The Bet by Max Monroe
Sophie
“Party of ten for Sophie Sage,” I tell the big, burly bouncer behind the velvet rope.
The man is dressed in all black and has a perpetual scowl etched across his lips, but I’m assuming it comes with the job territory. Every Friday and Saturday night, he’s tasked with the responsibility of filling this club with partygoers who will have a good time, but also, won’t act like total assholes.
Sure, it sounds simple enough, but all it takes is standing in the never-ending line outside—in the bitter February cold, mind you—for a mere five minutes with people yelling and shouting toward the bouncers at the door to understand it’s not simple at all. If anything, the man is being paid to deal with verbal harassment and demanding, drunk idiots. All night long. Add in a constant barrage of pimple-faced teens with fake IDs and the credit card they stole when their parents weren’t looking, and I’d rather rub poison ivy on my eyeballs than switch places with him.
He glances down at his clipboard and then back up at me. “I take it you’re Sophie?”
“That’s right. I am her, and she is me,” I respond somewhat awkwardly through a shivering jaw. My breath hangs in the air for a few seconds, and I tuck my arms deeper into my faux fur coat and try to keep the shivers from migrating to my knees.
He moves his gaze past me, to my twin sister Belle, our elder sister Katelynn, and then over the rest of our small group that includes seven of Belle’s closest friends—Laura, Tasha, Kirsten, Jackie, Tonya, Bri, and Devon.
All of these women either went to college with Belle at NYU or work with her at MK Modeling Agency. I know some of them better than others since Belle and I spend so much time together, but these people definitely qualify as more “hers” than “mine.”
“Who’s the bride-to-be?”
“That would be this gorgeous girl right here with the sash,” I comment and step back to wrap my arm around my twin.
Belle smiles, and the rest of our already-tipsy group hoots and hollers, which then makes my sister bury her face in my shoulder.
I giggle and give her a reassuring squeeze.
All thanks to the awesome bachelorette party I planned for my sister, our group is having the time of their lives, is well on their way to being three sheets to the wind, and is ready to bring the night on home at our fourth and final stop at one of New York’s hottest new nightspots, Club Craze.
“Whoa. You two are—” the bouncer begins, and I immediately recognize his intro as the precursor to what everyone says when they see Belle and me together.
“Identical twins,” I answer for him with a knowing smile. “You know, like a brunette version of the Olsens.”
Belle snorts. “Though, we’ve never met Uncle Jesse. And we aren’t recluses in our adult age.”
I’m half tempted to roll my eyes at the two of us and the fact that it sounds like we give this rehearsed speech every hour on the hour, but the bouncer’s reaction outshines my mental battle with self-deprecation. I don’t know if this dude has never seen identical twins in person or what, but he just keeps glancing between Belle and me like we’re two aliens that just stepped off our UFO. Our eyes may be green, but our skin isn’t. At least, not yet. Maybe after a few more hours of drinking, it will be, though.
Thankfully, when Tonya obnoxiously offers to show the man her G-sized ta-tas if he’ll get us inside before they turn into literal witch’s tits, he focuses back on his clipboard, and that scowl of his almost turns into a smile.
“Clothes need to stay on for now,” he says and shakes his head. “But once you’re inside and escorted into your private VIP party room…” He winks at Tonya. “Then, you can live it up in whatever way you please.” He licks his lips and mutters to himself, “I really need to think about asking for a job reassignment.”
Tonya laughs and leans up onto her toes to place a drunk kiss on his cheek.
“Private VIP party room?” Belle whispers into my ear, obviously too panicked to focus on the episode of The Bachelor: Nightclub Bouncer Edition taking place in front of us. I turn away from the action to give her a reassuring flick of my eyes and squeeze around her shoulders, and by the time I turn back, our previously stoic bouncer is unclipping the velvet rope and letting us inside, hijinks with Tonya concluded.
I’m a little sad to have missed some of the action, but Hallelujah! for warmth.
“Have fun, ladies.”
“Hell yes!” Kirsten cheers and wraps her arms around Laura’s and Bri’s shoulders. “Drinks first, then dancing!”
Katelynn discreetly slips a twenty-dollar bill into the bouncer’s front shirt pocket and pats him on the chest. “Remember this and Tonya’s boobs later when you’re having to kick one of these bitches out of your club.”
He actually lets a full smile consume his face then, and I grab Belle’s hand.
“Let’s go, sis! Time to bring this bachelorette party on home!”
As I step through the large doors, a burst of hot air hits my face, and I sigh in relief.
Thank goodness.
The pounding beats of house music grow impatiently as we walk down a dimly lit hallway that leads to the inside of the club. The closer we get, the more the music dominates my ears, and the more the ladies in front of me sway their boozed-up hips and shout their approval.
Club Craze is hopping, and it’s not even officially officially open yet. This is just the soft run, for Pete’s sake. The only reason I even got us in here is because, after hearing about the upcoming opening, I went on to their website to do some research for work and stumbled upon an all-call to apply to have your private event. I never thought we’d get selected, but we did.
I just hope it lives up to the hype.
Once we reach the end, it opens into a big, wide-open space that’s packed to the brim with clubgoers, and a pretty blond woman dressed in formfitting, all-black attire greets us with a grin.
So I can hear her over the pandemonium, I shove my way to the front of our boisterous group and lean in toward her as she speaks. “If you ladies will follow me, I’ll lead you to your private VIP room.”
Evidently, she’s already been updated by the bouncers of our arrival, and I wave a hand back at the group to follow her lead. Carefully counting off ladies and sending them ahead of me to make sure we all stay together, I make it through all but one when something grabs the back of my coat and drags me in the opposite direction.
“What the—?” I shriek in the pitch of a dying cat. It doesn’t matter, though, because the atmosphere in this place is so dang loud, I don’t think the women of my party would have realized if a bomb went off behind them.
My steps stutter and stammer as I fight to keep myself upright, the scent of my sister’s perfume on my attacker the only thing that keeps me calm.
Before I know it, Belle’s yanking me into the closest women’s restroom. The instant the door shuts behind us, she up and locks the damn thing so no one else can get in.
“Soph, I can’t do it,” she whispers harshly into my ear before backing away toward the sinks and mirrors.
“What are you talking about?”
She’s already shaking her head. “I can’t do it.”
“You can’t do what?”
“I know I said I wanted the whole shebang for my bachelorette party, but I’m done.”
I jerk my head back in surprise. “What do you mean, you’re done?”
“I mean I’m done! I can’t let some greased-up stripper dance up on me in front of everyone!”
I blink several times, open and close my mouth like a fish, raise a finger to speak, and then drop it again. What in the ever-loving hell?
“Sophie,” she says and grabs both of my shoulders. “I’m not joking around. If I have to go sit in that private VIP room while all my friends watch some dude rub his dick on my legs, I’ll freaking shit myself. Or have a heart attack. Or a brain aneurysm. Or—”
“Belle,” I cut her off before she pushes herself into a panic attack. “Take a breath. Calm down.”
“Calm down?” she repeats with stretched-out, crazy eyes. “I can’t calm down! Soon, everyone in that stupid VIP room you rented will be watching me get dry humped by a stripper. I don’t want to be a human pillow or sock or come rag or whatever. I can’t do it. I can’t.”
“I’m pretty sure the politically correct term is exotic dancer, and it’s not like he’s going to jizz in your belly button. That’s what backstage is for.”
“Sophie, now is not the time to be a smartass.”
I snort. “Listen, I don’t want to be a bitch right now, but I feel it’s important that I remind you that you said you wanted this. I remember it distinctly, actually.” I change the pitch of my voice to mock her and continue, repeating her own words back to her. “I just want to get crazy, Sophie. Live it up! This is my last hurrah!”
“I know!” She tosses both of her hands up in the air. “I know. I thought I did. But I don’t. I just want to go home and let John rub my feet.”
“Belle.”A shocked laugh pops from my lungs. “Honey, we can’t go home right now. Everyone came out tonight to celebrate with you, and our limo driver won’t be here for another three hours. Plus, I’m pretty sure Tonya will throw a temper tantrum if she doesn’t get to utilize all those dollar bills she brought with her tonight. You saw them in the limo. She has three hundred of them stuffed into the cavern between her boobs.”
Belle huffs out a sigh and runs a hand through her dark hair. She’s agitated. Nervous. But she’s also starting to consider what I’m explaining. At least, I think she is.
“You have nothing to be freaked out about. For one, you look gorgeous,” I say and turn her around by the shoulders, so she sees her reflection in the mirror. “And two, no one is judging you. Everyone here just wants you to have fun. That’s it. And it’s not like I paid the exotic dancer to give you a happy ending with his penis. Only dancing, I swear,” I tease, trying to swing her emotions all the way back to where they started, but she doesn’t even offer a smile.
Out of the two of us, my sister is the introvert, and I’m more of the extrovert. It’s probably why I’m in the business of event planning and she’s in the business of scouting out models to attend the events. She’s never been fond of being the center of attention, always preferring to be a fly on the wall rather than the focus in the middle of the room. That’s not to say she’s not outspoken with people she’s comfortable with—with Katelynn and her fiancé John and me, she’s a brutal bringer of truth—but with friends and a complete stranger involved? Forget it.
Even growing up, I can’t tell you how many times I ended up doing her oral presentations in class because the teachers could never tell us apart and Belle’s social fears were too much for her to stomach.
It’s the number one reason why I asked her over and over again if she was sure she wanted this kind of bachelorette party—you know, one that included her being the center of attention in front of a crowd of people, one that took us to several New York hot spots throughout the night, and one that ends with her getting jiggy with a sexy, exotic Club Craze dancer.
And while Belle assured me numerous times that she did want this, I probably should’ve anticipated the night would lead us here anyway. I’ve known her my whole damn life, obviously, and this fits her MO a whole lot more than her telling me I just want to get crazy did.
Honestly, at a time like this, I’m most thankful that she and John decided to keep their wedding small and intimate. A freak-out during your bachelorette party is one thing, but on your wedding day? Talk about no bueno.
I meet her emerald eyes in the reflection in the mirror, but when she tilts her head to the side and starts tapping her chin in a familiar way I’ve seen a thousand times, I furrow my brow.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
She shrugs. But also, grins.
“What are you scheming?”
That grin grows so wide it forces her red-painted lips to spread out across her face. “Do you really want me to enjoy my bachelorette party?”
I roll my eyes. What kind of question is that? “Of course I do.”
“Like you really, really want me to, and you’d do anything to make it happen?”
I narrow my eyes at her in the mirror. “Considering I gave you my very expensive event planning services for free and spent weeks planning this night, I’d say, yes, that’s the general sentiment.”
“Fantastic,” Belle responds and takes off her black jacket, her white bride-to-be sash, and begins unzipping the back of her short, silver-sequined dress.
“Wait…what are you doing?” I query and turn my head away from the mirror to look directly at her.
“Making sure I live to see the morning after my bachelorette party.”
I quirk a brow, but she ignores my confusion and shoves her jacket and sash into my chest.
“Switch me,” she demands and slides her heels off her feet. “You play bride for the rest of the night, and I’ll play maid of honor and party planner.”
“Belle,”I retort and shake my head. “No way.”
“Sophie,” she says and slides her dress off her body so she’s standing in the middle of the bathroom in only her bra and underwear. “Yes.”
“This feels like high school all over again,” I mutter and exhale a deep breath on a sigh. “We’re twenty-eight, Belle, don’t you think we’re a little old to be Parent-Trapping your fucking bachelorette party?”
“We’re identical twins, Soph,” she retorts and takes it upon herself to remove my faux fur jacket from my shoulders. “No one is going to know the damn difference.”
“Katelynn will.”
“Katelynn is too drunk to care.” She snorts and holds out a demanding hand that contains her dress. “Now, give me your clothes.”
I glance down at my favorite high-waisted dress pants and silky blouse and then at the dress in her hands.
You’d think since I’ve made a career out of planning parties and events, I would’ve been able to make sure my own sister’s bachelorette bash went off without a hitch, but here I am, right in the middle of a giant-fucking-snag.
When the sounds of pounding knocks filter in from the locked door of the restroom, I know I need to decide. And even though it’s not the direction I wanted the night to go, there’s really only one option here to keep things from spiraling out of control. Goddamn my Type 9 Enneagram people-pleasing core.
“You’re lucky I love you.” I snatch the dress out of her hands.
Belle beams just like a spoiled brat who got her way—because she is one.
I swear, the things I do for my sister.
“All right, it’s time for the bride-to-be to take her seat!”
The lights in our private VIP room are dimmed, and I’m ushered over to a chair that sits in the center of the small but spacious room.
When my ass hits the velvet cushion, I try to adjust the tight material of Belle’s dress, but it’s almost no use. The sequined-covered spandex is tight in all the wrong places, and I feel like I might inadvertently flash my goods at any second. To the untrained eye, our bodies are nearly identical, just like our faces—but my T and A have a little bit more meat than hers, and in a dress of this cut, a little bit goes a long way.
Good grief, for a girl who hates being the center of attention, my sister sure loves to dress in an attention-grabbing way…
I flash a discreet glare at Belle, but she just giggles and lifts her champagne glass in the air. “Cheers to the bride-to-be!”
My sister is a little biotch.
Katelynn and the rest of our group join in on her toast, and I’m tempted to flip Belle the middle finger. But I shake off my annoyance and try to remember the fact that my sister looks relaxed and happy—playing me for the night—and that’s the whole intention of this party.
To make sure my twin has a good time.
Even if it means I have to spend the next sixty minutes playing grab-ass with one of Club Craze’s male exotic dancers.
“Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to Jude,” our female hostess announces and opens the door to reveal a man dressed in black slacks and a white button-down shirt with sleeves folded to his forearms.
He’s tall, and the muscular lines of his body can’t be missed beneath his clothes.
With light brownish-blond hair and a little scruff on his chin, this guy reminds me of a young Brad Pitt. I’m talking sexy Fight-Club Brad Pitt mixed with Ocean’s-Eleven Brad Pitt to create some kind of insanely attractive superhuman.
“Good evening, ladies.” He flashes a sexy smirk that slides through the room and ultimately lands on my wide eyes. “As Kelsie said, I’m Jude, and I’ll be taking over to make sure you have a good time.”
I swear, those eyes of his are as blue as the freaking ocean, and their depths are downright hypnotic. It’s like I can’t look away even if I wanted to.
Holy hell.
Self-preservation in the form of distraction speeds up in my head, and somewhere in the whirling thoughts, a bell of recognition rings. I pull myself out of the insane trance of his eyes to focus on an inconsistency. “I thought Maverick was supposed to…” I start, only to pause when I realize my faux pas. I definitely shouldn’t be the one asking this question since, technically, I’m Belle for the night and every step of the itinerary has been a surprise for her, but luckily, no one picks up on the mistake. They’re all too busy staring at Jude.
“Unfortunately, Maverick realized he wasn’t man enough to handle this party of beautiful women, so I went ahead and stepped up to the plate.” Jude winks, and I throw up in my mouth a little. By God, the cheesiness of that line knows no bounds.
Our hostess snorts and nudges him in the side with her elbow, but he just laughs it off and moves his gaze back to me.
“I take it you’re the gorgeous bride-to-be?” he inquires with a little rasp in his voice.
I swallow thickly, trying to find the words in my dry mouth like an animal searches for water in the desert. It only takes a few moments to give up, however, because despite my debut as a mime, he’s striding right toward me. Each step is calculated and with purpose, and a shiver threatens to slip up my spine.
“She sure is!” Tonya shouts at the top of her lungs. “That’s our girl Belle!”
Kirsten and Laura pretend to fan themselves. Katelynn laughs. Belle stares at me over the top of a glass of champagne with wide, amused eyes.
With one long hand stretched out toward me and veins making themselves known on his forearms, Jude grips the fabric of the sash around my chest and smirks down at me.
“You ready to have some fun?”
Oh boy. Now that line or move isn’t cheesy. At all.
I nod. Gulp. Nod again. “Uh-huh.”
And then, he leans in closer to me, whispering directly into my ear, “Buckle up, gorgeous, because I’m going to make sure you have a good fucking time.”
Oh, mamma mia. What in the Weird Al Yankovic has Belle gotten me into?