“You should have had Jennifer fly in,” she told me over lunch at an Italian restaurant close to the station. “And by the way, Blake, her erotic romance block is killing it here. So many viewers have told us they want more.”
I grinned. My tiger was brilliant. A star. And not just in bed. All across the country, I’d gotten the same reaction. A 24/7 erotica channel targeted at women was inevitable.
“I wish she could have, but she’s so tied up with production. She’s trying to get everything wrapped before our wedding.”
“How’s the wedding shaping up?”
I told her how my mother’s event planner was putting it together at lightning speed and that it was going to be very over the top. I also told her about Kat’s involvement.
“Geez, Blake. That must be awful for Jennifer to have to deal with her.”
“It sucks for both of us.” I wanted to tell Vera more. I knew I could trust her with my heart, but my father’s words of wisdom resounded in my ears: “When in doubt, leave it out.” I should have heeded them in the first place when it came to Kat.
Vera took a last sip of coffee. “I’m so honored Jennifer chose me to be one of her bridesmaids. I just need to figure out when I can fly into LA to be fitted for my dress.”
“She’s so honored you accepted. She thinks the world of you, Vera. Like I do.” Vera was like a sister to me. And even more so than the one I actually had. I fought the urge to confide in her.
“Steve wants to take you out for drinks tonight,” she said as I took care of the check. “He’s going to call you later.”
“Awesome.” I looked forward to spending my final night in Vegas with Vera’s husband. Tomorrow, I would be back in my office. First thing, I was going to have a closed door meeting with my Director of MY SIN-TV. I was going to fuck her over my desk.
I was staying at the Bellagio, one of the swankiest hotels in Vegas. While the Hard Rock was Conquest Broadcasting’s preferred hotel, I made a point of not staying there because of the special memories it held for me. One day, Jen and I would go back there and fuck our brains out.
At nine p.m., Steve called me to let me know he was here. When I got downstairs to the sprawling casino, not only was Steve waiting for me. Surprise. So was Jaime Zander. And an even bigger surprise—so was Jake, my roommate from college. The one who’d made me enter that crazy America’s top model contest. Now that he was living in Silicon Valley, I hadn’t seen him for over a year. He’d been through some bad shit but came out smelling like a rose. Something good had come out of the bad. Success agreed with him.
“You look fucking good, man,” I said, giving him a man-hug. Along with Steve and some guys from the office, he was going to be one of my groomsmen.
“Where are we going?” I asked as the three of us, all casually dressed in jeans, headed toward the entrance to the bustling hotel.
I quickly learned we were going to have a guys’ night out—a bachelor party so to speak.
“C’mon, man,” said Steve as we filed into the Lip Service limo, courtesy of Jake, so we didn’t have to think about drinking and driving. “You’re going to sow your wild oats tonight.”
“Don’t lose me, dudes.” Scenes from The Hangover flashed into my head. “I don’t want to be hanging with any tigers.” (Well, except the adorable one I was craving back home.)
The strip joint the guys took me to was off the beaten track. Despite being high-end, it was in a word—raunchy. All dark and smoky. Jaime had gotten us a reservation in the upstairs VIP room. The two of us nestled on the gaudy red velvet U-shaped couch while Steve and Jake plunked down on overstuffed club chairs. We shared two cylinder-shaped tables. A big tit cocktail waitress in a skimpy leather mini dress that barely covered her ass brought us a thousand dollar bottle of Cognac to go with our Cubans and filled our crystal snifters.
“To that man!” Jaime toasted, aiming his balloon glass at me. We clinked and chugged the shots.
As the velvety orange liquid warmed my blood, swirls of colorful disco lights bathed the scarlet walls and music piped through the speakers. Wouldn’t you know it? “Bang Bang”—the very song Jen had stripped to a few weeks ago.
“Here comes your girl,” sang Steve, refilling our glasses.
“Whoof!” mumbled Jake, blowing a ring of smoke.
Strutting my way was five feet ten inches of pure plastic. Bikini clad, tatted, and wearing tacky as shit platforms. I gulped my drink. Fuck. I recognized her. She was one of the blond bimbos who’d assaulted me at the Hard Rock pool and put a rift of misunderstanding between Jennifer and me. Jennifer’s stinging words whirled around in my head. “No girl means anything to you.” What a difference a year could make. And what a difference one special girl could make.
“Hiya, handsome,” she cooed, hurling me into the moment with a seductive come-on. “Nice seeing you again.”
“You know each other?” laughed Jaime, sucking on his cigar.
“Oh yeah,” said Kelly or Keely or whatever the fuck her name was. “But now we’re going to get to know each other better.”
Downing their cognacs, the boys roared as she straddled her long legs over my lap. She was in my face. Her musky scent nauseated me. She smelled nothing of cherries and vanilla.
She began to do her thing. Pouting. Licking her lips. Gyrating her hips. Grinding my thighs. Swinging her melon-sized tits. Brushing them against me. Flinging her brassy mane. Touching herself all over. Smashed, my buddies were getting off on her, howling, “Whoo hoo! Fuck! Go, baby!” If only Gloria and Vera could see them.
You’d think my cock would be in overdrive. Bang bang. Don’t let my genitals fool you. Forget it. Not even a testicular tingle. Not one urge to get my dick wet. Not wanting to be a killjoy, I plastered a fake smile on my face. I fucking wasn’t into it. In fact, I felt sick and wished I could take her by the haunches and shove her aside. Even pass her over to one of my stag mates. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw cameras on either side of the room. Damn. She could touch, but I couldn’t. Physical contact wasn’t allowed. I put my clammy palms under my ass so I wouldn’t be tempted.
Seamlessly, a new song started up. Enrique Inglesias’s “Bailando.”
“I wanna be contigo,” purred my private dancer, in her cheap, nasal voice. To my utter horror, while she circled her soaked center around my cock, her Miley Cyrus length tongue trailed up my neck to my lips. While my pals howled like animals, I squirmed, forcing myself not to turn my head to avoid looking like a pussy. She might want to be with me, but I didn’t want to be with her. Not one repulsive bit.
And then, I heard the hiss of a zipper. The sound of metal scraping against my dick. Shit. She was pulling down my fly. That did it. With a powerful thrust of my knees, and without touching her, I bounced her off my lap. Stunned, she fell onto one of the cylinder tables.
“What the fuck?” she hissed, collecting herself.
Not aware of what was really going on, shit-faced Jaime, Steve, and Jake applauded and blew wolf whistles.
“Give our boy a table dance,” shouted Jaime, tucking a hundred dollar bill into her skimpy wet bottoms. He must have blown several thousand dollars at this pop stand.
I bolted to my feet.
“Where you going, dude?” asked Steve. “Need to wank off in the little boys’ room?”
I tried to keep my cool but was sweating like a pig. I felt dirty and claustrophobic. Feigning fatigue once again and citing an early morning flight (which was, at least, true), I thanked my buds for my stag night.
“She’s all yours, dudes.” I didn’t want to come across as a jackass.
“Man,” said Jaime, his voice hoarse. “Are you wussing out on us?”
I missed my tiger. It was as simple as that.
I got back to the Bellagio at midnight. While I couldn’t get the Presidential Suite reserved for high rollers, I had an almost as luxurious penthouse unit on the same floor. Wearily, I inserted my key card into the door, debating whether to call my tiger after ta
king a quick shower to rid myself of the stench of stale booze, smoke, and bad pussy. At this late hour, she could be sound asleep.
Except for the dazzling Vegas skyline shining through the floor to ceiling windows, the suite was pitch-black. I swear I’d left the lights on. Maybe the turndown service maid had turned them off. Whatever. I headed straight to my bedroom, ready to collapse into bed.
As I stepped into the dark room, a familiar voice sounded in my ears.
“Hi, Blake. Did you have fun?”
My nerves shorted out. I flipped on the light. “What the hell are you doing here?”
It was fucking Kat. Wearing nothing but a black lace push up bra and matching thong along with black patent stilettos. Perched on my bed with her knees bent and endless legs spread. She licked her lips.
“You could be a little happier to see me and say hello.” She slid a hand beneath the lace bottoms.
My blood was sizzling. “How did you know I was here?”
“From your friend Jaime Zander. When I called him to discuss a bachelor party, he told me all about the one he had planned for you tonight.”
“How did you get his number?” My voice was rising with anger.
She smiled smugly. “Daddy. Jaime handles all his advertising.”
Mooreland Realty was one of the biggest realtors in the country. I had no idea Clayton Moore was one of Jaime’s clients. That explained why Kat was at his art gallery opening last December.
“How did you get into my room?”
She batted her eyes. “It’s amazing what a hundred dollar bill given to the right person can get you.”
I’d give as many hundreds at it took to get her out of my room. And out of my life for good. It was time to cut to the chase.
“Kat, what the fuck do you want?”
“I want what we once had.” She was fingering herself.
“We had nothing.”
“We had Capri.”
“It was just a summer fling. I ended it, but you have some kind of weird-ass obsession with me. You should be in therapy.”
She let out a mocking laugh. “I’ve been in therapy my whole life. It’s a joke.”
Obviously, it was. She was still one sick chick.
She narrowed her eyes at me “You ruined it for me with all other men. No one fucks the way you do.”
“I’m sure you can find someone,” I said, wondering why the hell I was even having this conversation with her.
“We could have had it all, Blake. But you fucked it up.”
“You fucked yourself.” I spat out the words.
Anger washed over her face. Her eyes flared with fury. I was beginning to think she was bi-polar. I’d had enough.
“Please get the fuck out of here before I call security.” I had to control myself from physically throwing her out the door.
Slowly and wordlessly, she made her way out of my bed. My eyes stayed fixed on her as she donned her pencil skirt and tight V-neck sweater. She grabbed her monstrous purse and marched to the door to my suite. At the doorway, she turned and glared at me. A sinister smile curled on her lips.
“I’m going to prove how much I love you, Blake. I’m going to let you tell that classless, mousy fiancée of yours all about us.”
I clenched my jaw and my fists. I’d never been this close to punching a woman. My blood pressure soaring, I held my breath and then let it go through my nose.
“Get the hell out of here, Kat. NOW!”
“Bye, Blakey,” she retorted, her voice saccharine sweet. She turned on her heel and disappeared.
I sunk down on the couch and rubbed my temples. Tomorrow, when I got back to LA, I was going to have a heart-to-heart talk with my tiger. It was time she knew.
Chapter 17
Jennifer
Thank God, Blake was coming back tomorrow morning. The two weeks he’d been away felt like an eternity. And this last week had been pure misery.
I was bloated. Achy. Irritable. And tired. A total emotional wreck.
I cried at the littlest things. For no reason.
I yelled at sweet Mrs. Cho when she couldn’t reach Blake.
I scribbled red-ink notes all over one of the scripts I was reading and couldn’t focus on another.
I broke down and bawled in my support group when a new member shared her horrific story of being beaten and raped.
The pressures of work and the wedding were getting to me. And so was something else. I was over a week late for my period. Stress? Tossing the script I was reviewing, I googled my symptoms.
Oh shit!
If things couldn’t get more complicated, an unexpected e-mail popped up in my inbox. The hair on the back of my neck bristled. It was from my ex-fiancé, Bradley Wick. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since the time I ran into him and his fiancée Candace, registering at Bloomingdale’s, and that was almost a year ago. I stared at my computer screen, my fingertips lightly drumming the keyboard. The only thing keeping me from deleting it was the subject line said URGENT in big shouty caps. With reservation, I opened it. The long and short of it—Bradley wanted to see me. He had something important he wanted to share. Despite my angst-out state, I agreed to meet him at lunch—at a nearby vegan restaurant. Some things never changed.
Mr. Punctuality was already seated at a table in the small, uncrowded restaurant. He’d already ordered one of those green soymilk concoctions he favored. Taking a seat across from him (yes, still the same ungentlemanly Bradley), I rested one hand on the table and the other, with Blake’s ring, on my lap. I studied his face as he flashed that big toothy smile. The smile hadn’t changed but his face had—he looked like he’d put on a fair amount of weight. He’d gotten jowly, and his receding hairline had receded further.
“Hi, Jennifer,” he said, handing me a menu. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure, Bradley. No problem.” Interestingly, I no longer felt anything toward him—neither rage nor contempt for having cheated on me with his hygienist. “You said it was urgent. Is something the matter?”
“I made a mistake.”
I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”
“I should have married you.”
“Bradley, what are you talking about?”
“It didn’t work out with Candace. She was a money grubbing wench. We just finalized our divorce. The bitch got the condo.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Okay. I had to admit it. My heart was doing a little jig. He’d gotten his comeuppance.
“I want us to get back together. Give it another chance.” To my shock, he reached across the table and palmed my hand. I yanked it away.
“Bradley, I’m afraid that’s not possible.” My other hand flew up from under the table. I held it up, the glimmering snowflake diamond facing him. “I’m engaged.”
Bradley’s beady eyes darkened. “To who?”
“To my boss. Blake Burns.”
Bradley’s lips snarled. “To that fucking psychopath who practically bit off my fingers?”
I nodded. Bradley’s face reddened with rage. He slammed his juice on the table.
“You’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“No, Bradley, the biggest mistake of my life would have been marrying you. Thank goodness, Blake sent me that video of you and Candace all over each other.”
Bradley’s eye grew wide with shock. “What! That bastard shot that footage?”
Enough of this lunch; it was beginning to nauseate me. “Excuse me, Bradley. I’m going to use the restroom, and then I’m splitting.”
Grabbing my shoulder bag, I stood up and then hurried to the restroom located in the back of the restaurant. Frequent urination. Another symptom. Fortunately, the small one-person unisex bathroom was vacant. I emptied my bladder, washed my hands, and unlocked the door. As I opened it, Bradley came charging in and pushed me backward until I was pinned against the wall. His newly flaccid body pressed against me and his small hands fondled my swollen breasts.
“Bradley, p
lease let me go,” I pleaded, trying to stay calm.
Madness flickered in his eyes. “No, not until you get another taste of me.” He leaned into me with his mouth parted. His antiseptic breath skimmed my cheeks. To my horror, his repulsive lips were about to touch down on mine. No fucking way. Without over thinking, my knee came up and jabbed his groin. I heard him groan. Bingo! I’d gotten him right where I wanted. Right in the balls! The self-defense class Blake had made me take had paid off.
“Fuck!” he roared as he crumpled to the tiled floor. Clutching his crotch, he writhed in pain.
A victorious smile shimmered on my face, and then it fell off like a scab, giving way to cold fury. “Don’t you ever contact me again, Dickwick. I’m so done with you.”
He glared at me. “You’re going to pay for this, Jennifer Fucking McCoy.”
Without another word, I scurried out of the restroom, my stomach cramping.
On the way back to the office, I made a stop. At a CVS drugstore. There was something I needed to buy. There was something I needed to know.
And soon enough I did.
Chapter 18
Blake
I got on an early morning flight and was back in LA by seven a.m. I had my driver take me straight to my apartment. I couldn’t wait to see my tiger. I was going to fuck her senseless, and then I was going to tell her. The sour taste of Kat was still in my mouth. I had to cleanse myself of her. I’d buried the truth six feet under, but now I had to expose it before it blew up in my face. My stomach knotted as I inserted the key into the door lock. A cocktail of guilt and anxiety coursed through my blood. I hadn’t rehearsed any kind of confession, nor did I have any idea how she would react to what I was about to tell her. I’d made a stupid, stupid mistake.
Expecting to see my early riser in the kitchen making coffee, I was surprised when she wasn’t there. Dropping my bag, I padded to our bedroom. With the blackout curtains drawn, the room was dark. I could hear her soft breaths. Quietly, I traipsed over to the bed. She was still sound asleep, a script by her side. She looked so beautiful and peaceful. Despite my physical and emotional needs, I couldn’t wake her. I headed to the bathroom to wash up and then I shed my clothes and crawled bone naked into the bed. Before I could get under the covers, she stirred.
THAT MAN: The Wedding Story Page 10