His thick-as-molasses accent sure as hell didn’t hurt either.
“Yes, actually.” I glance down at Lauren over my shoulder. Even in her heels, my petite Asian friend is a head shorter than I am. “Do you know him?”
“Yeah,” Lauren scoffs. “Well, I don’t know him know him, but I, like, know of him. A lot of people do.”
I slow my steps for a second. “What does that mean?”
Lauren glances at Kate, who just shrugs, as clueless as I am.
“Hank Beauregard is only one of the best—and sexiest—running backs to ever play the game.”
Kate’s brow furrows. “What game?”
“You know how I feel about that sports ball stuff,” I say.
Lauren rolls her eyes. “Y’all are hopeless. Football. This football guy is famous. And gorgeous. And rich as fuck.”
I shrug, stepping over the threshold into the club. “All I care about is the gorgeous part.”
It’s true. I’m not the least bit interested in a relationship. But a hot hookup with a cute, funny, open-minded guy—not many men at the tables are willing to take gambling tips, much less from a woman—is exactly what I’m after.
I dreaded turning forty for a while, and it didn’t help that my life fell apart there for a bit.
But now that I’m actually here, forty feels less like a liability and more like letting go. For the first time ever, I feel like I genuinely know what I want and who I am, and I’m not afraid of going after it anymore.
Walking through the club, I see the way a few people look at me. The balls on her, their eyes say, moving over my wide hips, thick ass, and the cellulite on my thighs.
Again, I’m tempted to give them the finger. And again I just move on, head held high.
Fuck ’em, I’m free. And I’m about to do some real dirty dancing with a real hot guy.
We follow the bouncer. And keep following him. He unclips another velvet rope and leads us up a small flight of stairs. We pass several tables, the ones whose bottle service goes for north of a couple thousand bucks.
We keep going.
The DJ booth is getting really, really close. That’s where the best tables are located—the ones usually reserved for celebrities. Another velvet rope, another set of stairs, and we arrive on a dais-type thing. It’s like breaking through the clouds. We have a bird’s-eye view of the entire club, throngs of people below us losing themselves to the beat of Meghan Thee Stallion.
I smile, glancing at my girls. They’re smiling too.
There’s that flutter again.
“This is so cool!” Lauren shouts over the music.
We follow the bouncer all the way to the DJ booth. Kygo is supposed to come on later tonight—all the big clubs in Vegas host celebrity DJs on the weekends—so another DJ, a woman with bright pink hair and a face tattoo, is manning the raised booth. She’s so close I could reach up and touch her arm.
We’re led to a roped-off section that wraps around the DJ booth. It’s lined with velvet couches, and my eyes catch on a large table at the far end set with an impressive bottle service. Grey Goose, Cuervo, and magnums of champagne chill in ice buckets, while waitresses in red corsets and fishnets pour drinks.
“This is it,” the bouncer shouts, unclipping one last velvet rope. “Enjoy.”
I step into the space, suddenly feeling a little awkward. There’s a good-looking crowd up here—a few guys, lots of girls—but no Hank.
I take a few more steps, grateful for the extra height of my heels.
Then I see him, and my heart dips. Lips move into a wide smile.
He’s sitting on one of the couches alone with a half-empty glass in his hand. Girls surround him, but his head is turned away from them, like he’s looking across the club.
Like he’s looking for someone.
I grab Lauren’s hand and head Hank’s way.
Leaning down so he can hear me, I say, “This seat taken?”
He swivels his head. His eyes fall on my face, and they immediately light up. He smiles, dimple and all.
Ugh, that dimple. It’s so damn cute.
Kate and Lauren are not immune to the cuteness either. They stare as Hank stands, his eyes roving up my legs, my dress, my boobs.
My heart begins to pound in earnest. Heat gathers between my legs.
Already. I’m already turned on, and the guy hasn’t even touched me yet.
“Wow.” He shakes his head. “Stevie, you look—wow. I’m kinda speechless right now.” He glances over my shoulder at Kate and Lauren. “Y’all let her out looking like this?”
“Always,” Lauren replies.
“Thank you. Sincerely.” He holds out his hand to her. “I’m Hank.”
I shamelessly check him out while he introduces himself to my friends and then introduces two of his guys to them too. He’s not wearing anything particularly fancy—jeans, a light blue button-up, a watch—but because he’s so handsome, and because he’s in such great shape, he looks good. The jeans are fitted enough to show off his massive thighs. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, revealing the most delicious forearms on earth and a classic but probably insanely expensive watch on a brown leather strap.