Page 89 of Muscle Cub

We made our way to a small open space at the bar beside a guy in gray body makeup who was manspreading on a stool to accommodate the prosthetic elephant trunk between his legs.

We ordered bottled waters from Luke, who was dressed as a circus cowboy. He told us to check out Sawyer. He’d convinced him to wear a lion’s head hoodie. Under a fringe of fake mane, Sawyer didn’t look too thrilled about it, but when he caught Luke’s fond expression, his scowl melted into a smile.

“I’ll be right back,” Austin said. “I gotta go talk to the DJ.”

I watched him move through the crowd, constantly stopping to collect blue bills from literally everyone he passed. He treated them all the same with a smile and a quick chat that made them laugh. He was fucking loved because he loved everyone.

I didn’t watch him with jealousy—maybe a little possessiveness—but mostly with wonder. I felt… proud of him. Humbled to have been chosen by him. Fortunate to know him in a way others didn’t.

I’d intended to blend into the wall and observe the spectacle, but I too was continually approached by men leaning in to say hello, complimenting my costume, flirting, and gifting me with their red bucks. After a few of them tried to tuck their bills into my jock, I quickly became adept at intercepting with handshakes.

Austin returned and grabbed me by the hand, trying to pull me off the wall. “Come on. I requested a special song for you.”

I resisted, shaking my head.

The song changed.

“This is it!”

I didn’t recognize the music, but the female vocals sounded familiar, and the lyrics…

Oh.

It was a remixed version of the godforsaken “I Hope You Dance.”

I rolled my eyes and groaned. “I feel very attacked!”

He leaned in to shout-speak into my ear, almost taking out my eye with his fake mustache. “I put you refusing to dance with me in the bonfire last weekend, so this is happening. It’s magic. You’re powerless.” It was clear from his expression that I wasn’t getting out of it this time.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t dance or that I had no sense of rhythm, but I knew I could never match Austin’s level of performance.

I didn’t want to disappoint him.

But what choice would’ve disappointed him more?

I heaved a sigh and allowed him to drag me onto the floor.

I needn’t have worried about what I was expected to do. Once he had me under the disco ball, he wrapped his arms around me, and rocked me from side to side in half-time.

The music, the pace, the crowd didn’t matter. The message did.

In a top hat, tails, a jockstrap tutu, and boots, with red lanyards tangled between our hearts, I slow-danced nose-to-nose with my strongman.

And nobody had ever looked at me this way.

Except he always looked at me this way.

We kissed, and he ground himself against me. He was hard.

We both were.

Over the loud music, Austin shouted, “Wanna go do butt stuff?”

31

We attempted to slip away without anyone noticing, but Jim, who was hanging out with some of the staff on the side porch, spotted us halfway down the stairs. “Y’all are leaving already?”

“He needs to show me something,” Austin said innocently.