re finished here,” she says, “every single one of you should be ready to go out and conquer the world. Or at least make it horny.”

This time, the laughter is louder. I’ve never done anything like this, but I’ve always been fascinated by it. The truth is, I suffer from a terrible lack of rhythm. If Miranda can teach me some moves to make it appear as if I have some, it will be a miracle. Miranda presses a button on a small remote control and music starts playing from overhead speakers.

She walks the perimeter of the stage, her hips swaying in an exaggerated manner that I can’t help but watch. I’m sure that’s the point. She moves slowly, with purpose, looking each of us in the eye as she passes. I can feel the low thump of the music in my chest. It’s a song I know. It’s sexual in nature and I can’t help but move a little in my seat along with the music.

Miranda circles closer to the pole.

“I don’t want you to think of the pole as a thing,” she says. “It needs to feel like an extension of yourself. You have to trust that it won’t let you fall. And you have to know how to use it to your advantage.”

She wraps her hands around it and her feet leave the ground. She spins around, using the pole to propel herself in a full circle. It’s somehow graceful and sexy at once. I know if I tried it, I’d probably look like a kid at the playground rather than a woman trying to entice her man. I watch Miranda intently as she works through what she calls a simple routine, explaining as she goes. I try to listen closely to her words as well as watch the movements of her body. There’s no way I’ll ever be as good as she is, but maybe I can learn enough to put on a show for Garrett later. The thought makes me remember my promise to keep my heels on later. The thought is enough to make me squirm in my chair.

“Okay ladies,” Miranda calls out. “Who’s first?”

As if we planned it, we all look to Hannah.

“The bride, of course,” Hope says with a smirk.

Hannah flushes just a bit, but I see the exact moment when she decides to go for it. Her shoulders straighten and she finishes off her glass of champagne before standing. She sets the glass on the corner of the stage and makes her way over to the stairs. The rest of us erupt into a chorus of cheers.

Miranda directs Hannah on the stage while the rest of us watch. I try to take mental notes for when it’s my turn, but I’m seriously doubting my ability to do even half of those moves. Hannah does a surprisingly good job of copying Miranda’s movements on the stage. When she finishes, we all cheer loudly.

“Alright,” Miranda calls out. “Who’s next?”

There’s a moment of awkward silence. Then Mya surprises everyone by standing up.

“Fuck it. I’m in,” she says.

She finishes off her drink and hands the empty glass to me before sauntering toward the stage. We all cheer for her as Miranda starts the music playing again.

Before Miranda can walk over to Mya to help coach her movements, Mya takes hold of the pole and launches herself into the air. She spins effortlessly, appearing for all the world as if she’s a professional exotic dancer. The rest of us sit in stunned silence as we watch. Hope is the first one to come back to her senses. She lets out a loud cheer, pulling us out of our shock. We all join in as Mya moves across the stage to the music. By the time the song finishes, we’re all out of our chairs and waving dollar bills at her. She takes one from Hope and tucks it down the front of her shirt, laughing.

When she makes her way back down the stairs and over to the rest of us, she’s out of breath and flushed from the exertion.

“Damn, girl,” I say. “Do you have a secret job on the weekends?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “I was a dancer before I hurt my ankle in college. Nothing exotic,” she says, pointing a finger at us. “Theater, mostly. Some ballet. I was never good enough to make it as a ballerina, but I still have a few moves.”

“I’ll say,” Quinn says. “You looked damned good up there!”

I sigh. “There’s no way I’m following that routine,” I say. “Hope, you go next.”

She laughs, but she doesn’t argue. She takes the stage and Miranda walks her through the moves. She’s nowhere near as skilled as Mya had been, but she has a few good moves and she’s clearly having fun with it. By the time it’s my turn, I’ve drank another two glasses of champagne and I’m feeling pretty confident in my dancing skills.

Once I take the stage and begin to move, it quickly becomes clear that my confidence is misplaced. There isn’t enough champagne in the world to help me fake my way through this. I’m an awkward mess that not even Miranda can fix. Halfway through the song, we both give up and I start doing the Tootsie Roll, much to everyone’s amusement. Quinn cheers loudly and waves a five-dollar bill at me for my efforts. I know I can sing. I can also play just about any musical instrument placed in front of me. What I can’t do, is dance.

After we finish our pole dancing lessons, we thank Miranda and we all pile back into the party bus to head to the next destination. The music in the bus is loud and we’re all singing along at the top of our lungs. More drinks are flowing and I’ve stopped turning them down. It’s just champagne, after all. I pull my phone out to check for any missed texts or calls, but there aren’t any. I feel a sliver of disappointment, though I don’t know why. Garrett is out with the guys, just like I’m out with the girls. Why should he text me?

Before I can put the phone back into my purse, someone reaches over and yanks it from my hand.

“Hey!” I shout, reaching for it.

Quinn pulls it out of reach before I can grab it. “We said no dudes tonight, remember?”

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