Free That Man 2 by Nelle L'Amour

was developing for SIN-TV. I had their full support and ended up with a bag full of signed books and swag.
    Libby and I were booked on a 7:30 p.m. flight back to Los Angeles. With a few hours to kill, we decided to meet up at the Hard Rock pool. To catch some rays and swim a few laps. A margarita for her, a cherry Coke for me. After last night, alcohol was not in my immediate future.
    While I was changing into my swimwear in my room, my cell phone rang. I quickly grabbed it, hoping it was Bradley and dreading it was Blake. It was neither. Instead, Libby.
    “Jen, I got inspired to start writing up the focus group report, so if you don’t mind, I’ll meet you down at the pool a little later.”
    “No problem.” Work came first; this was a business trip, not a pleasure trip.
    “Save me a lounge chair.”
    I told her I would and ended the call.
    Before leaving the room, I checked myself out in the floor-length mirror by the entryway closet. For the first time today, I smiled at my reflection. Color had come back to my face, and the red spider lines had faded from my eyes. Wearing a turquoise one-piece bathing suit and flip-flops, I was back to being me. I slid open the closet and shrugged on the fluffy white terry cloth robe that came with the room. I was ready for a refreshing swim.
    *
    The pool area was packed. I’d never seen so much skin in my whole life. Women in string bikinis were mingling with hunky, tattooed men in Speedos or tanning themselves. Exotic drinks were everywhere. Wearing my dark prescription sunglasses and holding a plastic cup full of ice-cold Coke, I wound my way in and out of the crowd, searching for two side by side empty chaise lounges. At last, I spotted a pair. I hurried to them before someone else claimed them. Settling into one of them, I sipped my soda and took in the scene.
    Three bikinied women, who could pass as triplets, with big boobs and even bigger blond hair, were fawning over a well-built, tanned man, lying face down on the chaise lounge next to me. A backward-facing baseball cap covered his head. One of the blondes was massaging his feet, another the back of his muscular thighs, and the third his upper back and shoulders. I recognized the latter—Kay, the flirtatious cocktail waitress from the other night.
    She began to plant kisses all over his rippled back. He jerked.
    “Hey, what are you doing?”
    I gasped. The voice was muffled, but I recognized it immediately. Blake! He was still here?
    In a state of frenzy, I leapt up from my chaise and sent my beverage flying, ice cubes and all. To my horror, it splattered all over Kay and Blake.
    Shrieking, Kay scrunched up her face in disgust while Blake muttered, “What the fuck?” and rolled over. Our eyes met, wide in shock.
    “Blake, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t do it,” pleaded Kay. “It’s all that little bitch’s fault.” She gave me a look that could kill. I felt my face flare and my blood curdle.
    Blake bolted upright. “Jen, it’s not what it looks like.”
    I took a couple of deep breaths. “You know what they say: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
    With that, I stalked off, ready to get the hell out of Sin City.

Chapter 10
    Blake
    M y flight back to Los Angeles had been delayed. With three hours to kill, I’d decided to hit the pool. I could use a little R&R. And a little sun. I had no clue I’d be accosted by Kay, that skanky blond waitress from the other night, and her two look-alike cousins, Kelly and Kendra, both Vegas showgirls. I’d told them to get lost (well not exactly those words), but they’d refused to leave me. I got stuck buying them drinks. While they savored their piña coladas, I rolled over on the chaise and closed my eyes. I was still worn out from my bout with the flu, and traveling to Vegas didn’t help.
    I must admit I didn’t resist their sensuous suntan oil massage. These girls knew how to work a man. But while they rubbed and kneaded, I couldn’t stop think about Jennifer