But there was nothing to be done. Alone and crying, I hunched on the floor of the shower stall, body reverberating with the shock of my orgasm.
But my brain kept rolling, emotions a tidal wave.
Because I was pathetic. That was the ugly truth. I was completely and utterly pathetic, a one hundred percent loser.
And my control broke then. Tears sprang anew, blending with the droplets already streaming down my cheeks. Because I was in love with the billionaire. I was in love with my future stepfather … and there was absolutely no hope for us.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jake
What the hell?
First a joint bridal shower now a simultaneous bachelor and bachelorette party? All this togetherness was going to drive me up the wall. Is this how Amanda runs her real life? I hope to god not because there’s nothing worse than being joined at the hip with that woman. Thank fuck she’s not going to be my wife for real. Life does have its silver linings.
But now I’m in Vegas for a shindig with all the folks who are gonna be in our wedding. People always talk about how Vegas is the place to have the time of your life. To have the wildest sex, the craziest experiences, all the while gambling like a high-roller. But for me, it’s always been a let-down. All hype and no follow-through. Plus, you just feel dirty afterwards, like there’s gunk in your teeth and slime under your fingernails.
But no matter. On the stage in front of me, a stripper rubbed her tits while swaying back and forth, giving me the eye. Earlier, she’d walked past and fumbled for my dick, whispering a price in my ear. Yeah, right. Please girlie, you’re talkin’ to a guy who’s an expert at this stuff. I’ve paid five times more for women a lot classier than you.
But still, there was no reason to be rude, so I sent her on her way with a friendly pat on the ass. But hey, these chickadees can smell money because here she was on stage now, still trying to get my attention. Then again, you gotta respect a girl who knows how to make a buck.
Sipping from a glass of scotch, I sat at my table in the middle of the club, one of nearly two dozen of Amanda’s “family and closest friends.” The place was packed wall to wall with New Yorkers, most of them with us. In my mind, complete boredom ruled, my brain a lifeless line of zzzzz.
But Amanda was having the time of her life. A bunch of male and female strippers pranced around half naked on the club’s biggest dais. They gyrated and fucked the air with their hips, simulating sex with each other. Other strippers worked the floor near my table, touching customers that looked willing to party or least pay top dollar for a lap dance.
God, was this supposed to be a good time? It was boring as hell, but hey, I’m the groom. So I slapped a jovial smile on my face, even if my heartbeat was flatlining. Kill me now.
And the life of the party as usual, Amanda practically molested one of the strippers jerking his junk around to the music on the mini stage in the center of the ladies’ tables. The stripper was sweaty and oiled up, gleaming under the lights. Just my fiancée’s type, going by the way she was cooing and touching his muscles, not to mention openly eyeing his package. Fucking disgusting if you ask me. Seriously, the dude was obviously on roids, with his acne-ravaged skin and overly developed legs. Moderation, buddy, moderation’s the name of the game.
But the chicks didn’t care. They screamed and clapped, egging Amanda on. And she started dancing to the music, wiggling this way and that. Her tight tube dress barely covered those saggy gazongas, the material riding up her skinny bottom.
And then my fiancée did it. Even though she’s forty, the woman bent over and tried to twerk, jerking her hips back and forth awkwardly. Shit, Miley Cyrus is fifteen and even she looks bad doing it. You think you’re gonna be better?
But her girlfriends were all over it, cackling and screaming like hyenas, whooping wildly. And Amanda went with it. Swaying unsteadily in those high heels, she literally jumped on the platform then, practically pushing the male stripper out of the way. Gross. Her hand came away dark with spray tan, probably some toxic shit.
But the dude saw money, and obligingly started to sway in time with her. Tellingly, the smile on his face was stiff, his dick limp and soft.
“Come on, big boy!” Amanda screamed at the stripper while dragging down the top of her dress to flash her tits. “Come on, whoop whoop!”
Fuck me, this was so embarrassing.
This was my fiancée for crying out loud, acting out Girls Gone Wild.