Stella says as she walks over to our trio. Sarah and Kelsey follow after her, and then we’re all wrapped around each other in a six-person group hug.
“Enough with the sappiness,” Stella says after about thirty seconds of hugging. “I want more champagne. And I’m hungry. Let’s get this party started!”
Caroline grabs Stella’s arm, stopping her from draining her glass. “Tell me we’re not going to a strip club.”
Stella’s expression is solemn. “We’re not going to a strip club,” she repeats.
“Are you just saying that?” Caroline’s expression is full of doubt.
“Yes. I’m just saying that,” Stella says just before she drinks the last of her champagne. “Now let’s go!”
I know for a fact Stella arranged for a couple of strippers to show up at our suite. Not sure what time that’s going to happen, but it is definitely happening.
It’s definitely going to be an interesting night.
Grabbing my bar purse, I pull my phone out to see I have a text from Mitch. Having fun?
Smiling, I type out a response and send it. Yes. We just drank champagne and now we’re going to dinner. I got my hair and makeup done. I look fabulous.
A giggle takes over, and I stifle it with my fingers. Normally I would never tell a man I look fabulous.
You can’t say that and not send me a photo to prove it.
Hmm. I glance around, consider taking a selfie in front of the window wall, but then I decide to ask someone to take a photo of me. So I can get in a full body shot and really drive him wild.
Ha! Clearly, I’m already feeling naughty. He brings it out in me, I swear.
“Stel, would you take a photo of me, please?” I ask.
She lifts her brows as I hand her my phone. “Is this for your new man?”
Nodding, I start walking toward the windows. “Where I should we take it?”
“How about with you leaning against the pool table?” Stella suggests.
I almost laugh. No way can I tell her what happened on that pool table last night. But I bet Mitch would appreciate it so I say, “Good idea.”
My dress is so freaking cute. It’s black. Long-sleeved. High neck. Extra short, flouncy skirt. I’m all legs in it, and while it gives you the illusion of covering everything up, as you get closer, you can see the fabric is kind of sheer. Which means it’s kind of see-through. As in, my black bra is on open display beneath the dress.
I don’t care. I’m in Vegas, right? We’re living it up tonight.
Stella directs me like some sort of fashion photographer and I pose for endless photos. Leg up, leg down. Hair tossed back, hair in front of my chest, covering the bra. Stand to the side, glance over my shoulder, full frontal with my hands on my hips. I’m grateful she’s taking so many photos. It’ll be nice to have the documentation for later.
“He texted,” Stella says as she hands me my phone back. “Something about you taking too long.”
“So impatient,” I murmur under my breath as I scroll through the endless photos. I don’t know which one is my favorite, so I decide to send him three photos.
He responds rather quickly. What do you have on under that skirt?
Of course that’s the first thing he says.
Pressing my lips together, I answer with the truth. Black panties.
He responds: Take ’em off.
Should I? He can be rather demanding. And what’s funny is that when he makes this demand, I immediately want to do it.
“Hold on. I almost forgot something,” I call as I make my way to the stairs. I run up them as fast as I can, which isn’t very fast thanks to the high-heeled shoes I’m wearing, and I dash into my room, throwing the door closed.
I slip the scrap of lace down my hips and thighs, kicking off my undies and tossing them into my still-open suitcase before I slam it closed. Tugging my skirt back into place, I stand there, contemplating spending the evening sans underwear.
The cool breeze from the air conditioner makes me shiver. I’m going to feel every draft between my legs tonight, that’s for sure. I’ve never done this before.
I haven’t done a lot of things before Mitch.
They’re off, I text him.
Prove it.
Uhhh.
My phone starts ringing. He’s FaceTiming me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper after I answer.
“Show me,” he says with a flick of his chin.
I stare at his face. His hair is damp and his skin is ruddy, like maybe