Page 121 of Coach
The crowd erupted.
I meanerupted.
People whooped, stomped, and cheered like they’d just won the lottery. The woman two tables over knocked over her martini, screaming his name. One of the bachelorette party shouted an offer that involved her bra, panties, and a margarita.
Shane leaned toward me and whispered, “Must be a popular guy.”
I grinned. “You have no idea.”
Matt jogged onstage, lean and grinning, dressed inblack jeans and a fitted tee that clung to all the right places. The man was pure charisma—swagger without arrogance and sharp eyes that missed nothing.
He grabbed the mic and paced a few steps. “Damn! You guys ready to have fun tonight, or what?”
More cheers.
“Good.” He smirked. “Because I am tired.”
A round of confused chuckles.
“I’ve been doing shows five nights a week, and my manager still thinks I can do CrossFit after this. Like, bro—I lift one bad Yelp review and I’m sore for three days.”
Polite laughter.
“Let’s do something different. Rather than starting with me, let’s start with you.” He grinned wider. “Who’ve we got tonight . . .”
And then the room tensed the way it always did when a comedian started exploring the crowd. Matt’s eyes scanned left and locked onto a table three over from us—from the look of them, a straight couple, both early forties, the guy wearing an aggressively pink polo.
Matt pointed, grinning. “Yo—you guys together?”
The man nodded.
Matt tilted his head. “Blink twice if youwere forced into that shirt.”
The room howled.
The woman laughed and smacked her husband’s arm.
Matt leaned forward conspiratorially. “You bought it for him, didn’t you?”
She nodded through tears of laughter.
“And yet he still wore it.” Matt clutched his chest. “That’s love, folks. Or Stockholm Syndrome. It’s hard to tell with the inside of a pussy wrapped around the outside of that man.”
Squeals mixed with groans.
“Well, despite the shirt, I’m glad you’re here,” Matt said. Just as he made to turn, he looked back and added, “Just try to keep that pussy shirt in check, okay?”
The crowd was his. Just like that, he commanded the room.
He pivoted, scanning further, spotting the bachelorette party at the far end of the room.
“Oh, shit.” He grinned, eyes lighting up. “We’ve got a bachelorette table? Y’all trying to black out before the second comic?”
The women screamed, waving pink sashes and plastic tiaras.
Matt laughed. “Who’s the lucky one?”
A woman in the center raised her hand. She wasalready three—or six—cocktails in.
