Page 5 of Vegas Daddies

Excitement growing in Rachel’s and Tammy’s eyes, I break from the stranger’s grasp and do a one-eighty to put a face to mymysterious masseur.

Three gorgeous silver foxes.

The masseur, standing closest to me, takes a step back and smiles. Thick locks of ashy hair sit in curls atop his head but oh my, it’s his eyes that grab my attention the most. They’re stark blue. A shade I’ve never seen before, this rich indigo color that reminds me of a California ocean under a sky full of stars. A smile extends on his face as he stares at me, revealing a perfect set of white, straight teeth.

Correction—threesets of white, straight teeth.

The men smile in unison, gazes directed solely toward me. They’re not smug grins either. More of a somber, gritted,are-you-okay?kind of look that pricks another couple tears out of my eyes.

“What happened?” Indigo eyes is back at my shoulders again, stroking a hand down the length of my arm.

A shiver follows it.

He has a warm touch.

Tammy volunteers as a speaker for the group. “It’s her bachelorette party. She was supposed to be getting married next week, but it turns out the scumbag has been lying to her face and fucking other women.” Her eyes drop to mine, and she flicks them in the men’s direction like she wants me to get even closer.

Already they’re standing close. Any closer and they’ll be able to hear my thumping heart. They’re all good-looking. Like…crazy attractive. The length of Route 66 couldn’t even measure the distance of how far they’re out of my league. The man on Indigo’s left is a living breathing Vogue model, and if the wordstall,silver,andhandsomewere to be put on the next issue, he’d be the image on the front page. Middle-part curtains is a look I never would’ve thought would suit a man of his age, but he pulls it off as well as Cillian Murphy. Perhaps even better.

And then there’s the one on the right. He’s just as tall, hair—even though there’s less of it—just as silver, but he’s broader. His smile isn’t as prominent as the other two, but it’s there in his eyes, the dark brown color of them reflecting glittery light from the disco ball as it turns, seeming to do so even faster than before. Don’t even get me started on the tattoos. He’s like a walking sketchbook.

Three men all suited and booted in motorcycle gear. I sniff a laugh.

This has Tammy written all over it.

“I’m not in the mood.” I turn to Tammy and say, “As charming as the strippers are, I don’t think I can entertain them tonight.”

Tammy furls her brow.

“Some other night perhaps,” I continue, “when I’m feeling up to it. If we can reschedule…?” I move my eyes between my two very-confused-looking girlfriends, and the three men who seem more amused by my words. “Do you do bachelorette parties exclusively, or…?”

“We’re not strippers,” the broad-shouldered one says.

“No.” A laugh explodes out of Indigo-eyes. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

I feel my face heat up, pulse thick in my throat again.

So they reallyaremotorcyclists? The black leather jackets, pants, and boots are real? Not costumes? I scan my eyes up and down, accidentally catching body parts I shouldn’t. Leather pants cause a lot of restriction in…certain areas.

Thighs…

Bulges…

“Wipe your tears, sweetheart,” Indigo-eyes says. Carefully, he wipes them away with the pad of his finger. The smell of gasoline enters my nose, the sweet-pungent scent making me wanna sniff more of it in. “He’s an asshole.”

“Besides,” the tall, silver, and handsome one says. “Check you out. Crying over some good-for-nothing boy when you’re out here blessing our eyes like a modern-day Aphrodite.” He touches my chin. “Don’t waste your tears on him, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” says Broad-shoulders. “Let’s fix you up with a drink. What’s your name?”

“Ali…Alice.”

“Okay then, Alice. We’re sitting just over there.” He points across the dance floor to a VIP booth that boasts impressive cream-leathered seating and three bottles of champagne. Looks like they’ve had quite the night already. “We’ll be right back.” Already, the two others are rushing to the bar. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I watch them walk away.

Three juicy asses sway in tight leather. They look like trouble.Smelllike trouble. Oddly, it’s refreshing. After being around Levi’s rancid Ralph Lauren cologne that smells like expensive BO, the strong aroma of gasoline makes a nice change. The men are much older than him too. Indigo, I would hazard a guess at early-to-mid forties with the gray roots. The other two slightly younger. Thirties, perhaps? Mid-to-late? Signs of aging are obvious, especially under their eyes and on their foreheads. But I don’t see old. All I see is experience.

And that makes something unfamiliar burn between my legs.

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