The Guys Next Door by Amber Thielman

Author:Amber Thielman [Thielman, Amber]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amber Thielman
Published: 2020-04-08T22:00:00+00:00

Emma and I worked on homework as the others prepped the area for a private bachelorette party. I tried not to think too hard about Elijah as I focused on my English essay, but it was difficult not to. Thinking about Elijah brought Jesse into the picture, too, and that was when things got messy. My feelings toward Jesse were confusing. He had been on my mind a lot, but it was difficult to see him as anything more than a friend. After he had hit Elijah, though, my initial impression of a shy, geeky kid had gone down the drain. Now, when I thought of Jesse, it was with admiration—if not something more.

Emma was beyond excited for the show tonight. We had the whole place to ourselves aside from the group of girls expected to show up about eight. She was squirming in her seat, unable to concentrate on her own homework, much like a kid at Disneyland. The guys were in the back room dressing for the show, and Audrey had vanished again, presumably off panicking over something.

Just before eight, Malcolm opened the front doors, and a group of ten or eleven girls piled in. As per usual, they were dolled up in tight pants, little catchy tank tops, and knee-high boots. They reeked of perfume and hair product and walked as if each had a wedgie.

“Classy,” Emma whispered as a woman with platinum blond hair and enormous hoop earrings leaned past us to order drinks from the bar. I giggled, and the girl shot us a mean look as she waited for her margaritas.

“You kids look a little young to be at a bar,” she said not kindly.

“My aunt owns it,” I said. “She said we could stay and watch the show.” The girl rolled her eyes and took her drinks, bored with the conversation as she sashayed back to her friends and deposited their drinks on the glass tabletop.

“Behave, girls,” said Marisol. “When they’re here, they’re allowed to be as bitchy as they want. They pay good money to be.” As the clock struck eight thirty, the lights dimmed, alerting us that the show was about to start. Emma and I both swiveled our chairs forward as the group of girls got to their feet and swarmed the stage, bubbling with excitement. The entire room went dark then, and a note from the speakers played.

“This number is my favorite,” Marisol said, leaning forward between Emma and me. “It’s a fan favorite, too.” I turned my gaze back toward the stage as dim lights turned on and the music started. I expected the song about riding cowboys, but it was different this time, one I couldn’t place at first. The small group of women next to the stage screamed. Their shrieks grew, as the music did, like a competition between who could be the loudest. I resisted the urge to put my hands over my ears.

“Get ready, all you lonely girls, and leave those umbrellas at home…”

The shrieks grew, piercing my eardrums.

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