Chapter 4

When the exotic dancer Laura had hired began to give me a lap dance, I almost fell backward out of my seat. My fellow bridesmaids hooted and hollered like a bunch of men at a cheap strip joint. I’d neglected to bring any dollar bills, but Jenna had handed me a stack with a wide grin before the party had started.

“Yeah, get up on her!” yelled Reagan. She was the youngest of the bridesmaids, and she always seemed to have a flask of booze on hand at every occasion. Breakfast: vodka in her coffee; lunch, gin in her Coke; dinner, straight rum. Yet she always seemed perfectly sober. I didn’t know whether to be concerned or impressed.

“Shake it!” Jenna screamed as the exotic dancer shimmied and turned to give me a view of his bare ass covered only by a gold G-string. It was so perfectly smooth I was tempted to ask him how he’d done it. Wax? Sugaring? Laser? It was like he’d never had a single hair on his butt ever.

The dancer turned around, smiling widely, his crotch dangerously close to my face. If he moved in the wrong direction, his penis would be slapping me in the face. How awkward would that be? Woman receives black eye after she’s slapped in the face with dancer’s penis, the headline would read.

I grabbed a few dollars and put them in the dancer’s waistband that was barely a band at all. I was half-afraid it’d snap and reveal the guy’s pretty substantial package right then and there.

“Thanks, babe.” He winked and moved on to Reagan. I let out a breath of relief and fanned myself.

“Are you having fun?” Jenna yelled the words into my ear.

We’d been at her bachelorette party for two hours now, and everyone was pretty wasted already. I’d been nursing my cocktail; I didn’t want to go to bed drunk and wake up hungover for Jenna’s wedding. I didn’t know how Jenna would survive tomorrow if she kept drinking, but that was her choice, not mine.

I was a good girl. Except for that whole kissing a strange man in a hot tub thing last night. And then accidentally flashing my boobs at him and another man.

I’d decided to forget that had even happened. It had been a moment of insanity and nothing more. It would just be one of those “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” moments that I’d remember briefly when I was in a nursing home, sighing over my misbegotten youth.

Thank God the guys had been together for the bachelor party: I hadn’t seen Liam at all. The last thing I needed was him goading me into kissing him again. Or reminding me that he’d seen my breasts. God, that had been so humiliating!

“Loads of fun!” I lied to Jenna. “That guy is something.”

“Isn’t he? I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed.” Jenna sighed happily. “Sam gave me a lap dance once, but it was so awkward. He tripped over my feet and ended up face planting into my lap.”

“Oh my God, Jenna.”

“He got a bloody nose and everything. Had to lie to his buddies at work that he’d gotten into a fight when his nose was all purple.” Jenna giggled. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that! He’d kill me.”

I checked my phone, wondering if I could bounce early, when I very stupidly looked on Facebook. I’d unfriended David months ago, but we had a bunch of mutual friends, so I still saw his public posts all the time. The blood drained from my face when I saw that he was now officially in a relationship with the woman I’d caught him screwing in our bed.

I wasn’t surprised, but the fact that so many people were commenting positively, congratulating them both, made me want to vomit up my cocktail. He could at least be discreet, for God’s sake.

I couldn’t help myself when I clicked on his updated profile photo of him and his new girlfriend, Samantha. They looked so happy. He had his arm around her, and she was kissing his cheek. Like neither of them had done anything wrong. Rage burned through me.

“You want another drink?” said the waitress.

My plans not to drink flew right out the window within two seconds. I wanted to forget, and I wanted to have some fun for once. I was tired of being responsible when it didn’t seem to make a difference anyway. What did it matter if I just ended up showing my breasts to strange men anyway?

“Yes. A round of shots for everyone, actually,” I said.

The first shot made my blood hum pleasantly. The second, the same. By the third, the exotic dancer gave me another lap dance, and I was hooting and hollering with everyone else. He was so hot.

I swallowed a fourth shot after I’d tipped him generously, very tempted to stuff those dollar bills in the pouch covering his package.

“It’s time for the party favors!” Laura brought out the box of pink bags and began handing them out. “Jenna, we wanted you to have lots of fun on your honeymoon.” Laura winked.

Jenna began throwing tissue paper out of her bag and then screeched when she pulled out a huge pink dildo. “You bitch!” she said as she laughed. “Oh my God, what else is in here?”

In quick succession, we all discovered that we’d received dildos, butt plugs, bullet vibes, and a strip of condoms. Oh, and cherry-flavored lube, of course.

Reagan squeezed a dollop of the lube onto her tongue and then promptly spit it out. “It tastes like cough syrup!”

“Still probably tastes better than dick,” said Nina, Jenna’s cousin.

“What kind of dick you sucking on? I’m concerned.” This from Reagan.

Nina had recently gotten divorced and hated men more than me. She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t act like sucking on a dick is enjoyable.”

Laura shrugged. “It’s fun when they’re super into it.”

“Do you guys swallow or spit?” said Reagan.

Everyone’s answers varied. I drank my latest cocktail, hoping no one would notice I wasn’t answering.

“Mari, what about you? Spit or swallow?” said Jenna.

The alcohol made my tongue loose and lying didn’t even come into my brain. “I don’t know. I’ve never given a blowjob.”

The entire group stared at me like I’d admitted to enjoying having sex with furries.

Finally Reagan sputtered, “Are you serious? Weren’t you engaged?”

Jenna elbowed Reagan, but I was too drunk to care about someone mentioning David. I shrugged. “David never wanted one, and he was my only real boyfriend.”

“Did he go down on you?” This from Laura.

“No. We didn’t do oral, period.”

Everyone went crazy when I admitted that, and it only made me want to drink further. Questions were volleyed like balls, back and forth, and eventually I was forgotten in the rousing discussion.

So what if my sex life had always been vanilla? I was fine with that. I didn’t need some guy to spank me and make me wear a butt plug to feel fulfilled.

Of course, my mind drifted to last night at the pool. Considering I’d launched myself at Liam, mauled him, and had kissed him like I was dying, I was obviously not just into vanilla sex. Or at least vanilla kissing.

Maybe I needed Liam to spank me while I wore a butt plug. I’d get it out of my system and return to missionary sex during commercial breaks like I’d had with David.

Could I ask him if he’d want to? I was so drunk it didn’t seem like a terrible idea. Besides, Liam seemed like he’d be into anything that related to sex. He’d probably grin and pull out his own butt plug he’d had specially made for just those moments.

“No wonder you broke up with him,” said Reagan as she slung an arm across my shoulders. “The shitty sex should’ve been a red flag.”

I bristled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t get defensive. We’ve all been there.”

Suddenly, the room felt too close, too hot. I slid out from Reagan’s arm and staggered outside into the cool night air. I expected someone to follow me, but they were probably too wasted right now to notice my departure.

I inhaled deep breaths. Panic spiraled in my gut for some strange reason. I felt dizzy. I’d obviously drunk way too much. Geez, I was an idiot.

The lights of the Vegas strip lit up the town, making it seem like it was almost midday even though the sun had set hours ago. People walked up and down the sidewalk, some clearly drunk, others laughing and yelling. A cop took one man aside when he tried to pee in a trashcan nearby; another woman proceeded to lie down on a bench and take a nap, her friend pulling on her arm and whining about needing to get back to their hotel.

“You okay?”

I blinked to see Liam standing over me. And if I wasn’t mistaken he seemed…concerned. Maybe I was hallucinating now.

“I’m fine.” I tried to step away from him, but I only proceeded to almost fall flat on my face.

“Whoa there. How much have you had to drink?” He caught my elbow and propped me against the wall, searching my face. “Where’s everyone else?”

I yawned. “Inside. I’m fine.”

“You’re rat-arsed.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re shit-faced.”

“Well, your face is shit.” I snort-laughed at that insult.

“Yes, very rat-arsed. Come on, I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

The thought of sitting in my room, alone, thinking about David and his stupid new girlfriend, made me panic. It would be unbearable, and since I was drunk I’d end up doing something stupid, like call him. Or cry. Or sit up watching infomercials and crying because David had been obsessed with his ShamWow.

“I don’t want to. Let’s go somewhere. I’ve barely seen Vegas at all.” I widened my eyes. “Oh my God, wait!”

“Wait? Why?”

“You saw my boobs!”

Liam chuckled, a sound like warm whiskey through my veins. “Yeah, I did.”

“I can’t hang out with you now.”

“If it makes you feel better, your tits are gorgeous.”

I was drunk enough to preen under the compliment. “Okay. You’re forgiven. Now, let’s go somewhere.”

Liam frowned down at me, though. “You can hardly walk.”

“Then you can carry me.”

He smiled, brushed some stray strands of hair from my forehead, and took my arm. “Stay here,” he said as he left me inside the entrance of the club.

He returned a few minutes later. I’d gotten bored and had begun to count the number of diamonds in the carpet.

“There are ten on this side, but eleven over here. Isn’t that weird?” I pointed at the hostess. “Have you noticed that?”

“I have not,” she said seriously. “We appreciate the feedback, though.”

“I’m going to file a complaint online. Your carpet is totally weird!”

Liam hauled me outside. “Behave yourself.”

“Or what?” I grinned up at him. “You’ll spank me?”

Instead of rolling his eyes, he growled, “Don’t tempt me.”

Well, that answered one part of my question. I was close to asking him if he had his own special butt plug when we arrived at a casino combined with a restaurant that buzzed with activity.

“We’re sobering you up with some food,” he said.

“No! I don’t want to be sober!” I grasped his arm. “Because then I’ll just think about him—”

Liam’s eyes flashed, but it could have been the bright lights overhead making me see things.

“When’s the last time you got this rat-arsed?” he said.

It wasn’t the question I was expecting. “I don’t know—college?”

“Mari—”

“Does it matter? I don’t want to be sober. I want to do fun things and not think for once. Can you do that for me tonight?” I batted my eyelashes. “Please?”

He sighed, but he didn’t talk about getting me sober a second time. Before I knew it, we were drinking and gambling the night away.

When I sat at a slot machine, feeding it quarters like an infinitely hungry Pac-Man, Liam whispered in my ear, “Who is the guy you can’t stop thinking about?”

I pulled the lever. I’d only won a few hundred dollars so far, but I couldn’t remember how much I’d spent. There was an infinite amount of quarters at my disposal, it seemed, so it didn’t matter.

I didn’t win this time. I grabbed some more coins.

“Mari,” said Liam more firmly.

Heat scorched my cheeks, most likely from the amount of alcohol in my system. I tended to get flushed and sweaty when I was drunk. Or maybe it was Liam’s close proximity that made my heart skip a beat and beads of sweat to form on my forehead.

“I don’t know who you mean,” I said in a high-pitched voice. I slammed a quarter into one of the slots. “I don’t like men. At all. They suck.”

Liam leaned against the machine next to me. “You know when you lie, you don’t look people in the eye?”

I swiveled to face him, only to get dizzy. I grabbed onto my seat to keep from toppling over like a drunken doll.

“Are you drunk?” I said to him.

I couldn’t tell. He’d been drinking as much as me, but he wasn’t flushed, or sweaty, or falling out of his chair. It was annoying.

“I’m not sober,” he conceded.

“Can’t you ever answer a question with a straight answer? You hurt my brain.”

“You’re the one avoiding my question.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Who cared if Liam knew? I’d never see him again after Jenna’s wedding, and he was probably too drunk to remember. Or wouldn’t care about remembering the weird chick who’d begged him to hang out with her in a casino.

I said, “My fiancé cheated on me six months ago. Now he’s in a relationship with the chick he cheated on me with. It’s all over Facebook. Her name is Samantha, because she’s a total cliché. Do men never cheat on women with chicks named Susan or Deborah? No, they’re always Brittany or Tiffany or Samantha.”

“Probably because Susan and Deborah are both sixty-five,” said Liam rather gently.

I waved away his logical explanation. “David cheated on me. I don’t want to think about it anymore. So I’m going to win this slot machine and you’re going to stop asking me questions.”

I pulled the lever, but I didn’t win. I sighed.

“You know what I think?” Liam now stood over my shoulder. His breath was hot against my cheek.

I froze. I felt that kiss from last night, and I wished we were back in the hot tub together.

“That fiancé of yours didn’t deserve you. No man with half a brain would cheat on a woman like you.” He pushed my hair aside to bare my neck; his lips traced a line down to my shoulder. “Then again, I’m not sad he cheated on you.”

My spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Because then you’d be off-limits otherwise.” He nipped my neck. “I don’t go after other dudes’ girls. It’s his loss, darling.”

My brain felt sloshy, and my heart felt squishy. I wanted Liam to keep kissing me, even though a tiny voice inside my head whispered, bad idea, bad idea, danger, DANGER. I snuffed out that little voice. I didn’t need to be good girl Mari tonight.

I turned to face Liam. “I want to do something with you,” I blurted.

He smiled. “Anything specific?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Yes. Sex. Sexual things. Kinky things. Do you like butt plugs?”

Apparently I spoke so loudly that the people around us heard me. Liam covered my mouth, gasping as he laughed, but he still hadn’t answered yes or no.

“Mari, darling, you’re very drunk—”

“As drunk as you are.”

“Doubtful.” He lowered his voice. “As much as I would love to play with your arse, I think we should start slowly. Don’t you?”

“You sound like a virgin. Don’t you want me, Liam?” I pouted.

He swore under his breath and proceeded to drink his tumbler of whiskey in one gulp.

“God, I’m a fucking cliché,” he muttered. “Come on. We’re winning some money tonight.”

The night passed in a blur of colors and alcohol. We played blackjack, which was the only card game I knew how to play, and I won a few hundred dollars. I then watched Liam play; despite the buzz from the whiskey he was drinking, he was a fierce card player. He ended up walking away with a cool five thousand.

I couldn’t remember how we ended up outside, or how I ended up pressed against the wall with Liam pinning me there. I didn’t think about how it was probably a bad idea that we were making out in public, even if it was dark.

“I want to do bad things to you,” he said, his brogue more noticeable now. “You’re so sweet and innocent.”

“I’m not a virgin.”

“You can not be a virgin and still be innocent.” He hooked my leg over his hip, grinding his erection against my aching pussy. If he kept that up, I’d come right here in some alley in Las Vegas. And strangely enough, I didn’t even care.

“You’re exactly what I didn’t need right now.” Liam kissed me hard. Plunging his tongue inside my mouth, I gasped and squirmed. I needed him to press his cock against my clit. I needed to dry hump him until the itch inside me went away.

I didn’t know where the idea came from. One moment I was kissing Liam, the next he was saying, “Let’s get married.”

What could I say? I was drunk. It sounded like a great idea. And David would hate it. Two birds, one stone: the perfect plan where nothing could possibly go wrong.