Luke slipped water into Wyatt’s mix to keep the man sober enough to enjoy the night.
Felix’s name had managed to not only get them into the players club, but also secure them two long-legged, beautiful women wearing nothing more than bathing suits in high heels serving them drinks and tutoring Luke on the game of craps. Wyatt tried to teach him, but he kept losing his concentration. Didn’t stop the man from earning a little money, however. Mark made his way to a roulette table while Luke took the best man position and kept an eye on Wyatt.
The man at the head of the table tossed the dice and everyone cheered.
“Did we win?” Luke asked Cici, his scantily clad escort, compliments of Felix.
“You did.”
“Should I leave the chips there?”
She shrugged. “I would.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you gamble?”
“God, no. I work too hard for my money.”
He found himself laughing.
“Of course . . . I live here. I think once in a while might be okay.”
“I’m not your boss, sweetheart. I appreciate your honesty.”
She batted her fake eyelashes and smiled.
The crowd at the table cheered again.
“Still winning?”
Cici winked, leaned her boobs into his arm, and whispered so only he could hear, “I’d consider leaving while I was ahead.”
Luke pulled Wyatt from the table, both of them up five hundred dollars . . . how the hell that happened, he had no idea. He made sure Cici and her friend were tipped well, with the promise of returning the next night.
The three of them made their way out of the casino in search of food. It was full dark and at least eighty-five degrees. At least there wasn’t any humidity making their shirts stick to their bodies.
The bright lights of the strip added heat to an already hot night. Street vendors sold ice-cold water at a buck a pop while questionable men passed out tiny cards with naked women on them promising a good time. There were homeless people sitting beside cups saying they needed to eat, and parents pulling kids away from the women wearing nothing but pasties over their privates and suggesting a tip for a picture.
“This place is crazy.”
“More so as the night wears on, my friend.” Mark obviously knew his way around.
Luke wondered how the women were doing and stopped himself from removing his phone from his pocket to ask.
Mark guided them to a big meal, which helped pull some of the alcohol from Wyatt’s system. It was just past ten and the night was about to begin.
Zoe didn’t give two shits about the myth that what happens in Vegas stays there . . . her cell phone was out and she was doing her level best to take as many pictures of Mel’s red face and laughing lips as she could.
The early twentysomething man wiggling his thong-covered ass in front of the bachelorette was worth every bill she shoved in his face. Or thong, as the case stood. The revue was known to mimic the themes seen on a popular movie franchise, and Zoe made sure Mel was front and center as a team of men did their best to act out sex on stage.
The women in the audience cheered and tossed money like it was weeds from a garden.
The men on stage flirted shamelessly and strutted around like peacocks.
“We have got to come back,” Jo yelled above the crowd.
Zoe bumped fists with her friend and snapped another shot of Mel for future use.
The woman on the pole managed to twist her legs so far up that she stretched her torso, lifted her hands, and they still didn’t reach the floor.
Luke couldn’t help but wonder how her tits stayed inside her outfit.
The men watching were just as enamored as he was . . . most silent, with a few shouting out cheers. The music kept thumping and the women on stage had no trouble letting men slip bills into the small space between their thongs and their asses.
“Are those real?” Luke asked.
“I doubt it,” Mark said at his side.
When the fiery redhead on stage slipped off her top and nothing moved, the fact she’d spent time at a plastic surgeon was proven. Not that it kept him from enjoying the show.
Loud music filled the after-party, along with wall-to-wall bodies dancing.
Zoe kept an eye on Mel, who’d had more to drink than all of them. She laughed on the dance floor and accepted the water Zoe kept handing her. “You’re the best.”
“Just don’t puke.”
Mel slapped a hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “I’m not that drunk.”
The man dancing by her side heard her and turned with a smile. “She’s engaged,” Zoe said.
He didn’t seem to care. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Zoe pulled Mel away and moved to another part of the bar so they could dance.
Somewhere around three, Luke dragged Wyatt and Mark into a restaurant and had them eating breakfast. After, they stumbled into their room and didn’t stir until housekeeping knocked on the door around noon.
“I wonder how the guys are doing?” Mel wore dark sunglasses and sat under the cabana by the pool.
“I doubt they’re even awake,” Zoe said, sipping her Bloody Mary.
It was noon, and the poolside party was just starting.
Jo turned over and let her pale skin see the sun for the first time in what looked like forever. “I’m taking a nap . . . don’t let me burn.”
Zoe glanced at her watch and made a mental note to cover her friend in twenty minutes or douse her with sunscreen.
Hours later, when the three of them had filled their veins with a loading dose of alcohol and had Mel wrapped in a boa with the fake tiara every bride-to-be deserved in Vegas, Zoe’s cell phone rang in her tiny purse.