I notice Fi and Angie sitting on the edge of their seats and cheering alongside me. Then they exchange another look between them. A different look, a conspiratorial look. What now?
“Dance, Kaylee!” they yell in unison.
“What?” I lean forward and shout over the song.
“Up!” Fi says. She gets up and starts to dance herself. Angie gets up too and then the three of us are dancing. But apparently that’s not enough. “Not down here with us,” Fi shouts, “up there, with Paolo. It’s your special night, after all.”
They start chanting. “Kaylee! Kaylee! Kaylee.”
My friends know me all too well. There’s no way I can resist if there’s going to be chanting. I carefully move my seat between where I’m standing and the table that Paolo is currently dancing on.
And then as lightly as a cat. Well, lightly as a cat that has already had a few drinks, I step up onto the chair and then make the small leap onto the table with Paolo.
I hear cheers erupt around me. First from my friends, and then from the surrounding tables as well. All I know is that there is a good beat and tonight I am up for anything.
Paolo is smiling at me, apparently fine with the company and okay with me sharing the small table stage. Soon, Paolo and I are in a rhythm, dancing back and forth. He swings his hips in my direction and I do the same back at him. Only as I dance, I’m careful to dodge the flaming tiki torches.
This is probably the most fun I’ve had in, well, a while. Who knows, maybe this love life intervention is going to work after all.
Paolo’s smile turns up an octave, which I had no idea was possible. I follow his lead and the two of us shake our booties and stomp on the table until the song ends.
That brings more screaming across the bar. I take the opportunity to leap down. That was more fun than I expected. I am parched and out of breath, but I have to admit I’m having lots of fun.
Paolo does one more song solo, and then finishes the show. Which apparently involves him leaping back off of the table with a flourish and a bow. As soon as his tan feet hit the sand, women come running from all over the bar area to put money in that grass skirt.
I panic for a moment. My lack of a love life isn’t the only part of me that’s a hot mess right now. I’m also broke as hell. Seriously broke. Ramen-noodle, had to cancel Netflix broke. But I feel bad for not having any cash. Paolo put on a great show.
Way ahead of me, Angie crosses the distance between us, placing cash into my hand. Then without waiting for me to object or react, she puts a hand on my back and gives me a hard shove toward Paolo. Almost straight into his chiseled, glistening chest.
Using the momentum, I dance over to him, trying to fight my way past the female horde that has already surrounded him.
But then I trip over the hard tipped, red cowboy boots of a cougar who beat me to him, dropping the cash onto the ground.
Even worse, I lurch forward and face plant into the sand. Yeah, Kaylee. Smooth. Humiliate yourself in front of the oiled-up dancer guy.
Recovering as fast as I can, I crawl forward on my hands and knees to dig out the money that I dropped. When I finally stand back up, Paolo is smiling down at me, having navigated the crowd and crossed the distance between us.
Smiling back, I carefully put the money into his grass skirt while my friends cheer me on.
His lips part and his tongue grazes his lower lip as he leans closer to my ear. Then he whispers something. “Girl, if you want help breaking out of your slump, all you gotta do is ask.”
I feel my cheeks heat. As sexy as he is, there’s no way that’s going to happen. A pity fire dance paid for by my friends is one thing, but pity sex is something I just won’t do. “Um, thank you, but I’m okay for now.”
Ugh, that is a super lame response. But honestly, those are the only words I can muster with the drinks kicking in and everybody looking at me and the crowd noise.
With a shrug and a smile, he walks off to hand out business cards to the hordes of adoring women. I may have turned him down for the pity sex, but I know Paolo will be fine. And by the looks of it, he is making bank tonight.
I return to my chair and pull it back up to the table. All eyes are glued to me. Again. “What?”
“What did he say to you?” Fi asks.
“Um, nothing.”
“So not true,” Angie says. “Did he ask you out?”
“Yes, fine. Well, kind of.”
“Kind of?” They ask at the same time. I know they are never going to let this go. And he did offer, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a date. More like a roll in the hay, er sand, or whatever.
“Yes, he offered to help me break my slump,” I say, mostly to get them off my back about the whole thing.
“What did you tell him?” Fi asks, her eyes wide. She’s proud of herself.
I narrow my eyes at her. “You paid for that, didn’t you?”
“Of course we paid for it; he wouldn’t come for free.” Fi replies.
“You know what I mean, did you pay for the something extra?”
“I would never.” Fi answers.
I arch an eyebrow at her suspiciously.
“If you must know, I did tell him this was a sex-life intervention, and I might have mentioned why, and he might have said that’s the
