One Wild Night

by Magan Vernon

Wes Won. Obviously. No one could beat a genuine cowboy, but it was sure fun to watch a bunch of men parade around for women’s entertainment.

  “That was one hell of a show, Cal.” Abbi raised her glass to the British host who had since put on a pair of jeans and button-down black shirt.

  After the performance was over, he took us into the VIP lounge, where a few of the cougars paid a shit-ton of money to pose with the male strippers in horrible selfies and drink with them like they were college girls. Which was probably how old their daughters were.

  “I should probably thank my publicist for all of her hard work.” He smiled, really soaking in the charm. The guy knew what he was doing. No wonder he ran events like this. Women were putty for a guy with an accent.

  “I do what I have to do to make my clients look good,” Abbi said before taking a sip of her drink. There were male waiters walking around the VIP room carrying trays of appetizers and fruity cocktails. I was starving, since I hadn’t eaten since lunch, but I always felt like I was being judged when I ate, so I just kept drinking. And they weren’t the watered-down drinks I was used to back home in Chicago.

  “And here is the man of the hour!” Pam yelled as Wes sauntered over to us. Since the performance ended he had put on a pair of low-slung jeans and a big sash was draped across his chest that read “Rock Hard Abs of Vegas.”

  “Thank you, ladies. It’s all in a day’s work.” He smiled and tipped his head like he was some sort of gentleman cowboy. Even though he definitely wasn’t. I saw the way his hips moved on the stage. There was nothing gentlemanly about a guy who could thrust himself like that.

  Pam elbowed me in the side. “Valerie, you should give him your card. A man like this could definitely use your PR talents.”

  “A publicist for a stripper?” I asked before Pam pinched me and gave me a look that said ‘shut up and just flirt.’

  He raised his eyebrows. “Stripping is just what pays the bills for now, but maybe a publicist could help me get to the next level, even though you look way too young to be one of those big publicity moguls. And a lot prettier than the PR suits I’ve seen.”

  Pam laughed. “Val is one of the best. She’s going to be running the company before you know it.”

  “Really?” He lowered his eyebrows, the grin spreading even farther on his face.

  “Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. I’d barely even started and the owner was a male chauvinist. I actually couldn’t believe that he hired me when he did. I wasn’t the typical male, public relations guy in a suit, but then again, neither were Pam and Abbi. But at least they were petite and had the resume to back them up. The only things I had on my resume were my grades and my summer internship with a publishing company. I figured at least I had a job, even if it did pay me shit and I had to live with a roommate in a tiny-ass place in Wrigleyville. I’d move up soon enough. Even if it took me ten years before I had clients doing shows in Vegas.

  But nothing seemed to faze Wes as he put his strong arm around me. “I think we’re going to have to talk more about what you can do for me. I could always use a pretty blonde telling me what to do.”

  I giggled. I never giggled. The drinks had to be really strong to get that reaction out of me.

  Another Hour Later...

  “Are you sure those abs are real?” I laughed, running my hand along Wes’s ab line.

  We were smooshed in a corner booth and every time I laughed a waiter would run over and hand me another drink in a crystal glass. I could get used to events like this. Especially with hot guys in the VIP room. Too bad that I lost count on how many drinks I had and how long I’d been sitting in the booth with Wes.

  “Everything about me is real. What you see is what you get.”

  “Are you trying to come up with your own slogans now? Because I think I could come up with wayyyy better ones.” I took another big gulp of my drink. I should have slowed down, but the more I drank, the better I felt. And this wasn’t like the bars in Chicago in which I was paying ten bucks for a watered down well drink. This was top-shelf booze that was flowing like a river into my mouth.

  “Please, you talk a big game, honey; show me what you got,” he said, motioning his fingers forward like he was saying ‘come and get me.’

  I pushed my hair back. I was used to having to prove myself to guys, so I was always up for the challenge. “Okay, for starters, I’d go with something less cheesy. More original. Something that is unique to your personality. Something real.”

  “I don’t do anything fake, Valerie,” he said, meeting my eyes. I had to swallow hard to keep down the butterflies that were definitely going crazy in my stomach. I wasn’t used to this much attention from the opposite sex unless they were expecting to get some. Which he probably was. It was only a matter of time, I guessed.

  “Says the guy who just gave my mentor a lap dance in the middle of a Vegas strip club.”

  He put his hand on mine, running his thumb along the ridge of my knuckles. “Sometimes we all have to do stuff that we don’t want to do to get by. I can’t say that I want to be a stripper forever, but it pays the bills for now. And if I get to meet witty girls like you, then it’s worth something.”

  I cleared my throat, trying to gain my composure. I couldn’t go all giddy girl on him. Even if I did write on his abs with lipstick. I had to maintain a little bit of professionalism. “Okay, let’s start with your tattoo then. We can work with that. Is there any meaning behind it, or just something you did when you were young?” I traced the lines of the music notes above his left pec.

  He let out a soft laugh, but there was a hint of sadness to it. Something I wasn’t expecting “Well, it explains why I’m here in Vegas, I guess,” he said, his eyes briefly looking at the tattoo as if he’d just now noticed it and then his gaze was focused back on me.

  “Because you love the music scene?”

  He shook his head. “No, this was supposed to be a stop on my way to LA. I thought I could just pack up my guitar, stay at a friend’s for a little while, and then maybe get discovered. Even if that discovery happened while I was giving lap dances to old women on a nightly basis.”

  “So this isn’t your big dream? You don’t want to be Magic Mike forever? What is your ultimate goal? What did you always see yourself doing and what can I do to get you there?”

  He had a smile that instantly made me want to smile as well. The guy had charisma that could light up the whole room. No wonder he was so good at being a stripper. I didn’t even know if he could sing a note, but I knew he had a stage presence.

  “It’s funny, no one has ever asked me what I wanted. It’s always about them. I think you’re the first person since my high school guidance counselor to ask that.”

  “I like to get to know people and I think someone’s aspirations can say a lot about what they want in life,” I said, taking a tiny sip of my drink. I noticed the more he talked the closer he got to me. His side was now pressed against mine and I wanted to reach out and run my fingers along his perfect ab line. It took everything in my power not to.

  “Okay, Ms. Valerie, what are your big dreams and aspirations then?”

  “To be more than everyone expects of me,” I whispered, almost wishing I hadn’t said it. I didn’t know what I was trying to say. I didn’t know if I was trying to be flirty or if I was really trying to be real with him.

  “And what does that mean?” he asked. His hand had now wandered to my leg, his fingers running along the inseam of my jeans. I knew where this conversation was going to lead, so best to stop talking and spilling my guts to the guy and just get him up to the bedroom. That’s all a guy like him really wanted anyway. He didn’t really care about my dreams. He just wanted an easy lay. I just hoped he wasn’t also a gigolo and expected me to pay for it.

  “It means you can stop talking and we can get to fucking,” I blurted and then quickly grabbed my drink from the table, downing it. I had to stop talking, so I thought maybe shoving more alcohol down my throat w
ould help, but the more I drank, the looser my morals usually got.

  He leaned over, the stubble on his cheeks grazing my jaw line. “Now, darlin’, if you’re going to try and get into my pants we should probably go somewhere a lot more private.”

  “I do have a suite at my hotel.”

  “A suite, eh? This company of yours must really think something of you to put you up in a suite.”

  Truth was, I think everyone got one that came on the trip. We were all also supposed to have roommates, but mine bailed at the last minute since one of her kids was sick, so I was alone.

  “I’m kind of a big deal. Youngest one in the office has its perks sometimes,” I said, putting another drink to my lips, but Wes quickly pulled it away and set it down on the table.

  “I think we should just see how much experience you have and head back to that suite of yours.” His eyes were filled with desire and suddenly so was I.

  “I guess we can do that.”

  He put his hands on the side of my face, his fingers grazing my jaw line. “You guess?”

  “You think you can convince me that you’re worth my while?” I raised my eyebrows.

  His lips crashed into mine and I melted beneath his smoldering kiss. His tongue ran across my bottom lip before he nipped at it, causing a soft moan to escape my mouth. He took that as the opportunity to twirl his tongue with mine, letting me taste him. His kiss was sweet like liquid candy and I craved more of him. I put my hands on the back of his neck, pulling him closer as I softly sucked on his tongue.

  Wes sighed into my mouth as I released his tongue, his smile evident beneath his kiss as he moved his hands from my face and down to my lower back, drawing small circles on my skin. All I could think about was how good he tasted and how bad I wanted him in my bed, wearing nothing but his delicious smile.

  He slowly broke the kiss, nipping at my lip one last time before he looked into my eyes. “Now how about that suite?”

  Before I could answer, Abbi and Pam scooted in beside us in the booth. “Well don’t you two look cozy?” Pam said, holding a champagne glass in her hand.

  “We were actually just about to head out ...” I tried to move, but Abbi blocked me in.

  “Head out where?”

  “Back to my room ...”

  Abbi raised her eyebrows. “Valerie Wilder, are you trying to bed the Hardest Abs in Vegas?”

  “Maybbeeeee,” I said with a giggle.

  Pam leaned over the table. “Are you serious right now? You’re about to hook up with him?”

  “Yes, Mooooom,” I whined. Since when did they get so protective?

  Abbi leaned over. “Look, I love you like a little sister, and I’m all for you having a little fun, but you probably shouldn’t be hooking up with a male stripper you met in Vegas.”

  My eyes widened. “Wait? He’s a stripper?” I clutched my chest in mock sarcasm.

  Pam rolled her eyes. “Please, don’t give me your sarcastic bullshit. I’m being serious.”

  “Ladies,” Wes interrupted.

  We all turned in his direction and he just smiled like he had a big secret. “You could be a little bit quieter if you’re gonna shit talk me.”

  “We weren’t shit talking you,” I protested.

  He holds up his hands. “It’s okay, I understand. I get it all the time.”

  Abbi sat up a little straighter. “I was just informing my colleague that I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to take someone she just met up to her room.”

  “It’s Vegas, baby, everything here happens fast.” He leaned closer. “But if Valerie wants me to take it slow, I can go all night long.”

  “Maybe she’s saving herself for marriage,” Pam blurted.

  My head spun so fast her in direction I was afraid I sprained something. I was definitely not saving anything for marriage. Not even my butt virginity.

  Wes slapped the table with a laugh. “Hell, then let’s get married!”

  “WHAT?” Abbi, Pam, and I practically said in unison before looking back at Wes.

  He shrugged. “Sure, why not? I got nothing to lose. You’re a smart, attractive girl and if you want to wait until marriage then let’s get this over with so we can get the honeymoon started.”

  I blinked, hard. He couldn’t be serious.

  Abbi tilted her head back, laughing. “Oh that’s rich. A stripper wants to marry Valerie. This cannot be happening.”

  Wes ushered Pam out of the seat next to him and tugged on my hand, pulling me to a standing position. Once we stood in front of the booth he took my hands in his and then slowly crouched down until he was on one knee.

  “Valerie Wilder, I can’t think of a better way than to end my night. Let’s get hitched. Whatta ya say? Wanna be my wife?”

  Back to the Present

  The realization of everything that happened the night before washed over me. Followed by a giant wave of nausea.

  The tiny wedding chapel. Abbi throwing flower petals. Elvis standing at the altar and telling me that I could ‘kiss my hunk, hunk of burning love.’

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I muttered before throwing the blanket off of us. Luckily Mr. Wild Wes moved out of my way so I could make a beeline for the spacious bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

  I lurched forward until I was at the toilet, gripping onto it for dear life. I never puked, but purging the entire night before seemed like it would be a good idea. Of course that didn’t mean the night would go away. Especially when I caught a glimpse of my ass in the mirror.

  I stood and backed up until I got a full glimpse of the words scrolled on my left butt cheek. “Mrs. Wild?”

  I licked my finger and then rubbed furiously at the writing, hoping that it was just temporary or something maybe even the stripper wrote on my ass. No such luck. It was permanent. And now stung like hell. I bit down on my bottom lip, trying not to scream at the new pain that went straight from the tattoo into me.

  God. This couldn’t be happening. This kind of stuff only happened in stupid movies. I sank down to the floor, and leaned my head against the wall.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  What to do? What to do?

  LAYLA.

  Layla would know what to do!

  My sorority big sister was now a lawyer in Chicago. She could easily help me figure out how to get a divorce that would hopefully go just as quickly as my marriage did.

  Now if only I could find my phone...

  I grabbed one of the white, fluffy robes that was hanging on the back of the door and wrapped it around me. The guy may have been my husband, but I still didn’t want to parade my big tattooed ass around.

  I slowly opened the door, hoping that maybe my new “husband” had left. No such luck. Instead he was sprawled out across the bed with his hands propped behind his head and his eyes glued to the TV.

  But that’s not where my eyes went. While I chose to put on a robe, Wes decided that staying naked was the better option. I tried to look at his face, but my eyes couldn’t help but roll downward. Especially when I saw something shiny between his legs.

  “Enjoying the view?” he asked

  I snapped my gaze up to his face. “Do you think you could maybe put some clothes on? What if housekeeping came in or something?”

  “It’s our honeymoon, baby. Why would we need to get dressed?” He patted the seat next to him. “Now get back in here before your side of the bed gets cold.”

  I sighed, taking slow methodical steps to the bed before I sat down at the end. “Look, Wes, if that is your real name and not just a stage name, you can cut the shit. We got married in Vegas in a drunken stupor. I’m going to call my lawyer friend and see the easiest way to get a divorce and we can both get out of this and go on with our lives like it never happened.”

  He leaned forward, dropping his hands down by his waist. “Who said that I want a divorce?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Oh please, don’t try and put on the charm with me. I’m not the kind of
girl that falls for that shit, despite what my drunken antics might have said last night.”

  “Hey.” He put his hand on mine and I tried to keep my eyes from roaming over him, but no such luck. The guy didn’t have an ounce of fat on him; even when sitting he still had a rock-hard set of abs. No wonder he won the contest ... and his way into my bedroom. “We don’t have to rush to stop this marriage. We can take it nice and slow. I’ll come back to Chicago with you, get set up in the sweet little apartment you probably have ...”

  “Wait a second.” I put my hand up, stopping his words. “Are you thinking that I’m just going to be your sugar mama or something?”

  “Now, darlin’, I didn’t say that ...”

  “Shut the front door!” I stood up. “That’s what this is, isn’t it?” I shook my head, pacing in front of the bed. “God, I should have known! You see the nice suite, hear about my job, and just expect that you can be some kind of a gold digger.” I stopped and stared at him and he didn’t even flinch. I was completely right.

  “Well, darlin’,” I mocked his accent. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not the big exec that you seem to think I am. I’m just a measly first-year PR assistant, making less than 40K a year.”

  He blinked, hard, the color completely draining from his face. Guys that looked like him didn’t go for girls like me. I knew there had to be something else. I just never actually thought it would be for my money. Money that I was lacking.

  “But if you still want to stay married, you can come back to my apartment in Chicago, which I share it with a roommate and her very angry cat. I’m sure she would love for me to bring a guy home who I don’t even know his last name.” I sighed. “Or I guess my new last name.”

  “It’s Cockrell,” he muttered. “Wesley Cockrell.”

  I put my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle a giggle. “You’re shitting me. Cockrell? Now my name is Wilder-Cockrell?”

  “Hey, it’s not that funny,” he protested.

  I held my breath, trying not to laugh, but it was no use and I burst into a fit of giggles. “I’m married to a stripper and my name is Valerie Wilder-Cockrell. Doesn’t get any weirder than that.”

  “You know, Valerie.” He stood up and I couldn’t help but let my gaze fall again to what was between his legs. More importantly, what was pierced there. “Hey!” he snapped. “Stop staring at my dick and look at me.”

  “Sorry.” I shifted my eyes back to his.

  “This may not be the best situation, but if you want to end it now, we can drive down to the courthouse and see what we can do. Sound good?”

  I let out a deep breath and glanced at my watch that was sitting on the side table. “I have another meeting this afternoon. I can text Abbi to stall if I need to but this has to be quick.”

  “Quicker than our twelve-hour marriage,” he muttered.

  An Hour Later...