Shame on You

“Seriously, ladies, it’s flattering that you think I’m a stripper, but I really need to get back to work.” He tries to get up from the chair and five women all huddle behind him, shoving him back down in his seat by pushing on his shoulders.

“Wow, you guys are freakishly strong,” he mutters as one of the girls gets down on her knees by his feet and starts untying his boot to the tune of Kid Rock’s “Cowboy.”

I really need to help him. It’s all fun and games until some other woman tries to undress him. Watching them manhandle him is making me stabby. I’m kind of struck dumb by the sight of him with his shirt off. He doesn’t have a six-pack—he has a ninety-five-pack. And when did he get a tattoo above his left pec? It’s the United States Army insignia and I have the sudden urge to run my fingers over it. And then my tongue.

“Um, excuse me,” I say loudly to the group at large.

No one hears me except for Griffin. He looks over the head of some woman wearing a headband with a giant plastic penis on it who is currently motorboating his crotch and raises his eyebrows at me.

I’m not going to lie; I feel a little ashamed of my actions now that he’s glaring at me. This whole payback idea was stellar after a few bottles of wine. Now that I’m sober and the entire town thinks I’m a call girl and the bachelorette party will most likely pass around Griffin’s phone number to everyone they know to recommend his stripping services? Not so much.

“Ladies!” I try again, shouting as loud as I can. A few of them turn to look at me and are none too happy that I took their attention away from the main event.

Raising my hands in a please-don’t-kill me way, I try to reason with them.

“Sorry to interrupt, but this guy really isn’t a stripper. It was a big misunderstanding. If you’ll just let me get him out of here, you guys can go back to your partying,” I explain to them.

“Is this part of the show? I think we’re supposed to just play along, isn’t that what Paige told us?” one of the girls whispers to someone behind me.

“Ooooooh, she’s probably a stripper too! I’ve never seen a female stripper!” someone shouts from the other side of the room.

I start shaking my head frantically back and forth when everyone’s attention is suddenly on me, giving Griffin the opportunity to get up out of his chair untouched. He walks through the throng of women who are eyeing me up and down lecherously and I hold his arm, pulling him toward me for protection.

“I’m sorry. I swear to God, I had nothing to do with this. Help me get out of here with my clothes on and we’ll call a truce,” I whisper to him in a panic as a hand smacks my ass.

“TAKE IT OFF, GIRLFRIEND!” someone screams.

Griffin wraps one arm around my waist, pulls my body up against his naked torso, and stares down at me with a calculating grin.

“So now you want to call a truce. I don’t think so, honey. I think you should do as the ladies say and take it off!” he yells.

Twenty sets of arms go up in the air as they all start chanting. “Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!”

Aside from the fact that this is the most mortifying event in the history of my life, I can’t help but enjoy the feel of Griffin’s arm around me. I want to snuggle into the heat of his half-naked body. Even if he IS trying to throw me to the wolves.

As I smack random female hands away from the buttons of my formfitting, button-down black shirt, Griffin takes notice of the panicked look on my face and finally decides to come to my aid instead of instigating the drunk masses.

“All right, ladies, show’s over. We really do need to get going,” he shouts as he starts to walk backward through the crowd, pulling me along with him.

“But we want to see naked people!” someone argues and the crowd starts to boo and glare at us.

Jesus, who knew drunken bachelorettes were so angry?

There’s a knock at the door and Griffin turns away from me to open it as I hope and pray that it’s hotel security. I have a feeling these bitches aren’t going to let us out of here alive.

The door opens and my father stands there in the hotel hallway with one eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Paige sent me. She said you might need my help,” he tells Griffin as he takes in the scene behind us. Let’s just say, I’m pretty sure my father has never seen so many fake penis products in his entire life. The woman with the light-up penis earrings may just put him over the edge.

“A SILVER FOX!” the bride-to-be shouts when she sees my father.

I cover my ears and cringe as the screams of approval make it to new heights.

A group of screaming and giggling women shove Griffin and me out of the way, grab on to my dad’s arm and drag him into the room. I don’t feel the need to save my father because he’s a hard-ass. There’s no way he’ll let this go on for much longer; he won’t have the patience for it.

The women are fawning all over him at this point, running their hands through his hair and kissing his cheeks. Any second now he’s going to yell at all of them to back the fuck up.