The Friendship List(61)

Ellen took the undergarments. “I am.”

“Then see what the right foundations can do.” The woman left.

Ellen looked at Lissa. “I can’t wear a push-up bra.”

Lissa pointed to the dressing room. “You have to try it on. Just to see.”

Ellen retreated to her dressing room where she took off the dress and put on the bra. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt her jaw drop. Holy crap—where had those come from? Her breasts were high and full and even she was impressed. She slid the dress over her head and zipped it, then returned her attention to the mirror.

“I don’t think I can go outside like this,” she admitted.

Lissa opened the door and started to laugh. “You have to buy that, Ellen. You really do.”

“No one needs to see this much breast.”

“You’re not showing anything you shouldn’t. Be brave. Go for it.”

Modesty battled with the reality of how sexy she looked. In the end, she took the bra and the dress and even a black thong. Then, because she didn’t have any shoes to wear with the dress, they had to go find a pair of strappy sandals and a little evening clutch.

They met Keith as they returned to the hotel. He glanced at the shopping bags they both carried.

“Should I be worried?” he asked, hugging his daughter. “Is my credit card crying?”

“Just two dresses and some shoes,” Lissa told him.

“Just, huh.” He looked at Ellen. “What about you?”

Be brave, she told herself before saying out loud, “I have a new dress, too. We need to go somewhere nice for dinner.”

He grinned. “We’re going fancy, huh? I’ll make reservations.”

“I need to run,” Lissa said, heading for the elevator. “The bus will be here soon and I have to curl my hair.”

Keith watched her go. “Are the dresses okay? Should I be worried?”

Ellen thought of the white sheath. “All the scary bits are covered.”

“That’s a relief.” He glanced at her shopping bags. “What did you buy?”

She smiled. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  Unity walked into the bedroom she used as an office and stared at her computer, not sure what to do. Curiosity battled with a sense of propriety. It would be wrong to invade Thaddeus’s privacy, she told herself, only to have a voice in her head whisper that if the man was so very concerned about privacy he probably shouldn’t have worked as a stripper.

She inched toward her chair, finally settling in place and going online. Once there, she hesitated. Maybe there weren’t any videos of him, um, dancing. Maybe nothing was posted. Maybe she was worried for no reason.

Cautiously, she typed his name in the search bar, then pushed Enter. The page filled with information about his company, articles in The Seattle Times about various acquisitions and a link to his LinkedIn profile.

She moved the cursor to the search bar and added the word stripper after his name. The page loaded again, this time giving her links on YouTube and several Facebook pages, along with articles with headlines like “The Most Fantasized About Man in Las Vegas.” She clicked on the first video, then drew back in her chair and braced herself.

The video quality was grainy and the sound was hard to hear, but there was no mistaking the stage and the pounding beat of the music. A man stood in the center, smiling at the crowd. He was barefoot and wearing only pants and a shirt, and yes, it absolutely was Thaddeus.

Unity held in a shriek, closed her eyes, then opened them again. After a couple of seconds he started to move, his body keeping time. He turned and strutted and slid across the stage, his perfect body on display. He was all muscle, but lean rather than bulky.

As she watched, he began to unbutton the shirt. The crowd screamed for him to take it off. Women threw themselves on the stage and had to be dragged away. Thaddeus took his time, going slowly, one button then another until the shirt was open.

He left it that way, dancing more, letting his movements open the shirt more and more until he finally pulled it off and tossed it to the crowd.

The women jumped for it, tearing the fabric into pieces and holding up their trophy of scraps. Onstage he continued to move, showing off his chiseled chest. A woman jumped onstage and ripped off her shirt. She had large breasts that bounced as she ran toward him.

Rather than retreat, he danced toward her, staying at arm’s length, but moving around her. Seconds later, security pulled her off stage.

Thaddeus watched her go for a second, gave a little shrug, then turned his attention back to his audience. Unity heard cries of “I need you, Thaddeus” and “Take me, please. I’ll do anything you want.”

The beat of the song increased, as did the screaming. Without warning, Thaddeus grabbed the sides of his pants and gave a sharp tug. The garment split along the side seam and he pulled them away. Dressed only in a G-string, he paused to let them enjoy the show. Seconds later, the video ended.

Unity closed the window and tried to make sense of what she’d seen. Despite the visual proof, she couldn’t reconcile the man she knew with the man in the video. Thaddeus was nothing like that. He was funny and kind and he loved his aunt. She couldn’t imagine him dancing like that in front of her. She would die of embarrassment.

She wasn’t offended by what he’d done—if she had to pick an emotion, she would say she was confused. Obviously he’d done well and used the money and time to prepare for the next stage of his life, which spoke well of his character. She supposed part of the problem was the sexuality of it all. In her world, that stuff was private.