Chapter 7
Corey
G lancing down at my phone for the tenth time since I got in the limo, I scroll through the group chat I have going with Drew, Aaron, and our buddy, Christian Frost.
Drew: Put in a good word for us with OK tonight
Aaron: Asking your friends to do your work for you, bro?
Christian: STFU Aaron, it’s called ‘working your connections’
Aaron: And you know all about that (winky emoji)
Christian is a former professional hockey player, who is a co-owner of the Vegas Vipers. Over the years, the four of us have run into each often enough on the social circuit, we just became a core group of friends. Christian’s son, Travis, is a professional hockey player. Drafted right out of college, he’s been playing for the Vegas Vipers for the last few years. As a successful attorney and recent divorcee, Christian knows all about working connections in this town.
Christian: Enough about OK. Can we address the fact that Corey is going on a fucking date?
Corey: Easy. It’s chill.
Drew: … Corey Brooks doesn’t do chill
Aaron: Never
Christian: Jealous, man, I’ve never seen a server hot enough in any casino to tempt me
Aaron: Ever
Drew: That divorce really set you free Chris (rofl emoji)
Aaron: Chill
Corey: you havin a stroke Aaron?
Aaron: dramatic ~effect~
Christian: we’ll be at VSL later tonight, text us when you’re free
Drew: Please, Corey will be having this woman screaming and singing til dawn
Corey: VSL? You and your fucking acronyms
Christian: Velvet Sky Lounge, just opened
Aaron: unlikely but maybe
Corey: i’ll let you know
Shaking my head, I swipe out of the text. Aaron is so fucking serious with his casino, and I don’t blame him, but he never takes a night off. He’s got an incredible executive team of people working for him, keeping everything straight and perfect, and he still won’t ease up on the reins and trust control to them sometimes .
I know, without a doubt, that Christian and Drew will be sitting VIP in whatever this new club is, wherever the fuck it is. I can’t commit to meeting them; it just depends on how this date with Bex goes tonight.
Date. Fuck .
Running my hand through my hair, I try to recall the last time I went on an honest-to-god fucking date. And I can’t. It’s been so long since I’ve tried to be with anyone, much less seriously with someone, getting to know them, getting past that first fuck… well, okay, first several fucks. Still.
Focusing back on my phone, I switch to a burner social media account I have. I didn’t lie to Bex about not partaking at the club the other night; most of the night I spent on the fringes of the performance room, but my mind was on the curvy brunette I’d met earlier. After an hour or so, I made my way to the front of the club, where there was a private lounge and bar. I spent another hour at the bar by myself, sipping a bourbon and looking for traces of Bex on the internet.
I could only find a few pictures of Bex on her social media. She’s so different from the women I am used to in my life, in my industry. There’s only one picture of her; the rest are abstract, likely taken in and around the desert.
While I consider myself having a good eye for art, Bex’s photos are unexpectedly stunning. They’re almost surreal, and I find it hard to look away, but I do. Back to the photo of her, posted almost three years ago. Bex is wearing a hooded sweatshirt, her hand tucked into the collar. She’s got the collar pulled up slightly, so only half of her smirk is visible, and her eyes... Those bright green eyes sparkle so intensely, it might almost be a trick of a filter, but there’s no filter in this picture.
She’s so alluring and, from the brief time we spent together last night, she doesn’t even realize it. It’s refreshing to me, but it also presents a challenge. By the end of tonight, Bex will have zero doubts about how sexy she is.
The limo slows as we pull over in front of a white stucco apartment building a few miles off the Strip. I slip my phone into my pocket, readjust my pants, and take several deep breaths. Looking at Bex’s photo almost the entire way over here has me semi-hard; not exactly the image I want to present when I pick her up for our date.
“I’m good,” I say to the driver, indicating he doesn’t need to get out and open my door. As I step out of the limo, I’m startled to see Bex standing there on the sidewalk.
“Hey,” she says, stepping forward shyly.
I open my mouth to reply, but find myself speechless. Bex is fucking stunning. She’s wearing a shimmery dress with delicate straps, cut low enough that her breasts are enticingly displayed without being too exposed. The dress cinches in at her waist and flares out slightly over her hips, and the material stops mid-thigh. With her short heels, her creamy legs are on full display, and I can’t stop myself from staring dumbly at how gorgeous she looks.
“Is this okay?” she asks nervously, glancing down at her outfit. “I’ve never been to a restaurant opening before, and when you said it was an Oliver King place, I just… grabbed the nicest dress I had.”
Taking a slow step toward her, even though she’s wearing heels, I look down at her. Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek knot, and I have to restrain myself from reaching out to wrench it free. As much as I’d love to see her hair down and loose, there’s something to be said about the delicate curve of her exposed neck… and my thoughts quickly drift to wondering what she would taste like if I kissed her there, the noises she might make if I tasted her there .
I need to get my shit together before I sport a full-blown erection like some teenage boy lost in lust.
“Bex,” I say softly. “You are the definition of perfection.”
She blushes and ducks her head. “You’re just being polite,” she mumbles.
I place two fingers beneath her chin and guide her gaze back to mine. “Sugar, if you knew all the impolite thoughts I’m having right now, I’d say fuck Oliver King and take you back to my hotel instead.”
Her blush deepens, and I see her swallow hard. She straightens her back and tilts her head at me. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Laughing at that, I reach for her hand. “Let’s go see Oliver.”
Dinner was incredible, and I can’t even remember what we ate. It was the conversation, the flirtatious glances we kept exchanging, and the lilt of her laughter when I shared some of the more outrageous experiences I’ve encountered in my industry. Every great moment about dinner was because of her.
Our entrees were cleared and, upon asking if we were interested in dessert, Bex shook her head at our server. “I prefer to drink my dessert,” she explains. “May I get a chocolate martini, please?”
The server nods, then turns to me. “Maker’s, on the rocks. Thanks.”
As he walks away, I catch a glimpse of Oliver making his way through the restaurant, stopping at tables occasionally to say hi and thank you to guests. On the ride over, she confessed she has a huge crush on the chef, so naturally, I waved him over.
“Corey, no! Oh my god, I didn’t think he would actually be here,” she groans. Her cheeks flush pink, and it makes me curious what other parts of her heat up when she blushes like this. I bite my lip, imagining bending her over my lap, her ass that exact shade of pink following a round of slaps from—”
“Corey, man, good to see you!” Oliver approaches our table, and I’m jerked out of my fantasy.
I stand as he extends his hand, giving him mine to shake. “Thanks for having us tonight,” I say, gesturing to Bex. “This is my date, Bex. This place is incredible. It’s, what? The tenth on the Strip?”
“Eleventh, you cheeky bastard,” he jokes. Bex stands to greet Oliver, and he steps forward, embracing her. When he pulls back, he places a kiss on her cheek, and it’s amusing as fuck to see her face burn. “You are absolutely stunning,” Oliver says, grinning as he nods in my direction. “What the fuck are you doing with a twat like this guy?”
“Corey is incredible,” Bex says, glancing at me, her eyes shining at that admission. My heart swells, and I smile at her. “And so is this place. I’ve been to several of your restaurants through Vegas and London, and this one is absolutely top tier. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, love, that’s so kind of you to say.” Oliver looks back at me before saying, “We’ll have to catch up another time. This soft opening is feeling more like a hard open, if you get what I mean. Lovely to meet you, Bex.”
I shake his hand again, nodding goodbye, before Bex and I both take a seat.
She stares at me and sighs. “That was… the coolest experience of my entire fucking life.”
Laughing, I reach across the table and take one of her hands in mine. “Cooler than meeting a world famous porn star? ”
Playfully, she squeezes my hand and says, “Abso-fucking-lutely. Sorry, Corey, you may be the Brad Pitt of porn, but I’ve had a crush on Oliver for a long, long time. I simply can’t compare you two.”
I squeeze her hand back. “Brad Pitt of porn, hm?” Her eyes widen as she recognizes her slip up. “So, you did Google me?”
Bex pulls her hand back as she reaches up to tug at her earring. It’s adorable how nervous she’s getting, and I’m about to say this before the server returns with our cocktails and two glasses of champagne.
“Your drinks,” she says, placing them on the table. “And some champagne, courtesy of Mr. King.”
Shaking my head, I smile. Oliver is a rascal, but I’m sure he sent us some of the good stuff. Picking up my flute, I tilt it toward Bex. “Cheers?” I ask her, glancing at her flute.
Bex doesn’t reach for her drink, and she says quietly, “What are we doing, Corey?”
There’s something in her tone that has me bristling. “What do you mean? We’re having dinner. Drinks. A good conversation.”
She gives a soft laugh and shrugs, looking around the restaurant before back at me. “I mean, what are you doing with me?”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
Bex looks around again, sadness in her eyes now. “People have been staring at us since we got here,” she says, reaching for her champagne. “No doubt wondering why someone like you is with, well… someone like me.” She tips back the champagne and downs half the flute in one go. Damn.
I don’t look around the room because I know I won’t see what she sees. Everywhere I go, especially here in Vegas, people stare. Seeing an adult film star in the wild is a rare occurrence for most people, and after almost twenty years in this industry, I’ve learned how to put blinders on .
No, it’s not the people staring that concern me. It’s the reason Bex thinks they’re staring.
“Bex, people are staring because they’re jealous that I’m out with a smoking hot woman and they’re not.” I reach my hand out again, and she hesitates before taking it. Giving her a reassuring squeeze, I confess, “I’ve been holding back from complimenting you all evening because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Compliments make me uncomfortable; it’s true,” she admits, giggling. “I never know what to say.”
“Well, you could start by accepting them as fact. You’re a fucking smokeshow, Bex,” I say, lowering my voice and leaning closer to her. Bex swallows hard and my cock twitches. “I meant what I said earlier. I want nothing more than to take you back to my hotel, get you naked, and worship every goddamn curve of your body.”
“Corey,” she gasps, all giggles disappearing as the flush from her cheeks travels down her neck.
Releasing her hand, I pick up my champagne and once again attempt a toast with her. This time, she raises her flute to mine, grinning.
“To being honest,” I say.
“Yeah… to being honest,” she replies.
We clink glasses and sip our champagne.
“And in light of being honest,” I say as Bex looks at me curiously with those luminous green eyes. I lean in even closer to ensure only she can hear me. “All I thought about at the club the other night was you. The way you whimpered when I licked that lime juice off your chin… fuck, I want to order tequila shots right now just to do that again.”
Bex flicks her tongue over her lips, and I can’t help but growl.
“So, before you even think ‘what am I doing with you’ again, just know… I’ve jerked off twice since I last saw you, thinking of those beautiful lips and how you’re going to look, staring up at me with your hair twisted in my fist.”