by D. L. Roan
“You told them my—?” Oh.My.God. “That was private, Rox! Something I’ve never told anyone but you! I can’t believe you would share that with...” She flicked the picture of the...Oh dear Lord! She was blushing just looking at the picture of the sun-god Roxy had slipped from the envelope. There was no way she could do that with him.
“Don’t get all worked up. I know exactly what you’re thinking, Jayne, but think about this. You’ll both be blindfolded. He has no idea what you look like—though looking like you do tonight he’d likely give you a free encore—and he won’t be able to see you when you turn ten shades of red. Hopefully, by the time he’s done with you, you’ll be at least eight shades of—”
“Humiliated,” Jayne said, tossing her napkin onto her plate. “I can’t believe you did this, Roxy. Hiring a male hooker?”
“Escort,” Roxy reached out and grabbed her hand as she reached for her purse. “Don’t be angry, Jayne. Just hear me out.”
Jayne slumped back in her padded seat and hid her face in her hands. She should have never gotten on that plane. She took the provocative business card from her friend and slapped it face down on the table. “You’ve talked me into a lot of things over the years, Rox, but you’re not goading me into this. It’s just not me.”
“So let it be you. It’s only one night. Not even a whole night. Do you have any idea how much they charge?”
“Telling me that is sooo not helping you right now. And he’s a complete stranger! Who—sleeps—with—women—for—a—living!” Who knew where his...thing had been?
Roxy shook her head. “They have certified regular health checks, Jayne. These guys are pros, not street-walking crack whores. Protection is mandatory and none of them have criminal backgrounds. They’re students and models and from what I’ve heard...” Roxy lowered her voice and licked her lips as she leaned closer to Jayne. “They’re very skilled at what they do.”
Jayne snorted. “Like you have any way of knowing that for a fact.” She pointed at the photograph slash calling card. “Do you think Blake is even this guy’s real name?”
“It doesn’t matter what—” Their heated conversation beginning to attract attention, Roxy lowered her voice and leaned over her plate towards Jayne. “Listen, Jayne. I love you. You know that, right?” Jayne nodded, though reluctantly. It was times like these that made her question her own sanity much less her friendship with Roxy.
“Good,” Roxy nodded. “Then please believe me when I say you need this. I’ve watched you turn yourself inside out to get this job. Over the last six months you’ve barely eaten, you’ve slept on your sofa at work, when you sleep, and you haven’t dated anyone since Dale and you—”
“But Dale—”
“Was boring! You fell asleep the last time he ate you out!”
“Shhh!” Jayne cringed, heat rising back to her cheeks as the weight of more curious stares crashed over her. “Keep your voice down. I told you it was my fault. I’d been awake for two days straight working on that—!”
“And now you are diving headlong into a new work-induced coma, from which you’ll surface in a year or two at least ten years older than you are now if you don’t loosen up and let yourself breathe for a change.”
“But, what if someone finds out? I can’t—”
“No one’s going to find out, Jayne. I didn’t even give them your real name. Who does you in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
Uhhh! Roxy could be so infuriating. Jayne flipped the picture over on the linen covered table in front her. Delicious didn’t even begin to describe this...Blake. She couldn’t deny the small hint of curiosity that tickled her insides. What would it be like to be so daring, for just one night? Sure, Dale had been nice. And yes, Roxy was right. He’d been snooze-alarm boring. All of her previous boyfriends had been...nice. Not one of them had even come close to fulfilling even her most basic fantasies. Not that she had many, but who was counting? Marty had tried a blindfold once, but missionary position was still...well...missionary, even when you couldn’t see it.
And none of the guys she’d ever dated looked like this. She ignored the hopeful expression on Roxy’s face and picked up the postcard sized photo. This guy probably bled testosterone. Sun-bleached spiky hair, ice-blue eyes and sinfully pouty lips she could almost feel kissing her neck; that spot just below her ear. A slight shudder rolled through her. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, unable to ignore the sweaty tingle that mocked her resolve. She focused on the mural of tattoos that covered his left arm and shoulder, wondering if they were real. She’d never considered tattoos sexy, but if they were wearing blindfolds it wouldn’t matter. She ran her fingertip over the picture, wondering what he would feel like beneath her fingertips as she traced all those muscles.
“Admit it. You’re thinking about it.”
She looked up to see Roxy’s all too eager smile. Was she?
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