Bad Boy's Bridesmaid(22)

Lindsey's idea of a bachelorette weekend party included a mandatory  dancing boot camp. Some of her plans weren't bad. I liked watching Mandy  squirm in embarrassment while she pranced in tiny boy shorts emblazoned  with rhinestones slapping the word MAID on her ass. She tugged the  clingy material down, but they hardly covered her little bridesmaid  booty.

It might have been nice if the girls weren't seven sticks of dynamite  waiting to blow-both me and what fragile progress I'd made with Mandy.

Lindsey chose her college friends as her bridesmaids-Carmen, Peaches,  Caitlyn, Amy, and … red head. I didn't remember her name. That was a  problem, especially since I had slept with her five months ago.         

     



 

Well, I slept with most of the bridal party over the past few months. It  hadn't been a major concern before-they all knew it was just one night  of fun. But what was amusing before suddenly became dangerous. The  bridesmaids wiggled, shimmied, teased, and baited me with every shake of  their tits or twerk of their asses.

And Mandy noticed.

Not sure if I should have worried about that. She wanted complicated? She got it.

Lindsey ordered me to move the furniture. I shifted the couch and TV  into the hall so they'd have room to dance. Then the bullshit started.

Caitlyn squeezed my bicep and giggled about how strong I was. Not sure  what I saw in her before … then again I couldn't see much around her  double D rack. But she didn't rock curves nearly as well as Mandy.

Peaches-I was certain that wasn't her real name but damned if I had  bothered asking-blew me a kiss when the girls lined up to dance. Red  head mimicked blowing something a little differently.

Thankfully Mandy didn't see Amy grab my ass.

These girls stalked me, half-starved and drooling for meat.

"Where are you going?" Lindsey planted her hands on her hips as I attempted to sneak out. "We need you to watch."

Mandy nearly spilled her water. "No, we really don't. Not when we're learning."

"Shame is an excellent motivator."

"If that were the case, I'd have mastered the steps by now." Mandy waved a hand at me. "Go, Nate. Shoo. Be gone."

As she wished. I took a step. Lindsey pinched my arm.

"You're not going anywhere." Lindsey pulled a camping chair from a  closet and sat me in it. "You have to tell us if we're in sync. I can't  see the entire ensemble, especially during Thriller."

"So you're really doing the Thriller dance?" I laughed.

"Why?"

"Seems cliché."

I missed Mandy's frantic arm motions warning me to avoid the  confrontation at all costs. Lindsey screeched. The girls' flirty pouts  turned to legit irritation.

Great. Seven pissed off, underfed, hungover women sneered at me.

I cleared my throat. "But I'm sure your dance will bring something new and innovative."

"Damn right." Lindsey turned to her girls. "Okay, we're going to work on  the flash mob portion. Mandy, this is all you. When you hear The Funky  Chicken, you're the first onto the dance floor."

Mandy looked ready to puke. "Are you serious?"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"Yes! Twelve hours ago you banished me from the wedding! Now I'm starting a flash mob to The Funky Chicken?"

"Serves you right for leaving the wedding party."

"Lindsey, can't anyone else do it?"

"It has to be you. Once the party sees you start to dance, they'll know something special is about to happen."

"Or something super embarrassing."

"Which is why they'll all watch!" Lindsey slapped Mandy's hand down as  she scratched her elbow. "Stand up straight. You'll do The Funky  Chicken, all the bridesmaids will migrate onto the floor in a circle,  and then we'll transition into the Cha Cha Slide."

The girls giggled. Lindsey singled out Amy. "What are you laughing at?  Your Cha Cha makes me want to Gag Gag. We need to be identical out  there, but we only have two days to learn a seven minute, fourteen song  medley."

Mandy groaned. "Seven minutes? Why don't we just learn one three minute song and do it well?"

"Damn it, Mandy!" Lindsey stomped her foot. "That would completely  overshadow the bride and groom doing the final number from Dirty  Dancing."

Even if I didn't have any more sex, this little information was worth the trip. "The what now?"

Lindsey stuck her finger in my face. "It's a surprise. Tell anyone and I'll gut you, Nate."

"Does Bryce know about this dance?"

"He'll be fine with it."

I laughed. It wasn't the reaction Lindsey wanted, but I couldn't imagine  the former linebacker channeling his inner Patrick Swayze.

Lindsey shushed me and positioned her girls "off-stage" while she tapped  play on her iPhone. The speakers echoed The Funky Chicken over the  cabin. She pushed Mandy forward.

"And I want to see real flapping!"

Mandy got as far as the second clap before running from the room, citing  a bathroom break. Lindsey groaned, nearly tossing her into the  fireplace when she returned.

"Flap, Mandy, before I peck you myself!"

Mandy weakly fluttered her elbows and bobbed. The girls cackled.         

     



 

I had no idea I could be so entertained by a girl if I wasn't fucking her.

Sure, I had a girl naked, writhing, coming at my command all last night,  but I'd never spent time with any afterwards. Usually it was me,  Sportscenter, and a dry bowl of cereal.

This? The awkward flapping, off-beat clapping, and hilariously overcompensated booty shake? This was fantastic.

I could get used to hanging with Mandy like this.

But she didn't see the fun in it. Mandy refused to look me in the eyes,  like I'd think she was any less beautiful because she couldn't figure  out her right from her left. She was sexy in her own way. She might have  been a danger to herself and others on the dance floor, but when I had  held her in my arms and led her through the music during the string  quartet auditions, she had melted. Surrendered.

Would have done anything for me.

I shifted. This was the single most uncomfortable hard-on I ever had,  and the most dangerous. The last thing I wanted was a boner surrounded  by a room full of banshees, bitches, bimbos, and Mandy. Six out of the  seven I had slept with. Great.

I hoped Lindsey would take pity on us all. I just needed ten minutes  with Mandy. Thirty and I'd go twice. That little Funky Chicken had been  up all night for me, and she'd love it.

We weren't that lucky.

Two hours and four bathroom breaks later, a butchered rendition of  Single Ladies made it abundantly clear why no one had put a ring on the  girls yet. Lindsey flipped shit.

"For Christ's sake, Mandy, where in my choreography does it say to stop and scratch your leg?"

Mandy was one pirouette from a nervous breakdown. She didn't stop  scratching. "Linds, I'm sorry! I can't whip or nae nae anymore!"

"What's wrong?"

"I have no idea! I'm so itchy!"

I looked down. I'd already scratched my arm raw.

Well fuck.

I hid my rash. Lindsey grabbed Mandy's ankle and twisted. Mandy latched onto her sister, and they both went down in a thump.

"Is this … " Lindsey screeched and yanked Mandy's leg. "Did you get poison ivy?"

Mandy's eyes darted to me. Oh, she wasn't happy. This would probably be my fault.

The detour into the woods on the way back to the cabin seemed a good and  necessary idea at the time. The tree had felt softer than most, covered  in the spanning ivy. And Mandy had the time of her life, legs wrapped  around my waist as we fucked against the tree in the greatest quickie I  ever had.

Christ, that's what I got for trying to be romantic.

Poisoned.

"For the love of God, are you that outdoor-phobic?" Lindsey snapped her fingers at Carmen. "Get the first-aid kit."

"I'm fine." Mandy kept scratching, yelping as she found another spreading rash on her shoulders.

Lindsey peeked in Mandy's shirt to check over her back. "Holy shit, did you roll around in it?"

No … but she was pushed into it. Repeatedly. For a couple of minutes.

Maybe this was why guys never stuck around after getting what they  wanted. The longer I stayed, the more likely I was to toss Mandy into  poisonous shrubs.

Still, if a little poison ivy was the worst thing to come from sex with her, I'd take it.

"Stay away from me!" Lindsey shrieked. "And stop scratching!"

"Sorry." Mandy sat on her hands so she wouldn't scratch. "Oh, it's itchy. Really, really itchy."

Carmen returned with the first-aid kit, but she handed an empty tube of calamine lotion to Lindsey with a shrug.

"I think we used this instead of the antibiotic on your scrapes last night," she said.

Mandy groaned. She rushed to the entryway of the living room and wiggled  against the wooden frame. I shouldn't have laughed. That wouldn't get  me laid again anytime soon, vengeful plants or not.

"Fine. We'll take five while we find something to slather on my sister."  Lindsey shook her head. "I can't believe you'd do this when you know  how much practice you need for this dance."