That Man 2

by Nelle L’Amour

  “Did I win the game?”

  “Yeah, tiger, you’re the winner.”

  I held his shimmering eyes—all four of them—in mine, and then everything faded to black.

  Chapter 9

  Jennifer

  I slowly peeled my eyes open, one at a time. Disoriented, it took me several long moments to realize I was in my hotel room. I felt like shit. My tongue was pasted to my parched palette, a God-awful taste filled my mouth, and my head was pounding. Fuck. How many chocolatinis had I downed last night? I’d stopped counting after the first. I must have consumed them like a bag of M&M’s.

  A ray of sunshine slithered through the blackout curtains. It must be morning. A loud knock at my door sounded in my ear. Go away! The knocking persisted, growing louder. Okay, enough. Tossing off my comforter, I staggered out of bed to see who it was. To my surprise, I was clad in my flannel SpongeBob PJs. I had no recollection of putting them on. In fact, I had little recollection of any of last night’s events.

  The knocking morphed into relentless banging. My fuzzy brain did some wishful thinking . . . maybe it was room service with a large pot of coffee—something I could really use. But I didn’t recall placing an order.

  With a shaky hand—God, I was hungover—I unlocked the door to my room and swung it open. Standing before me was Libby, dressed in a casual slacks outfit and carrying her large canvas messenger bag.

  “Hi,” she chirped.

  How could she be so bright-eyed and chipper? She drank those chocolatinis too and, in fact, was the one who turned me on to that lethal concoction. Maybe she drank fewer than I did though she did have a much higher alcohol tolerance.

  I struggled to liberate my tongue from the roof of my dry-as-a-desert mouth as she skirted past me and let herself into my room.

  “I thought we could share a cab and go to today’s focus groups together,” she said, plopping down on my bed.

  Reality threw a wrench at me. A wave of nausea rolled in my chest. I had another day here in Vegas to observe more focus groups and to meet with more authors. In my sorry state, I was up for neither. I just wanted to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head.

  My tongue back in action, I headed back into my room, still in stagger-mode. “Can you wait ten minutes? I need to take a shower and get dressed.”

  “Sure. I’ll check my e-mails.” Sitting cross-legged on my bed, she pulled out her cell phone from her bag and began scrolling.

  “Thanks.” I stumbled over to my dresser and plucked out some fresh underwear—a pair of white cotton briefs and matching camisole—and then ambled over to the closet where I settled on an outfit similar to yesterday’s—dark slacks and a pale pink silk blouse. I hadn’t brought a big assortment of clothes along. Just basics.

  “Libby, how did I get back to my room?” I asked as I laid the slacks and blouse across the unmade bed.

  Libby looked up from her e-mails. “Blake carried you up here.”

  I gulped. “He did?”

  She twirled one of her long sienna curls. “You were pretty funny last night.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  A hazy montage of last night’s events spun around in my head. Blake sitting with us. Me singing “Roar.” All those chocolatinis.

  “You mean the karaoke stuff?”

  Libby laughed. “Hardly. You were awesome. Blew the competition away.”

  “Then, what?” My stomach churned. Maybe I didn’t want to know.

  Libby smiled wryly at me. “You got plastered and got off on the word ‘cock.’”

  “I did?” In front of my boss? I chewed down on my lip.

  “And then you told Blake Burns that he has a big cock.”

  “I did?” Oh God! How could I say that? I’d never be able to live this down. Bile rose to the back of my throat as clueless Libby continued.

  “Rumor has it his cock could star in a porn flick.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Blake’s expanse of magnificence filled every crevice of my mind. The truth: I hadn’t stopped thinking about his outrageous cock since the time I’d accidentally seen it at his parents’ house. I gulped down another wave of nausea. In a state of quasi-shock and despair, I stumbled to the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My reflection startled me. My eyes were bloodshot, and my skin was the color of okra. I looked as ghastly as I felt. The first thing I did was brush my teeth, to get the foul taste out of my mouth, and then I popped a couple Advil and downed them with a glass of water. Shedding my pajamas, I turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature of the water to as hot as I could take it. Maybe a hot steamy shower would wash away my emotional turmoil and give me clarity. I stepped into the stall and let the hot water pound over me. I squeezed my eyes shut. Oh, God. Blake Burns was back. This time standing in the shower with me, his cock—yes, his humongous cock—pointing my way. I snapped open my eyes and hastily turned off the water. If only I could rip yesterday out from the calendar. Make it disappear. Make him disappear.

  As I towel dried myself and slipped on my undies, one reassuring thought crossed my mind. Chances were I wouldn’t see Blake today. He’d made it loud and clear yesterday that he’d had enough of the focus groups and book signings. Oh, please, no Blake today.

  I gathered my wet hair into a ponytail and had the misfortune of seeing my reflection once more. I still looked like shit. Today—with or without Blake—was not going to be a good day.

  Back in my room, I quickly donned the rest of my clothes. I gathered my purse and my briefcase with my notebook and laptop inside. Before heading out with Libby, I reached into my purse. Seconds later, my dark prescription sunglasses were sitting on my nose.

  As we descended the high-speed elevator, Libby chit-chatted about the upcoming focus groups. Yesterday’s respondents were “heavy” readers of erotic romance books, reading four or more e-roms a month; today’s panelists were “moderate” readers, reading one to three books a month. Her cell phone rang. Retrieving it from her bag, she let me know it was from the research facility. Everything for today’s groups was in place. While Libby spoke to the facility’s director, I dug into my purse and rifled for my own cell phone. Poor Bradley must have tried to reach me while I was passed out. He must be worried sick about me.

  I scoured my handbag, but my phone was nowhere to be found. Shit. Maybe it fell out of my bag last night. This day wasn’t getting better. When the elevator reached the main floor and the doors pinged opened, I told Libby that I was missing my phone and had to go back up to my room.

  “Oh, I put it on your night table,” she said. “Just in case you needed it. Hurry. I’ll meet you outside the hotel.”

  Libby stepped out of the elevator, and I immediately palmed the twelfth floor button, the floor on which we were staying. Fortunately, the elevator made no stops. When I reached my destination, I slogged out of the elevator to my room. I should have sprinted, but I was still in no condition to move at more than a snail’s pace. Every nauseating step was a painful reminder of last night’s embarrassing debacle. I vowed I was never going to get drunk again. Or, at least, never touch another chocolatini.

  I found my phone quickly and took a moment to check my messages and texts. To my surprise, there weren’t any text or phone messages from Bradley. Not one. My heart twitched. Maybe something happened to him. I immediately speed-dialed his number. His phone went right to his voice-mail. Instead of leaving him a message, I texted him.

  Call or text me as soon as you get this message. I love you.

  xJ

  My mind wandered. Why hadn’t he called or texted me? I told myself he must be okay. Surely, his parents or even his hygienist, Candace, would have gotten in touch with me if something terrible had happened to him. They all had my cell phone number. Maybe he’d lost his phone or taken a spontaneous overnight trip to some place where his phone didn’t work. Unable to dispel my
unsettling feeling, I tossed my phone into my shoulder bag and headed back to the elevator bank.

  The elevators, this time, took their sweet time. This day just fucking sucked. Besides being still hungover, I was growing increasingly sick with worry. Bradley. The outcome of today’s focus groups. Facing Blake.

  I thought about taking the stairs—not a bright idea given my pathetic state and accident proneness—when an elevator car at last arrived. The doors parted and so did my lips. Standing smack in front of me was the last person I wanted to see. Blake Burns! Mortification raced through me. My heart was in my mouth.

  He was dressed again in jeans, black body-hugging ones that hung low on his narrow hips, and one of those expensive premium cotton white tees that exposed his newly bronzed biceps. Dangling from his hand was an expensive tan leather overnight bag with his initials—BB—monogrammed in gold. He must be checking out, heading back to LA.

  “Ms. McCoy, are you going down . . . ?”

  . . . On your big frickin’ dick? Geez. What was wrong with me? I kept my gaze on his gorgeous face. He looked freshly showered and effin’ sexy as sin.

  “Well?” He was holding the door open.

  “Um, uh, yes,” I stuttered. A part of me wanted to run away or wait for the next elevator, but who knew how long that would take. Libby was waiting for me downstairs, and I didn’t want her to be late for the groups.

  Hesitantly, I stepped into the elevator. I stood as far away from him as I could and faced front. The elevator doors closed, and we began our descent.

  “So, how do you feel today, Ms. McCoy?” His tone was sardonic, and in my mind’s eye, I could see the smirk pasted on his face.

  “Fine.” I stabbed the word at him and adjusted my sunglasses.

  “You were quite entertaining last night.”

  Every muscle in my body clenched, and I felt myself flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry about last night,” I blurted out, still facing forward.

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry, tiger. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

  The high-speed elevator couldn’t reach the lobby fast enough. When the doors parted, I darted out.

  “Have a nice day, Jennifer, and stay out of trouble. I’m flying back. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

  “Bye,” I squeaked, not turning to look back at him.

  *

  The focus groups went as well as yesterday’s. Sobriety returned to me, thanks to the thoughtful research facility director who set me up with a pot of strong black coffee and a bowl of fresh fruit. After a quick lunch with Libby at a fast-food restaurant close to the facility, I headed back to the hotel to attend the final session of the book signing event. Once again, I met with numerous authors and bloggers who couldn’t be more excited about the block of programming I was developing for SIN-TV. I had their full support and ended up with a bag full of signed books and swag.

  Libby and I were booked on a 7:30 p.m. flight back to Los Angeles. With a few hours to kill, we decided to meet up at the Hard Rock pool. To catch some rays and swim a few laps. A margarita for her, a cherry Coke for me. After last night, alcohol was not in my immediate future.

  While I was changing into my swimwear in my room, my cell phone rang. I quickly grabbed it, hoping it was Bradley and dreading it was Blake. It was neither. Instead, Libby.

  “Jen, I got inspired to start writing up the focus group report, so if you don’t mind, I’ll meet you down at the pool a little later.”

  “No problem.” Work came first; this was a business trip, not a pleasure trip.

  “Save me a lounge chair.”

  I told her I would and ended the call.

  Before leaving the room, I checked myself out in the floor-length mirror by the entryway closet. For the first time today, I smiled at my reflection. Color had come back to my face, and the red spider lines had faded from my eyes. Wearing a turquoise one-piece bathing suit and flip-flops, I was back to being me. I slid open the closet and shrugged on the fluffy white terry cloth robe that came with the room. I was ready for a refreshing swim.

  *

  The pool area was packed. I’d never seen so much skin in my whole life. Women in string bikinis were mingling with hunky, tattooed men in Speedos or tanning themselves. Exotic drinks were everywhere. Wearing my dark prescription sunglasses and holding a plastic cup full of ice-cold Coke, I wound my way in and out of the crowd, searching for two side by side empty chaise lounges. At last, I spotted a pair. I hurried to them before someone else claimed them. Settling into one of them, I sipped my soda and took in the scene.

  Three bikinied women, who could pass as triplets, with big boobs and even bigger blond hair, were fawning over a well-built, tanned man, lying face down on the chaise lounge next to me. A backward-facing baseball cap covered his head. One of the blondes was massaging his feet, another the back of his muscular thighs, and the third his upper back and shoulders. I recognized the latter—Kay, the flirtatious cocktail waitress from the other night.

  She began to plant kisses all over his rippled back. He jerked.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  I gasped. The voice was muffled, but I recognized it immediately. Blake! He was still here?

  In a state of frenzy, I leapt up from my chaise and sent my beverage flying, ice cubes and all. To my horror, it splattered all over Kay and Blake.

  Shrieking, Kay scrunched up her face in disgust while Blake muttered, “What the fuck?” and rolled over. Our eyes met, wide in shock.

  “Blake, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t do it,” pleaded Kay. “It’s all that little bitch’s fault.” She gave me a look that could kill. I felt my face flare and my blood curdle.

  Blake bolted upright. “Jen, it’s not what it looks like.”

  I took a couple of deep breaths. “You know what they say: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

  With that, I stalked off, ready to get the hell out of Sin City.

  Chapter 10

  Blake

  My flight back to Los Angeles had been delayed. With three hours to kill, I’d decided to hit the pool. I could use a little R&R. And a little sun. I had no clue I’d be accosted by Kay, that skanky blond waitress from the other night, and her two look-alike cousins, Kelly and Kendra, both Vegas showgirls. I’d told them to get lost (well not exactly those words), but they’d refused to leave me. I got stuck buying them drinks. While they savored their piña coladas, I rolled over on the chaise and closed my eyes. I was still worn out from my bout with the flu, and traveling to Vegas didn’t help.

  I must admit I didn’t resist their sensuous suntan oil massage. These girls knew how to work a man. But while they rubbed and kneaded, I couldn’t stop think about Jennifer McCoy. As I lay face down, a smile crossed my face. She was fucking adorable. She had the singing voice of the next American Idol and she was cutest, funniest drunk ever. She was totally obsessed with my cock. But she also made me laugh. Have fun. And yes, get hard. Hard as nails just with her smile. I’d managed once again to have her in my arms. A mere waif, she was so warm and delicious. Carrying to her room, I felt like her prince. And then, when I gently laid her down on her bed, she murmured my name in her stupor. My already hard-as-rock cock jumped. If her friend Libby hadn’t been there with me, I would have kissed those rosebud lips. My Sleeping Beauty. At least, I was wearing her down.

  But now, I’d unintentionally fucked things up. Bolting from my chaise and almost knocking down raging mad Kay, I jogged after Jennifer. She was taking angry giant steps toward the hotel entrance.

  “Jen, wait up!” I called out after her.

  Ignoring me, she quickened her pace. My jog sped up to a sprint. I was able to catch up to her. Gripping her by her shoulders, I stopped her in her tracks. I spun her around, and she faced me squarely. Anger flared in her emerald eyes.

  “Let go of me, Blake. I need to get back to my room and pack. I don’t want to miss my plane.”

  “Jen, I don’t even know those girls. Honestly. T
hey mean nothing to me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “No girl means anything to you.”

  Her words were like knives to my heart. My hands fell off her shoulders. For the first time in my life, I was speechless.

  She adjusted the straps of her tank suit and thanked me for releasing her. Her voice was as cold as ice. “I’ll have a topline report of the focus group findings to you first thing in the morning.”

  With that, she stormed off leaving me in the dry Vegas dust. Maybe Jennifer and me were not meant to be.

  *

  Hanging out at the pool was a big, big mistake. Thanks to that regrettably relaxing massage under the hot as balls sun, I’d conked out. Besides fucking things up with Jennifer, I’d overslept and missed my damn plane. There wasn’t another one available until late tomorrow afternoon. So, I was stuck in Vegas for another day. After my fallout with Jen, I checked back into the hotel. Maybe, missing my flight was a blessing in disguise. I could use the time away from my tiger to clear my head and figure out my next move. Our recent encounter had set things back. She simply refused to believe there was nothing going on between me and that trio of blondes.

  I moped up to my room and ordered room service. I then texted Jennifer to let her know about my change of plans—that I wouldn’t be back in the office until Tuesday. I eagerly awaited her reply. Zippo. She must already be on her flight back to Los Angeles. Or perhaps she was just ignoring me.

  While waiting for my dinner to arrive, I called Vera Nichols, my Vegas affiliate manager. She picked up the phone quickly. Since I was going to be in town for another day, I told her I wanted to visit some of the SIN-TV productions filming nearby. Because of the new California law requiring porn stars to wear condoms, many of our shows had recently moved to Sin City where they weren’t mandatory. It was just as well because filming in Nevada was a lot cheaper than filming in Los Angeles. Vera was extremely receptive to the idea and told me she would pick me up in the morning. I was glad she was coming along. Vera was a great gal and I could use the company.