Page 26 of Groomsman to Groom

“First up,” Skye announces, “give it up for Gabby!”

The lights dim, and music with a pounding bass fills the room. Gabby emerges from behind a velvet curtain, and my jaw nearly hits the floor. She’s wearing what can only generously be described as a gymnastics outfit—a sparkly red number that covers roughly the same square footage as a cocktail napkin. The g-string cuts high on her hips, leaving little to the imagination.

She catches my eye and winks before launching into a series of cartwheels across the performance space. I’m immediately impressed by her athleticism—each movement precise and powerful. She transitions into back handsprings, then a full backflip that lands perfectly. The women applaud with varying degrees of enthusiasm, some clearly intimidated.

For her finale, Gabby executes a split leap into a forward roll that brings her directly to my feet. She looks up with practiced vulnerability, chest heaving dramatically.

“I was Iowa State Gymnastics Champion. Three years running,” she purrs, resting a hand on my knee. “I’m very... flexible.”

I smile politely, genuinely impressed by her abilities while simultaneously uncomfortable. It’s like watching someone bring a bazooka to a water balloon fight.

“That was very athletic,” I manage, aware of the cameras capturing my reaction. “Impressive.”

Gabby beams, clearly taking my diplomatic response as enthusiastic approval.

Then Chloe comes up and plays a melody on crystal glasses, which is interesting. Admittedly, my attention wanes a bit as the next three contestants do their talents, which include a hula hoop dance, poetry, and karate.

“Next up,” Skye announces, “bring it, Serena!”

A hush falls. Then, darkness.

Spotlights illuminate Serena, center-stage. Holding a lightsaber made of glow sticks, she stands tall in Princess Leia’s infamous gold bikini, her dark hair tousled into a reckless bun. Complete with chains and all. She looks…hot.

Her face is sultry, and she meets my gaze with intensity when she says, “Hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it, you’ll never make it through the night.”

Her words, quoting Princess Leia, hit me with force. That’sexactlywhat this process is—believing you’ll find someone while stumbling through the darkness and confusion of it all.

Serena takes a bow, and I’m smiling when I say, “Your focus determines your reality,” quoting Qui-Gon Jinn.

Serena rises from the bow, her bikini strap slipping off one shoulder, and my dick bulges in my pants.

Brielle? Who’s Brielle?

Serena does a small, dignified turn, allowing everyone to appreciate the costume that—I can’t help but notice—fits herperfectly. She’s sexy, yes, but unlike Gabby’s performance, she’s making a deep and thought-provoking point.

She lifts her wrists to show the prop shackles then unclasps the chain with a dramatic bow. The room erupts in applause—even from some of the other women who recognize the game when they see it.

“That was awesome,” I say honestly when the noise dies down.

As Serena returns to her spot, I find myself genuinely intrigued.

Then, the stage goes dark, and when it lights up again, Jordan’s standing on a treadmill wearing a sport’s bra, running pants, and tennis shoes. She turns the treadmill up to almost max speed as she runs, talking the entire time about the benefits of exercise on our bodies, minds, emotions, and spirits.

It’s a silly performance, but there’s no question that Jordan’s in top running condition.

“Moving right along,” Skye gestures dramatically, “here’s Annabelle!”

Sweet Southern Annabelle takes the stage, and I almost do a double take. Gone is the soft-spoken redhead who tears up. In her place stands a woman in leather pants and a fitted top, holding what appear to be actual flaming torches.

“Y’all might think I’m just a sensitive children’s author,” she drawls, her accent thicker than usual, “but back in Alabama, my uncle ran a carnival, and he taught me a thing or two about playin’ with fire.”

With that, she tosses a torch high into the air, catching it with her other hand. The flames leave golden trails in the air, reflected in her determined eyes. She begins to juggle, starting with two torches, then adding a third with a flick of her wrist that speaks of countless hours of practice.

There’s something mesmerizing about watching her—the danger, the focus, the way she transforms from the emotional, vulnerable Annabelle into this fearless performer. At one point, she nearly drops a torch, fumbling it for a heart-stopping moment before recovering with a laugh and a wink in my direction.

“Meant to do that,” she calls out, drawing laughter.

For her finale, she extinguishes the torches one by one by seemingly swallowing the flames. The last one goes out with a dramatic hiss, leaving her standing in a pool of light, arms raised triumphantly.

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