One Wild Night Read online

  ***

  The room was packed, shoulder to shoulder with women. Mostly cougars who were wearing spandex and yelling at the top of their lungs.

  We all stood on a platform and below was a small stage with bright lights shining down on the words “Third Annual Rock Hard Abs of Vegas.” I didn’t exactly mind going out and ogling hot men. I wasn’t hoping to hook up in Vegas, anyway. I didn’t get out that much and had even fewer random flings. It’s not like I could afford the bar prices back home in Chicago, either. Entry-level PR jobs didn’t exactly pay well. But at least my company sent me to Vegas for the convention and hooked me up with a sweet hotel room. I wouldn’t have the money for a real vacation for a while and if they were going to have me working sixty-hour weeks, then I deserved to at least have some fun.

  “I got us more drinks!” Pam yelled, squeezing in between me and Abbi and handing us each a plastic cup filled with too much ice and some orange liquid.

  “What is this?” I asked. I had to practically scream in her ear. The music was blaring and the cougars were so loud I thought I might have burst an eardrum.

  “He called it an Orange Tease.” Pam took a tiny sip of her drink. “Honestly, the dude was wearing nothing but leather chaps and a cowboy hat so I would have taken anything he gave me.”

  I took a big gulp of mine. There was barely a burn to it and it tasted more like a Capri Sun than something alcoholic. I had to be careful or I could easily end up trying to go home with one of the guys on stage.

  “How did you land these tickets anyway?” I yelled to Abbi. The music was so loud I had a feeling I’d be hoarse by the end of the night.

  “The company that puts this on is one of my clients,” she said and leaned over, obviously talking to me though her eyes were on the stage below.

  “So jealous,” I replied and took another big gulp of my drink

  I’d been working at the PR firm exactly nine months and in that time my clients had been limited to either helping out Abbi when she was overwhelmed with her spastic gym owners who wanted their photos even more airbrushed, or fielding random calls from taxi cab drivers wanted to improve their image. Nothing like Vegas contests. Maybe once I had a few more years under my belt.

  “You’ll get these bigger clients someday, but for now just enjoy the ride,” Pam yelled.

  “Yeah, and you get to be single in the city. I’d kill to be able to ogle all of these men without comparing them to my husband’s saggy ass,” Abbi added.

  “Tell me about it. Chris and the kids Facetimed me this morning and they were all still in their ratty pajamas at ten. Nothing like these fine specimens,” Pam yelled.

  I looked down to where their eyes trailed and saw a guy walk into the middle of the room wearing nothing but a bow tie and a black Speedo with “Ringmaster” scrolled on his ass. And he had the body to pull off the outfit. Tattoos snaked down his toned arms and the words “Live and Let Die” were scrawled across his toned chest. I wasn’t much for a lot of tattoos on a guy, but with his body he could have done anything he wanted.

  The lights lowered, along with the music and a spotlight shone on the guy’s toned abs that definitely were not Photoshopped. “Hello, women of Vegas!” he called into the microphone, a hint of a British accent in his voice, which made Abbi and Pam swoon like two girls at a boy band concert.

  “Tonight we have gathered some of the most abilicious men in Vegas for your viewing pleasure. They will be scored based on their looks, performance, and biggest crowd pleaser.” The guy walked in a small circle and then stopped, with a big smile on his face aimed right in our direction. “But to judge this, we need a few women who will help us tally up the scores. Do I have any volunteers?”

  Every woman in the crowd raised their hand, hooting and hollering. The guy walked around, still smiling with his fingers tapping his chin, making a big show of it. He did it for about thirty seconds until he stopped in front of us again. “How about you three up in front? Want to pick the hardest abs in Vegas?”

  “Hell yeah!” Pam cupped her hands together like a megaphone and yelled down to him.

  “Then get your fine asses down here!”

  Pam took my hand and I took Abbi’s, following her down a small staircase to the center stage.

  “Your client?” I whispered to Abbi.

  “The very one,” she said with a big grin.

  Once we were standing next to the announcer I was finally able to get a good look at the guy and I was not disappointed by how tiny his Speedo really was and how little it left to the imagination.

  “And what’s your name, love?” He pushed the microphone in my face.

  “I’m Valerie.”

  “Valerie, like the song?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah.”

  “And are you here on business or pleasure?”

  “Business.”

  He smiled, taking a tube of lipstick that a woman in a bikini handed him. “Okay, Valerie, then we will make this all business.” He handed me the bright red lipstick. “You and your friends will help judge each man by writing their score, from one to ten, on their abs. You can base it off crowd response or whatever tickles your fancy the most. Sound good?”

  “Definitely,” I said with a big grin on my face. I couldn’t contain my excitement. It wasn’t every day I got asked to judge a contest. Especially not a contest that involved lipstick and abs.

  The crowd cheered and the guy laughed before taking the microphone back. “Okay then, ladies, without further ado, let’s get to our first contestant. Born and bred in the south, but dancing his way through the desert nights is Wild, Wild, Wes.”

  The guy ushered us to the side of the stage while the lights dimmed and the music picked up. I recognized the familiar ‘dum-de-de-dum, de-de-dum-de-de-dum, de-daa-daaaaaa’ from the beginning of ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.’

  I couldn’t help but laugh at the gimmickiness of it all, but my laughter quickly stopped when the song got going and out from the corner of the stage, sauntered a guy wearing a black cowboy hat, a red plaid pearl-snap shirt, and some well-worn jeans. When he looked up, I could see the wide white smile on his face and my knees locked at the sight of him.

  He threw his hat into the crowd and then as soon as lyrics to the song started, he ripped open his shirt and if I had to judge the hardest abs in Vegas, this guy would not only have that, but the hardest abs I’d ever seen. He was hot. Not just skanky, male stripper hot, but like the kind of guy I only saw after our graphics department airbrushed him. I was eager to get my hands on those abs as part of my judging duties.

  The cougars screamed as he grapevined his way across the stage. But even as he worked the room, it felt like his eyes never left mine. His big, irresistible green eyes. As the chorus picked up he undid his John Deere belt buckle and dropped his jeans, kicking them to a screaming lady in a mini dress. That left him in nothing but a pair of black briefs.

  He smiled right in my direction before he circled his hips and flashed his flawless ass which only made the crowd go crazier. Slowly he pulled them back up and threw a wink in my direction before he danced back over to the other side of the stage. My entire face felt like it was on fire and so did the rest of my body.