Game Changer

by Beth Orsoff

  Whitney tossed me the four-inch strappy sandals I’d recently kicked off my feet. They were definitely not my usual style. I’d only purchased them because they were the one pair I could find this morning that matched my dress and didn’t totally kill my feet. Although I’d made that determination after walking in them in the store for thirty seconds. I didn’t realize how uncomfortable they actually were until I’d worn them all evening.

  I lifted the legs of my too-long sweatpants. “Do you not see the blisters on my feet?”

  Whitney glanced down at my puffy red toes. “No one said being beautiful was easy.” Then she reached into the back of my closet and pulled out a short black cocktail dress I’d forgotten I owned. The last time I’d worn it, I was still in law school. “Here,” she said, tossing the dress at me. “It’s boring but we can liven it up with a chunky belt and some fun jewelry. You can borrow mine,” she added before I could point out that I owned neither.

  My fate was sealed.

  Chapter 6

  Jake

  “I think I’m getting too old for this,” Mark shouted over the blaring music. They were standing at the railing of the VIP lounge, looking down on the unfortunate non-VIPs who were forced to drink and dance on the main floor below.

  “You’re just out of practice,” Jake shouted back as he checked out a shapely blonde looking up at him from the bar. She smiled and patted the empty stool next to her.

  “Clearly you’re not,” Mark said as he watched the exchange with envy.

  Jake turned back to his friend. “Dude, she’s a working girl.”

  Mark looked down again. The blonde had already moved on to a balding, overweight guy in a suit. “Really? How can you tell?”

  Jake shook his head. “How can you be so smart and so dumb at the same time?”

  “Not dumb,” Mark replied. “Married with three kids under six. This is the first time I’ve been voluntarily awake past midnight since I can’t remember when.”

  Jake laughed and silently congratulated himself on remaining single despite the best efforts of all of his friends’ wives. Then his phone pinged—a text message from Rita: Where are you?

  Jake tilted the screen so Mark could read it too. “Should I tell her the truth?”

  Mark nodded. “She’s the one who suggested you help with the bachelor party. She’s partying with the bridesmaids tonight.”

  With your husband, Jake texted back. Don’t worry, he’s being good.

  I wasn’t worried, Rita replied. I was looking for you.

  Why? Jake typed, his suspicion already aroused.

  I’ve found your ideal woman…

  Jake showed the message to Mark and they both laughed. Jake received a similar text, email, or phone call at least once a week. Why was it that every female he knew was intent on fixing him up? The married ones were the worst. It was as if they were all on a mission to get him hitched before he could corrupt their husbands and pull them back into the single life again.

  I can’t wait for you two to meet, Rita texted.

  You know I don’t do setups, Jake replied. He’d instituted that rule a few years ago after what felt like his hundredth blind date. Not that they were all bad. He’d slept with most of them, a few on the first night. But inevitably the women assumed that meant they were in a relationship, an exclusive relationship, and he’d end up getting yelled at by both the woman he’d slept with and the woman who had set them up. After one of them had tracked him down at a restaurant and threw a glass of water in his face—she was a temperamental artist so Jake had known she’d be trouble, but she had a spectacular ass—he’d sworn off setups. The women he met on his own, usually in bars or clubs, had lower expectations.

  No setup necessary. She’ll be at the wedding.

  Bridesmaid? Jake had always gotten lucky with bridesmaids. He suspected it had something to do with the formal clothes and romantic settings. And the free-flowing alcohol helped too.

  Not telling. I want to see if you can spot her on your own.

  Not the bride, I hope. That would be awkward since she’s marrying your brother.

  No, this one’s actually available. Gotta go. Man in G-string gyrating in front of me. Tell my husband not to wait up.

  Jake pocketed his phone and turned back to Mark. “She’s at a strip club. She said not to wait up.”

  Mark laughed. “Yeah, right. Rita at a strip club. That’s a good one.”

  Jake flagged down a cocktail waitress and ordered another round. Rita was obviously having fun this evening, and he wanted to make sure Mark did too. It was the least he could do for a beaten-down husband and father of three.

  Chapter 7

  Samantha

  “Can we go home now?” After watching a parade of hunky almost-nude men showing off their wares, I needed to unearth my vibrator. I hoped the batteries weren’t dead. It had been a while.

  “Are you kidding?” Shazza said. “It’s only midnight. We’re just getting started.”

  I groaned and turned to Jenna. “Want to share a cab?”

  “No, I want to go to Lux. And you should too. It’s nearly impossible to get into.”

  “Then how—”

  “Shazza, of course.”

  I’d always thought my sister’s friend Shazza would’ve made a great procurement officer. She knew everyone, and if she didn’t know them, she knew someone who did. But Shazza had a trust fund, so she didn’t need a job. Corporate America’s loss was philanthropy’s gain, at least when she wasn’t partying.

  “Am I the only one who’s tired?” I asked to no one in particular.

  “No,” said Rita, Whitney’s future sister-in-law. She’d just returned from the dance floor, which was now teeming with horny women waiting for the next performance. “But I haven’t had a girls’ night out in years. Literally, years.”

  That was the most she’d ever spoken to me. Michael had introduced us at the rehearsal dinner, but between chasing after her five-year-old daughter and preventing her twin two-year-old sons from breaking every dish they could get their hands on (they’d smashed three before she’d gotten to them), she’d barely said hello.

  “I think you’re due more than a night out,” I said. “Maybe a whole weekend. Or even a week in Hawaii.”

  “I knew I liked you,” she replied and collapsed onto the chair next to mine. Then she grabbed the champagne bottle from the center of the table and poured us both a glass. “Let’s get wasted.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Yes!” Whitney appeared behind us. “Please get my sister wasted.”

  “You want me hungover at your wedding?”

  “I want you to have fun! Christ, Samantha, just let your hair down for once.”

  I shook my freshly highlighted mane. “My hair is down.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “You know what I mean.”

  Shazza pulled a tiny plastic bag filled with white powder out of her purse. “And I have just the thing to help you relax.”

  “No thanks,” I said. Rita declined too, Jenna shook her head, and Whitney said, “Not tonight,” which made me think she’d said yes on other nights, but I decided now was not the time to lecture her on the evils of drug use. Out of the group of ten of us, only Chloe, Whitney’s friend from acting class, partook. I thought she and Shazza would retreat to the ladies’ room to snort it, but Shazza sprinkled powder into each of their champagne glasses, and they both took a swig. Then we all headed out to the dance floor again.

  When we returned to the table, I was hot and sweaty, and I drained my champagne glass in one gulp. I’d assumed the flute with the rose-red lipstick smudge was mine, but it turned out I wasn’t the only one of us wearing that shade.

  Chapter 8

  Jake

  Jake watched the stripper/exotic dancer grind, and he realized Caroline had been right—it was nice having a redhead for a change. He was tired of blondes. Although if he was being honest with himself, he’d admit he was tired of strippers. Of co
urse he could never say that out loud; everyone would think he was gay. Or a wuss, which would be equally bad. Sports management was not a career for wusses. Even his female colleagues had balls of steel. Clearly he was out of sorts. I need to get laid.

  Jake wandered back to the railing of the VIP lounge and watched as a group of women entered the club. He guessed they were in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties, and every one of them was at least an eight. A couple might’ve been nines, but it was hard to know for sure from forty feet away with only flashing strobes for light. He thought they’d head to the bar first—most people did—but they squeezed onto the crowded dance floor.

  At first they only danced with each other. Lesbians? Then two of the women paired off with men, and the others were definitely being checked out by every male in the vicinity. He had no time to waste.

  Jake swigged the rest of his Jack and soda and pushed his way through the voyeurs clogging the staircase until he reached the dance floor. He was buzzed but not drunk. He couldn’t say the same for the attractive brunette in the black dress. From the way she was swaying, he assumed she’d had a few—an easy score.

  “You’re a great dancer,” he said as he slid in next to her and matched his gyrating hips to hers.

  “Am I?” she asked with genuine surprise. For some reason, he found that charming.

  “No one’s ever told you that before?” he shouted over the blaring music.

  She shook her head and kept dancing.

  He waited for the song to end before he asked to buy her a drink and she followed him to the bar. “What would you like?” he asked as he waved a hundred-dollar bill at the bartender.

  “Champagne,” she replied.

  He’d pegged her as a fruity martini girl. “Celebrating something?”

  “No, I’ve just been drinking it all night. No sense switching now.”

  Attractive and practical too. He paid for the drinks and handed her the champagne glass. He’d intended to put his hand on her back to steer her toward a quieter spot, but she turned suddenly, and his hand ended up on her bare arm instead. He pulled back, but not before he noticed she had the softest skin. He definitely wanted to touch that skin again—her breasts, her ass, her thighs, and all the moist places in between. He stuffed the change into his pocket and took the opportunity to readjust himself so his burgeoning hard-on wasn’t digging into his zipper. Much better. Now he could enjoy it.

  He was still scanning the room for a table when a sofa opened up. This was his lucky night. Jake reached the couch before the other guy who was eyeing it and commandeered the center. He motioned for the brunette to join him, assuming she would leave a few inches of space between them—close enough for intimate conversation but not so close that their bodies were touching—that didn’t usually happen until the second drink. But she surprised him. Instead of sitting down next to him, she laid down with her head on the far cushion and her feet in his lap!

  “God, I’m tired,” she said.

  He wasn’t sure how to respond. The heels of her shoes were digging into his cock. It was both painful and erotic.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, wiggling her feet.

  “Not at all,” he said, sliding over so her heels were resting on his thigh instead.

  Then she somehow managed to slip off her shoes with just her toes, and the next thing he knew, she was rubbing her bare feet against the length of him. “Ooo, someone’s happy to see me.”

  He was speechless, and Jake Jensen was never speechless.

  “Not much of a talker, are you?” she asked as she massaged his tip with her toes. He thought he was going to explode.

  “Sure I am,” Jake replied as he pushed her bare feet back to his thigh. They were almost as soft as her arm. How was that even possible? “What would you like to talk about?”

  She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “Mmmm, you have nice hands. I bet you give great backrubs.” She dug her heels into his thighs and wiggled her toes. “And foot rubs.”

  He took the not-so-subtle hint. This wasn’t the first foot massage he’d given a woman, although it was the first he’d ever undertaken in public. He dug his thumbs into her arches and she moaned. And his hard-on got even harder.

  “You must be great in bed,” she said as she pushed her toes into his cock again.

  He thought of his mother to pull himself back from the brink. He hadn’t had to resort to that trick since the tenth grade! He was about to suggest they go back to his place when the two blondes she’d been dancing with suddenly appeared.

  “There you are!” the one in the blue dress shouted. “We’ve been looking all over for you.” The one wearing the sequined top was staring down at his lap. “Samantha, what the hell are you doing?”

  So that was her name. He’d been meaning to ask.

  She lifted her head off the cushion and glanced down at her feet. “Getting a foot rub. What does it look like?”

  “You don’t want to know what it looks like,” Sequins said and grabbed Samantha’s hand. “C’mon, we’re leaving.”

  “But we just got here!” Samantha cried. Then she turned to Jake. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had sex?”

  His mouth actually fell open, but he quickly snapped it shut again and swallowed hard. “No, um, I don’t.”

  “Eleven months! And it wasn’t even good sex.”

  Holy shit! If Jake had to endure a few weeks without getting laid, he considered it a hardship. He hadn’t even realized he was still holding on to Samantha’s feet until she abruptly pulled them out of his lap. Or more precisely, Blue Dress pulled them out of his lap. Sequins was still tugging on Samantha’s arm.

  “Where are your shoes?” Blue Dress asked.

  “Forget the shoes,” Sequins said. “Let’s just get her home.”

  Jake jumped up from the couch. “Wait!” Samantha turned her head to face him. But her body, buffeted by Blue Dress and Sequins, was still tilted toward the exit. “Can I get your number?”

  “Not happening, buddy,” Sequins said.

  “Go find someone else to fuck,” Blue Dress added.

  “But I want him to fuck meeee,” Samantha wailed. “Did you see his cock? It’s huge.”

  Blue Dress spun around and glared at him. “Pervert!”

  Jake raised his arms in surrender. “All I did was buy her a drink.”

  “That better be all you did,” Blue Dress replied.

  “Whitney, let’s go,” Sequins said.

  But Blue Dress was still glaring at him. “That’s my sister, asshole.” Then she draped Samantha’s arm around her neck and propelled her into the crowd.

  Jake considered following but realized it would be pointless. Clearly he wasn’t getting laid tonight, at least not by Samantha. Too bad. Eleven months. He shook his head. He could practically hear the screaming orgasm he would’ve given her. Multiple screaming orgasms. He fell back onto the couch.

  “What the!” He reached for the source of the stabbing pain in his side and pulled out Samantha’s shoe. He rooted around in the cushions and located its mate before it could inflict mortal injury on any other body parts. He held one in each hand and stared down at them.

  “Something you’re not telling me?” a male voice inquired.

  Jake looked up into Mark’s glassy eyes.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.” Jake wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

  Chapter 9

  Samantha

  “Wakey, wakey,” Whitney chirped before snapping open the blinds, flooding my bedroom with sunlight.

  Whitney was always perky in the mornings; it was one of her most annoying traits. I buried my head under the pillow and tried to ignore the churning in my stomach and the pounding in my head. Then I inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Mmmm. But when I reached for the cup, Whitney snatched it away. “You bitch.”

  “First things first,” she said and pushed a tall glass of water and two aspirin into my hand.

/>   When I’d downed them, she handed me a bottle of coconut water. “Is this really necessary?”

  “It depends. Do you want to feel like this all day?”

  After I finished the coconut water, she handed me my running shoes. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Best hangover cure,” she said. “You’ll sweat out all the toxins and feel like a new woman.”

  I lay back down. “I think I’d rather sleep off the toxins.”

  She yanked on my arm, and all of a sudden, I wasn’t in my bedroom anymore. The room was dark, the music was loud, and Whitney was yelling at some guy, but I couldn’t make out his face. Then I shook my head and the vision was gone. “Whoa.”

  Whitney let go of my arm and I fell back onto the bed. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I think I just had a flashback. Did you call some guy an asshole last night?”

  She laughed. “Probably. You don’t remember?”

  I shook my head and was immediately sorry I did. The room was spinning again. “I don’t understand why I feel so awful. I didn’t drink that much last night.”

  Whitney was uncharacteristically quiet.

  “Did I?” Maybe I’d had more than I remembered. Most of the evening was a blur, and I had no recollection of leaving the strip club or driving home. I must’ve fallen asleep in the limo.

  “You’re just not used to it,” she said and tossed my shorts and T-shirt at my head. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in five.”

  “You’re not really going to make me do this, are you?” I didn’t even want to be upright, let alone moving.

  “Trust me, it’s for your own good. The hair and makeup guys are going to be here at eleven. If you hurry, you’ll have time for a nap before they arrive.”

  It was the promise of sleep that propelled me off the bed.

  Chapter 10

  Jake

  “I blame you for this,” Rita said, punching her finger into her husband’s chest. “And so does my mother.”