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NO GUILT NO PRESSURE
Just two unbelievably hot guys…
and you.
Double the pleasure.
Twice the enjoyment.
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS
STAYS IN VEGAS!
(but the memories go home with you forever…)
At the bottom of the page was a contact number, and a pair of very sexy names: Brody and Corey.
HOLY.
SHIT.
I scrambled for my phone, on the opposite nighttable. Swiping it open, my worst fears were realized.
You didn’t…
Oh, but I did. As sure as the memory came rushing back, I saw the three-word text-message I’d sent to that number, in all caps, somewhere around two-o’clock in the morning:
MIGHT BE INTERESTED.
I swallowed, but nothing went down. My mouth was too dry. There were a few short responses beneath my text — three of them, in fact. But of way more interest to me were the two photos above my message.
Photos of myself.
I scrolled up fearfully. There I was, taking photos of myself in the hotel suite’s full-length mirror. I was smiling back in my slinky green dress, one leg poking seductively through the slit in one side. Two quick shots, one from the front — with my tits pushed together — and one from the side.
Relief flooded through me. At least I hadn’t been naked. And if I were being honest, the shots looked good. Damned good. Almost like I knew what I was doing.
I sighed and checked the photos again. They were nothing I wouldn’t mind anyone seeing, really. I’d worked hard in the ten years since I’d dropped out of college, to stay in shape. I had curves, but they were all good curves. Regular workouts at the gym had helped me keep those curves in all the right places.
My stomach lurched as I scrolled down, to see the responses beneath my text. There were three of them, sent five minutes apart.
Hey sexy!
You there?
You look amazing. Get back to us.
I could only imagine what was going through my mind. Or what would’ve happened if I hadn’t passed out! I could remember kicking off my heels. Wriggling out of the dress and laying back, just to close my eyes for a little while…
And now here I was. So alone and lonely I’d pulled some dirty flyer down from a Vegas pole and texted photos of myself to some random guy. No, scratch that. Two random guys.
Two random guys who would’ve come up to your room last night…
My stomach did another backflip. I looked at the flyer again.
DOUBLE the carnal pleasure.
A whole year. That’s how long it had already been. Over a full year since the divorce, since Rob had left. A year since returning to a single life that hadn’t included a single date with a single guy, not even counting—
