Page 84 of The End of Summer

“So? I have a fiancé. I’m not suggesting wedoanything. I just wanted to clear the air. You know. Move on from all that.”

“Fine. Consider the air cleared.”

She nods, and a smirk plays on her lips. “Okay. So, then, dance with me, Brady.”

I literally am squished between a rock and a hard place. The boys around me are killing it. They’re grinding up on the ladies, playing it up hard. Then the boys surround the two of us, yielding a surprising reaction from her. Instead of looking around, Miranda hones in on me with laser focus, as if she’s determined to get me to do the kinds of moves those guys are doing. While I begin to shuffle innocuously from side to side, Miranda frowns. She places her arm around my waist and says, “Come on. For old time’s sake.” I take a step back, creating distance, letting her story sink in. I don’t know if I believe it’s true, but at this point, what does it matter, anyway? We’ve been done for so long, and I am head over heels for Gretchen. I just need to get through the next – I check the clock – 39 minutes.

But Miranda’s not having it.

She begins dancing as ifsheis the stripper. She licks her finger and traces it down the front of her body. She drops to the floor and pops back up again.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I said, dance with me,” she whines.

“Iam,” I insist.

She pouts. “You can’t tell me you don’t miss me, even just the tiniest bit?” She pushes her breasts up and begins to play with her nipples through her shirt. No shame, this girl.

“Miranda, stop,” I say. “That’s enough. I’ll dance with you, but as I said, I have a girlfriend. You’re getting married. And most importantly, I’m not interested.”

Evidently deaf to my words, she goes too far.

Miranda turns around, facing her back side to me, bends over to put her hands squarely on the floor, and reveals to me that she is wearing nothing underneath that skirt.

My eyes frantically dart around the room, looking for Gretchen, making sure she didn’t see what I just saw. She’s dancing with Max now, but he’s keeping a respectful distance. I’m sure he’s just pacing himself. Sometimes the girls are so thirsty that dancing with Cosmo employees becomes a welcomereprieve. Her back is to me, though, so my wild gaze goes unnoticed by her.

Miranda turns back around to face me, and, pleased with herself for shocking me, flashes me again, this time from the front, She lifts up her skirt and reveals a clean-shaven ham wallet that I want exactly zero part of. I lean in towards her and say, “If you do that again, we’re done here.”

“I’m sorry, Brady,” she sulks, and then, her expression turns diabolical. “But I’m a paying customer, so I call the shots tonight. You don’t have to touch me. You just have to dance with me.” She gives me the bitchiest grin. “Assuming you want to get paid, that is.”

I shake my head, willing myself to keep it together. The whole reason I’m here is for the paycheck. So I can make ends meet and do nice things with and for my girlfriend.

I take a deep breath and pretend to smile.

Miranda, still facing me, takes a step closer. “Absolutely no touching,” I remind her. “You touch me, we’re done here.”

Instead, she continues to touch herself. Over the skirt, over the tank top. Her hands snake up and down her body and she writhes into the touch as if she is genuinely arousing herself.

“Enough,” I say, and she laughs. “I’m serious.”

“So, when did you become a fuckboy anyway, Brady?” She’s trying to get a rise out of me.That’s fine,I decide.Two can play that game.

I ignore her question, plaster on a fake smile and – not sure where this comes from – start doing the running man, just to piss her off. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Big Mike laughing. It’s about the least sexy move someone can do in a thong. And there’s not a damn thing she can do to stop me.

The running man becomes the sprinkler. Then, I begin to floss. Next, I dab. I do the gritty back and forth in front of her as she grows increasingly agitated with me, folds her arms over her chest and huffs. Finally, I get sturdy, and Big Mike is in fucking stitches. I look like a fool, but hey,I’mnot the one who rolled up with no goddamn drawers on like a ratchet piece of street trash.

Miranda stops dancing, and puts her hands on her hips in aggravation. “Will you please stop?” she yells at me. I see Gretchen turn around, and she starts laughing, too.

“Nah, Miranda. I can do this all day,” I announce. “It’s a killer workout for my glutes.”

A few seconds later, most of the people in our immediate vicinity are laughing along with Gretchen and Big Mike. Miranda’s face twists up like she might cry. Finally, she screams, “You know what, Brady? Fuck you,” and storms past Big Mike out into the parking lot.

Once I get my fit of giggles in check (yes, I am wiping tears from my eyes), I resume dancing for real. I work the room like I normally would, noticing that the maid-of-honor has chosen to evacuate the dance floor and locate the blushing bride outside in the gravel lot.Good for them,I think.Like I give a shit.

Later, Big Mike is put in the position of having to collect our money. He explains to the bridal party that I did exactly what I promised to do and that Miranda was wrong to flash me multiple times. Big Mike isbig. His voicebooms.And he’s there to protect us – whether that means keeping unwanted hands (ormouths) off of us, keeping us from getting in fights with ladies who drink too much, or, in this case, collecting our payments.

Miranda screams at Mike in the parking lot that she didnotorder my brand of foolishness and didnotwant to become the butt of the joke at her own bachelorette party, but Big Mike responds that she should have been respectful about the limitations and stopped flashing me the first time I asked her to. Eventually, the bridal party pays us what they owe us, and the rest of the party is cut short. Miranda’s furious. She orders herself an Uber, leaving the rest of her party to pay the remainder of the Cosmo bill. When the Uber pulls up to the parking lot, she yells one final thing at Big Mike.

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