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“It sounds very…Vegas-sy.”
“It’s the most Vegas thing ever, but I promise it’s hilarious.”
And hilarious it was. I was in stitches from the second the two guys walked onto the stage, naked as the day they were born. It was so crazy, so utterly absurd I almost felt like I’d entered another dimension. Then they started playing around with their dicks, and I lost it. They made dogs, elephants, and god knows what other animals with their dicks, then played some more with them. I’d never known one could create an Eiffel Tower that way, but they managed, and I damn near slid onto the floor from laughing so hard. The tears ran down my cheeks, and after twenty minutes, my cheeks were cramping.
By the time the show was over, my whole body hurt, and I burst out in giggles every time I thought back on some of the crazy stunts. “That was the best show ever,” I said to Tomás when we were back in the taxi. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard.”
“Tiago and I went last year, and for weeks after, we’d burst out in laughter whenever we mentioned it. It’s so absurd, but it’s so funny.”
“It was spectacular. Thank you for bringing me here.”
Spectacular was also the right word for the sex we had once we got back to our room. First with me bent over the bed—a position Tomás loved, I had discovered—and then again in the bathtub, where we made a mess. We needed another shower after that, but it had been so worth it.
The next day, we strolled down Fremont Street—not really my thing but fun to have seen—and then did some more shopping. We arrived at the Sphere early, and I took everything in with wide eyes. The Sphere itself was already impressive, and once we stepped inside, I was even more in awe. Tomás had booked us prime seats. The man never did anything halfway, so we were close enough to the stage I could see Bono’s face without looking at the massive screens.
And god, the show was… It was phenomenal. They played all their greatest hits from “With or Without You” to “One” to “Where the Streets Have No Name,” and their more recent hits. I sang along with every song until my throat hurt, but I still kept at it until my voice gave out. By the time the concert ended, I could barely produce a whisper, but it had been so worth it.
“Thank you,” I croaked and kissed Tomás with all I had, not giving a single fuck about the people around us. “This was the best birthday gift I’ve ever received.”
“I’m so glad you loved it. I wanted you to have this special experience.”
I kissed him again. “Everything with you is special, baby.”
Sappy? Hell yes, but it also happened to be the truth.
Our Sunday was spent partially in bed, with us sleeping in and making love for a long time before finally getting around to our breakfast. More of a lunch by then. My voice was still raspy, and Tiago had honey delivered to our room so he could make me tea with honey, his remedy for a sore throat. He was such a sweetheart.
We weren’t in the mood to do much, so we walked through the hotel for a bit, exploring the gorgeous lobby, some of the luxurious stores, and the conservatory and botanical gardens, which were a lovely surprise.
I was excited about our dinner at Gordon Ramsey’s, which was located inside the Paris Hotel, the one with the fake Eiffel Tower. Vegas was so over the top.
“Have you dined with us before?” our waiter asked after he’d seated us.
“I have, but my boyfriend hasn’t,” Tomás said, and I smiled like I always did when he claimed me so openly. He loved doing that, always proud to show me off, which never ceased to amaze me.
“You’re in for a feast, sir,” the waiter said to me.
“I love steak, so I can’t wait.” My voice had recovered enough that I was able to talk again, though it still hurt.
He took our drink order—we both wanted to try their signature cocktail—and we perused the menu. “I don’t know what to choose,” I said to Tomás. “How do I pick when it all sounds delicious?”
“You have to try their truffle fries. They’re heavenly. Though their mashed potatoes are also sublime.”
I scrunched my nose. “Mashed potatoes? What’s so special about that?”
“No clue, but it’s like velvet on your tongue, I swear.”
In the end, I went with the filet mignon—American Wagyu, which the waiter waxed poetic about. For a hundred bucks for an eight-ounce filet, it had better be phenomenal, though it wasn’t by far the most expensive item on the menu. Tomás added the mashed potatoes, or potato puree, as it was called, and the fries with truffle salt, plus Iberico pork and caviar as appetizers, and I stopped looking at the prices. The man wanted to treat me, and I would let him.
The appetizers were phenomenal. Hell, I’d never known pork could taste like that. When I took my first bite of my steak, the moan that slipped out was sinful, but I couldn’t have held it back if I had tried. Jesus, that was the most butter-soft, tender steak I’d ever tasted. It all but melted on my tongue, and the flavor was so rich and bold I almost wanted to write a sonnet about it.
“Good?” Tomás asked with a grin.
“I don’t even have words.”
“Try the mashed potatoes.” He held out his fork, and I took it. Oh my god, he hadn’t been kidding. So soft and fluffy, so perfectly rich and creamy it deserved a much fancier name.
“You can’t call this mashed potatoes. This tastes nothing like the slightly lumpy stuff my mom makes for Thanksgiving. This is like nectar from the gods.”
