“In that case, add me to hers.” I pick up my card and slip it back into my wallet.
Angie gives her a nod of approval. “It’s the least my ex-fiancé can do for dragging us here.”
The bartender smiles. “Good for you.”
“Here’s to Jess,” Angie says, holding up her drink.
I clink mine against it. “Here’s to you dropping the dead weight and doing whatever the fuck you want tonight.”
We take a drink at the same time to seal the toast, and she quirks an eyebrow. “Whatever I want?”
“No limits. We’re in Vegas after all. Whatever happens here stays here.”
“Then you better drink up. The stripper show starts in thirty minutes.”
“Not fromdown undahafter all,” Angie says in a terrible Australian accent. She glances at the stage where five muscular guys are taking off their shirts. “Oh well. Still hot as fuck.”
I settle back in my chair and cross my ankle over my knee. “Bit cliché, if you ask me. Cowboy hats and leather chaps? Where’s the creativity?”
She rubs her hand across my thigh, and my pulse picks up. “Aww. Is my big, sexy cowboy jealous?”
She must be tipsy. I don’t think she realizes what she said. My dick didn’t seem to miss the compliment, though.
“What’s there to be jealous of? I could do that if I wanted.”
She snorts. “Sure, you could.”
I make a vague gesture with my hands. “They’re basically wearing my uniform.”
“So why don’t you get up there and show ‘em how it’s done?”
“I don’t think that’s how this works. This isn’t show and tell.”
Angie downs the rest of her third—maybe fourth—margarita and stumbles over to some guy standing at the side of the stage. She leans over and whispers in his ear, pointing in my direction. I shake my head and give her a warning stare.
She’s practically buzzing when she settles back in the purple velvet armchair at my side.
“What did you do, Angel?”
“Nothing,” she draws out the word in a way that tells me she definitely did something, and that I’m not going to like it.
The speaker crackles to life as the man picks up a microphone. “We have a special request from our bride-to-be, Angelina.” He says her name like some sports announcer introducing the competitors.
The spotlight scans the audience before it lands on Angie and me.
“She’s getting married tomorrow, and she wants to watch her man put on a show for all of you.” The announcement triggers a chorus of hoots and hollers from the audience. Oncethey quiet down, he continues. “Please help me give a warm welcome to her fiancé, Griffin!”
I turn my head. “Fiancé?”
She shrugs. “I had to say something convincing.”
I finish the rest of my drink and make my way to the stage, never one to balk at a challenge. “Just remember you asked for this.”
Angelina
Griffin takes center stage, flanked by two fake cowboys on either side. A fifth one hands him a cowboy hat and disappears behind the curtain. Griffin is much larger than all of them, and fuck, he looks good up there.
The music starts, and I realize too late that I might have made a mistake in goading him into this. Griffin gyrates his hips along to the bass, following the others barely a step behind. The one on his right seems to be mouthing instructions. They toss their hats to the ground as they do some kind of synchronized line dance. Griffin grins and says something to one of the other dancers, who nods in response.
