Nice fantasy, Jen, she thought as she turned her attention back to the stage. Like you’d ever have the guts to try to seduce a man like that.
Damn, she was always talking a big story, and managed to persuade her friends she was “out there” and in charge. Why couldn’t she persuade herself?
She always egged on the other girls to be bolder, more free and easy about their sexuality. Time to listen to her own advice. It wasn’t like she bought into the traditional values her family was always pushing on her.
If she wanted a guy, she could fucking well go after him.
A white guy who had a dangerous job. He was everything her family would disapprove of. But when had that ever stopped her? It wasn’t like her folks would find out. Though she might think they were nuts, she’d never hurt them. At home she was the dutiful, respectful daughter.
But did she really want this guy? He was eye candy, with no depth.
No, he was primo eye candy with a very impressive package that would do an excellent job of probing her own depths.
Perfect for one night of her life when her body was already so hot it was ready to explode.
Seize the night, girl! Better still, seize the guy.
The last few performances went by in a blur.
Would she, wouldn’t she? Could she really be that gutsy and outrageous? And even if she did make a move on him, why would he choose her? She was pretty enough, but so were lots of other women in this room. And maybe he liked blondes or redheads. Tall, busty women.
The last number ended, the applause died away and the audience waited expectantly. The emcee, a C-cup woman herself in that black leather corset, came on stage. “Give us five minutes, folks, then we’ll announce the results.”
“It’s supposed to be based on the loudness and length of applause, right?” Rina asked.
“Yeah, they say they have some kind of applause meter,” Jenny told her. “Obviously the top twelve get the calendar slots, and the overall winner gets February.”
“Not the cover?” Ann asked.
Jenny shook her head. “They’ll pick the cover from the pictures taken at the photo shoot.”
Suzanne elbowed her. “Attending that photo shoot, Jen?”
Jenny chuckled. “You read my mind. I’d already figured pitching that for a follow-up story.”
Rina sighed. “Oh, God, can we come along, too?” Then she glanced around the table. “So, what’s your vote? Who’s going to win February?”
Jenny touched the bow tie at her neck. “No question.”
“He was great,” Ann said, “but I also liked the silver-haired guy. There was some quality about him….”
“Age,” Jenny said promptly.
“Experience,” Ann snapped back. “I bet he’s the best lover in the group.”
“No way. My guy is.”
“Your guy?” Ann raised an eyebrow.
Jenny grinned. She wasn’t about to share her plans in case she didn’t succeed. But if luck was on her side tonight, at their next Monday dinner she’d usurp Suzanne as queen of the sexy tales.
“Suze?” Rina asked. “Who do you pick?”
“As a lover, none of them could possibly measure up to Jaxon.”
She said it as if there weren’t the slightest doubt in the world, and Jenny felt a pang of envy. Suze wasn’t talking just about sex, but love. Every girl’s dream—and a dream Jenny had never come even close to experiencing.
“Yeah, sure,” Jenny said brusquely, “but who should win the competition?”
“I’d vote for the woman,” Suzanne said. “She has more balls than all those guys put together. How about you, Rina?”
“I’m torn. Ann’s man has class, and, Suze, you’re right about that gal’s nerve. And I really liked Jenny’s guy’s music and style, not to mention those amazing blue eyes. But I also liked the young guy with the curly dark hair. Didn’t you just want to eat him up?”
“And no calories either,” Jenny said. Rina, who had a body-image problem, was obsessive about what she ate.
“Mmm.” Rina ran her tongue around her lips, and then said, “On second thought, I’d rather he ate me up.”
They were still laughing when there was a drumroll and the emcee said, “The moment we’ve all been waiting for!”
The crowd turned, en masse, toward the stage.
“Our twelve winners are…”
She called the first name, and Rina’s curly-haired guy sauntered on stage to cheers—and catcalls that had to come from men in rival fire halls.
“Definitely edible,” Ann said to Rina.
The emcee called a few more names, and then…“Told you!” Suzanne said when the pole-dancing woman strode triumphantly on stage.
“And I told you,” Ann crowed when the silver fox took his place alongside the others.
Jenny was getting nervous. Not because there was any question in her mind who’d win, but because her moment was approaching. Could she seduce him? A hottie firefighter like him must have women throwing themselves at him every day. And especially tonight.
Then she tossed back her hair. Hell, she was a tiny Asian girl with a shitload of attitude and a secret weapon. She’d stand out. Besides, she’d caught his bow tie and he’d winked at her.
When ten men and one woman stood in a line on the stage, the emcee said, “And now, the grand winner, the hottest of the hot, Vancouver’s own Mr. February, Scott Jackman from Fire Hall Eleven!”
The sax guy had tossed the tux vest back on but left it unbuttoned and he was grinning, looking pumped about his win.
The audience was jumping up and down, cheering, whistling, clapping. Down at the front, near the stage, it was a sea of women and Jenny was swallowed up.
But when the winners started to leave the stage, the crowd began to stretch, sigh, get ready to head out.
“I need to go,” Ann said. “I have to get up early and head into the office.”
“Of course you do,” Suzanne said. “It’s Saturday. What else would you do?”
“I know, I have no life. You don’t have to remind me.” Ann’s hazel eyes darkened momentarily. Then her expression lightened. “At least I’ll have sexy dreams tonight.”
“We all will,” Rina said.
Jenny, nervously hoping for sex in more than just her dreams, said, “I have to find my way backstage and do some interviews.”
“A tough job but someone has to do it,” Suzanne teased.
“Need an assistant?” Rina asked hopefully.
“There are some things a girl has to do on her own,” Jenny said. Like conduct the perfect seduction.
Minutes later she was weaving her way through the milling horde. She ducked into a ladies’ room to freshen up and check her cell, which she’d turned off before the show began.
She was in luck. No messages. She’d told her family she was working and would be home late, and no one had called to check up on her.
When she made it backstage, her heart sank. A dozen women surrounded Scott Jackman and one, an extremely