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James apparently had to get up at some ungodly hour for the conference because when I jolt awake around 7:00 AM, he’s long gone, no trace of him in the suite. I do find some workout clothes in the bathroom, still sweaty, so I guess he found the time to work out before leaving for the day. Meanwhile, I enjoy a quiet breakfast of oatmeal and regret, staring out at the Vegas strip and trying hard not to think of how tightly my stomach is knotted.
I’m not very successful. Every spoonful of oatmeal comes with a healthy dose of reality. To be honest, I didn’t go into this trip with the intention of sleeping with James. I can practically hear Ellie in my head: What else did you think would happen?! You willingly went to Vegas with the man! Did you think you two would be eating platonic dinners and sleeping in platonic rooms and giving each other platonic fist bumps?
Okay, so a small part of me figured we would be doing some hardcore fondling, but we went beyond that. We had earth-shattering sex—like, slow-jams-in-the-background, candles-burning-the-place-down sex. When I’m midway through my oatmeal, flowers arrive at the suite—a massive bouquet of white garden roses from James. The flowers are so beautiful and so fragrant, I put them in my bathroom and close the door. When that’s not enough, I head down to the hotel pool in hopes that a change of scenery will tug me out of my weird funk.
There are three pools at the hotel, each one bigger than the last. All of them are nearly abandoned even though the hot Vegas sun is blazing overhead. I guess techies don’t have time for aquatic activities, but I do.
I find a place at the biggest, most luxurious pool and toss my Kindle onto a lounge chair. A cocktail menu is already propped on the small table nearby, so I peruse it thoughtfully. Is it too early for a piña colada?
“I’ll order one if you do,” a voice says beside me.
I turn to find a tall brunette lounging two seats down, eyeing the drink menu I’ve been hogging for the last several minutes. “Oh, sorry.” I lean toward her and pass it over.
“It’s okay,” she says with a friendly smile. “Do you know what you want?”
I nod and she starts browsing the menu for herself.
Once the waiter comes by and I order, I turn just enough to inspect her out of the corner of my eye. She’s very pretty, but it’s in a way that’s easy to pick apart—she has false eyelashes and a fake tan. Her hair has a healthy dose of extensions and while I came down to the pool with nothing but my Kindle in tow, she has a Chanel pool bag, a Louis Vuitton Neverfull, a stack of magazines, a separate makeup bag, an iPad, and her phone.
Once the waiter strolls away, I move to turn back to the pool, but she glances over and smiles. Maybe she noticed me watching her, or maybe she’s just as bored as I am; either way, she strikes up a conversation.
“Here for the conference?”
“Not exactly.” I push my sunglasses up to rest on the top of my head. “You?”
She smiles. “My husband is in there giving a speech or something—who knows. It’s all pretty boring to me.”
I nod and turn away.
“So if you’re not here for the conference, what’s his name?”
“What?”
“Or her name. You must be here for someone.”
Her question is simple, but for some reason, I’m hesitant to respond, maybe because I don’t want to have to explain my situation with James to a perfect stranger.
“I’m here with a date, yeah.”
She smiles. “Dave travels here all the time for work and I always join him. I like it because I get to keep tabs on him and treat myself to a little rest and relaxation. I swear if I weren’t here, he’d get into all sorts of trouble. I’m sure you understand.”
I laugh awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, I guess.”
She quirks one of her perfectly shaped brows. Clearly she’s perplexed by my relaxed tone. “You don’t have to keep tabs on your man?”
“It’s a new thing,” I explain. “Not really a relationship.”
Her gaze turns thoughtful as she tilts her head, studying me. “Is he older?”
I nod.
“Rich?”
I bristle at her line of questioning and fire back, “Why does it matter?”
She laughs. “It doesn’t, I just think it’s funny that you’re sitting there judging me, and I’d bet on my life your situation isn’t all that different.”
“It is,” I insist.
“Oh yeah?” She scans down my bikini-clad body. “Rooms at this hotel start at $1,500 a night. That drink you just ordered? $26.75. You’re beautiful and young. Your boyfriend is older and currently working, while you’re…what? Waiting for him to finish up so you can be at his beck and call? I bet you’ve hardly seen him since you arrived.”
