Rim Job: A Book Club Novella, #2

By Christy Anderson

You would think going to Las Vegas to celebrate your best friend's wedding would be a great time.

You'd be wrong.

I'm the kind of girl who plays by the rules. Las Vegas is the place where rules go to die.

I have a checklist for my life, an order in which the things on that list are supposed to happen.

So far, all has gone according to plan. That is, until one fateful night when I meet him.

My list wasn't prepared for him.

Frankly, neither was I.

What happens in Vegas doesn't always stay there.

Rim Job is book two of a four-book series. It is the mostly complete tale of a couple, but I wouldn't consider it a stand-alone.

 

 

**Warning**

 

If you read this in the presence of others, they may stare at you as you laugh, a lot. Rim Job is intended for mature audiences and people with a sense of humor only. It contains adult themes and situations which are expressed in a crude, hilarious way.

18+ Only Due To Adult Content

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christy Anderson
• Release date: Apr 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393701415

Book preview

1

CHRISTINA

O uch, you’re stabbing my scalp with the bobby pin. Glory wrinkles her nose at me in the mirror.

Oops.

Sorry, babe. Beauty is pain, they say. I smile at her reflection as I push another pin into her hair. She sticks her tongue out at me.

The insanity of the last three days in Vegas shows no signs of ending. Buying out three floors of luxury hotel for all of their friends and family may seem extravagant, but Beck wanted everyone together and everything perfect for Glory. Beck wasn’t too happy that Glory momentarily cut him off until their wedding night and threw him out of the massive suite he reserved for them, but you won’t see me complaining. All of us girls are now bunked in here with Glory while Beck shacks up with Maddox down the hall in just as nice a space.

He’ll survive.

Glory’s bachelorette party tonight is going to be epic. I can barely contain the smile that keeps spreading across my face. My trusty checklist of must-dos and must-sees will ensure we cover all the necessary bachelorette party activities Vegas has to offer. With all of us dressed to the nines, as soon as I get done stabbing Glory in the head with bobby pins to add her veil, we’ll be heading out.

Okay, all done. What do you think?

I don’t look ridiculous? Glory stands, turning from side to side, checking her reflection in the mirror. She straightens the front of the tiny veil that strategically covers one eye.

You look beautiful. Her long blonde hair curls in silky waves over one shoulder. The soft, silvery gray blouse with three-quarter length sleeves tucked into her white, knee-length tulle skirt makes her eyes sparkle, and the full back cut-outs of her top kick her look up a notch from good girl to Vegas chic. Her champagne-colored clutch compliments the band around her waist, and it’s perfectly finished off with soft gold heels. She is fucking adorable. I don’t know how she pulls these outfits off, but she does.

She’s so damn happy.

It makes my heart want to burst. She found her partner in this life. In all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her like this. I want that. I want that smile on my face only your true love can put there. Maybe someday. I just need to stick to my list for now until the right man comes along.

You look gorgeous, Ti. Is that dress new?

Yeah. I smooth my hands down the satiny smooth material. I snuck in a mini shopping session yesterday morning while everyone was at breakfast. I turn, admiring my own reflection.

Damn, I look fiiiiine.

It’s been a while since I’ve gotten so dressed up, but the occasion called for it. The blowout I received earlier left my chocolate brown hair sleek and shiny, and my knee-length black dress hugs my curves in all the right places. The cap sleeves keep the dress semi-conservative, but the plunging neckline is the star of the show. My push-up bra has my girls standing proud, and the red suede wedges make my tanned skin pop but are more of a comfort choice since I’ll be wrangling my three drunken best friends. I’ll have a few drinks, of course, but I have to stay in control to make sure these three stay in line.

If that’s even possible.

You ready to celebrate your last night of freedom? I ask Glory, squeezing her hand.

I’m getting married. She smiles as tears shimmer in her eyes. She squeezes my hand in return.

Yes, you are. In one day, you’ll be Glory Jameson.

Glory Greystone-Jameson.

You’re hyphenating your name?

Yeah, I think so.

You’re going to be a 3NH? Evelyn asks as she joins us at the vanity with a bottle of champagne and champagne flutes.

I’m afraid to ask. What is a 3NH? Glory laughs, shaking her head.

You never know what Evelyn will come up with.

3NH is a Three Name Ho. You’ll be a 3NH.

I laugh before asking, Where in the hell do you come up with this shit?

Evelyn shrugs. It’s a gift.

Or a curse.

Evelyn looks amazing in a blue, ruched knee-length skin-tight dress that wraps around her waist, accentuating her bust. She pours the champagne and hands us each a flute before shouting to Jen to get her ass in here. Jen is fierce in a sexy, backless, mid-calf dress as she makes her way to us and grabs a champagne flute.

Evelyn dramatically clears her throat and raises her glass.

Cheers to Glory. The first of us to fall, because when you get some good dick, you hold on to that shit. You grip it, you thrust it, she pretends to grip a penis and air-humps for emphasis, you deep throat that shit, she fakes that motion too, and you most definitely put a ring on that shit! Cheers to our girl, Glory, and her unicorn cock!

To Glory, Jen and I add, laughing before we take a sip.

You have a way with words, Ev. So poetic. Jen chuckles as Evelyn dramatically flips her dark, wavy hair over one shoulder.

Okay, it’s time for one last night of freedom. You ready, ladies? I set my glass on the vanity and brush my hair back from my face before I touch up my lipstick.

Glory pulls her phone from her clutch. We need a pic. Everyone squeeze in. We all squish together and look at the phone. Glory snaps a couple of images before we each drag out our phones and capture some shots.

Selfie magic…all the filters.

Okay, girls! Let’s do this shit! Jen shouts as she shoos us toward the door.

Look out Vegas. The Book Club girls are here to party.

2

CHRISTINA

The endless flow of drinks all night has left me a little wobbly on my feet, and I’m certain tomorrow I’ll only recall a few things from this drunken stupor the girls are putting me in. The list of activities I had prepared was literally thrown out the limo window by Jen as soon as I pulled it out and suggested we take in a show after dinner.

It’s Vegas, Ti, she said. You don’t fucking make a list. You get out there and fly by the seat of your pants. You can’t plan everything. You have to let life happen sometimes.

Life is happening, all right. It happened to bring us to a male revue where currently, we are watching Glory’s Nana shove dollar bills into thongs. This must be how Evelyn felt at her grandmother’s birthday party when the stripper appeared. Nana must have snuck off while her husband, Kai, played blackjack with Beck and his friends for his bachelor party. She laughs as her hand lingers in the front of one of the dancer’s thong a bit too long, completely oblivious to our presence. Of all the places we could have chosen, she had to be here…

I might be sick, Glory says, cringing as she watches her grandmother.

Me too.

Let’s go back to the hotel and glamble. My fake English accent comes out slurred as I try to see only one of Glory instead of four. For some reason when I drink, I become English.

Yessssssssss, she slurs back at me. I wuv British Ti. Let’s go glamble.

Damn, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her this drunk…any of us, for that matter.

We probably don’t need any more alcohol, yet, after rounding up Jen and Evelyn, the champagne continues to flow during the limo ride back to the hotel.

Bright lights and a cacophony of noise surround us as we stagger over to a poker table. The girls sit to my left, and to my right…Superman’s twin.

Jeez. Is that Superman?

I squint one eye as I check him out.

Damn, he is fine.

He laughs at something the handsome man next to him says, and that might be the sexiest laugh I’ve ever heard.

Ellooo. My fake accent slurs, and my smile widens as I settle into my seat at the table.

Nailed it. I could so be a character actor.

That gorgeous profile turns to face me, and a small sigh slips past my lips.

Fuck, he’s beautiful.

He laughs for a moment before he replies, Thank you.

Ohhhh, your fake English accent is much better than mine. Are you Superman’s twin?

The accent isn’t fake, my love, and last I checked, I am not Superman’s twin. He winks one of those beautiful blue eyes at me and shows me a million-dollar smile that holds all sorts of promises I’d like him to deliver on.

Your hotness is overwhelming me. I need a drink, I turn my head, fanning myself with my hand and quietly add, or sex.

Definitely sex.

I’d be happy to help you with both, his deep voice whispers in my ear, scattering chills across my overheated flesh.

Holy fuck.

Suddenly, it’s really hot in here.

What’s your poison?

Um, I’ll have whatever you’re having.

From the smell of alcohol on his breath, it’s stout.

Poker chips fly away from my little stack like they have wings. I’m pretty sure I’m losing. I don’t know shit about poker, so that could be why. The waitress makes her way over and flirts with Superman like a thirsty bitch in heat. I don’t care. I’m not jealous when he says something to her, and she laughs, her hand landing on his shoulder so she can press her big tits in closer to his face.

Nope.

Not jealous at all.

I look down at my own cleavage and find a mini pretzel nestled in there.

That’s where that went.

I start to fish it out, and of course, the thirsty-ass waitress chooses this moment to talk to me.

Can I get you something?

I raise my head, hand still crammed into my boobs. I’ll have what he’s having. Thanks. I crook my head in Superman’s direction.

Thirsty-ass waitress scrunches her nose in disgust at me before she walks off to get our drinks.

Do you need some help with that, sweetheart?

Superman eyes my hand wiggling around in between my boobs. His lecherous smile sends my heart racing, and just as I start to tell him, fuck, yes, he can help me, he slips his hand in my top.

His big fingers twine with mine briefly before he snags the boob pretzel and pops it in his mouth.

Delicious.

He raises one sinister dark eyebrow, turns, and snags his drink before he tosses some chips down on the table. I sit with my mouth agape and my panties growing wet.

Holy shit.

Did Superman just feel me up?