THAT MAN 4 (The Wedding Story-Part 1) (13 page)

It was time to uncork another.

Maybe Enid could dictate almost everything about my wedding from the invitations to the décor. But there were two things she wasn’t going to have any control over: the dress I was going to wear and the person I was tossing my bouquet to.

In my heart, I wanted Libby to have her happily ever after just like me.

*

The next evening when I came home from work, I received the first wedding gift I wanted to keep. A splendid silver-plated, engraved wine cooler from Crate & Barrel and two cases of Two-Buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s. A big smile warmed my lips as I read the enclosed note.

To My Bestest Friend in the World~

I can’t wait to stand with you.

Cry with you.

Laugh with you.

And hold up Chaz’s dress while you pee.

I love you so much~ xo Libby

Blake

I
used to love these two weeks of visiting affiliates. It was a glorified road trip—I flew first class, stayed in five-star hotels, and ate in the finest restaurants. I visited my stations, wined and dined my managers, and usually found some babe to fuck and forget. Just last year at this time, I was having the time of my life.

But all that was before Jen. I couldn’t wait for this trip to be over. I got in and out of every city as fast as I could. Acting like an old fart. I visited each station, went out to dinner with the general manager, and then feigned fatigue so I could go back to my hotel room and catch up with my tiger. We sexted and Skyped, but nothing compared to having her in the flesh in my bed. Wanking off wasn’t cutting it.

After a quick visit with my Sacramento affiliate, I’d flown to the East Coast and then worked my way back to LA. My last stop was Las Vegas. I was actually looking forward to being there. Not only because I was one stop away from seeing my tiger, but because I got to spend time with my favorite affiliate manager, Vera Nichols.

Vegas was our top market, thanks to Vera. She ran her station with both an iron fist and a big heart. Her staff adored and revered her. And rightfully so. Her inspirational style of management was one for the books.

“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 “Baliando.”

“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 taking 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?”