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I took the place next to her on the couch and offered her the bag of chocolates. “What about five kisses? She has to get five strangers to kiss her.”
“Not just kissing. They have to make out with her,” Easton amended. “With tongue and groping.”
“Oooh…” Chelsea bounced a little in place. “This is going to be fun. Aaron, are you sure you don’t want to hone in on this? We can rent you a tux and cast you as a nervous groom.”
He waved off the request. “I’m good with watching the spectacle you create. A hundred bucks says you make it to six kisses.”
“I’ll take that bet,” I said, stealing back the M&Ms from Chelsea. “Here.” I passed a napkin just in time to stop her from wiping chocolate on her dress. “Where did you get that thing?” It was ridiculous. Pure Cinderella style, with a ribbon belt, enough beading to hide her curves, and so much tulle she couldn’t fit into the plane’s bathroom stall. She’d made it worse with bright blue eye shadow, pale pink lips, and a tiara.
“It was my aunt’s, the one who passed away. I purchased it from the estate to wear to Halloween last year, but then I decided to be—”
“The slutty dinosaur,” I finished, because that was a visual I still couldn’t get out of my head.
“I was a dragon,” she retorted. “One of Daenerys’s. Anyway”—she gave me a pointed look to let her finish her story—“this ended up being a better use for it anyway.”
Oh yes. A much better use than an actual wedding, which I’m pretty sure had never crossed her mind. I pulled back the hem of the dress and looked at her bare feet, the toes painted a neon yellow polish. “What are you doing for shoes?”
12
We were eight hours into Vegas and had only spent forty-five bucks, so I grudgingly agreed to the thirty-foot-long limo that Chelsea insisted we needed. Our second option was finding minivan taxis, which she refused to do, especially since this was her wedding weekend and all. Insert eye roll.
It had been a fairly good initial idea. Initial idea. Chelsea decided, after four drinks and a dismal showing at slots, to open up all the extra room to pedestrians who seemed tired of walking. Which was why Easton and I were crammed in the front end of the seat, in between a Chinese family of four, two prostitutes, a drunk Colorado State student who had lost one of his shoes, and a club promoter who’d already given us each four brochures. Chelsea, in the tally of kisses from strangers, was one down, with 28 hours to go. Her current focus wasn’t on kissing. She’d latched on to the prostitutes with full intensity and was drilling them about their hours, methods of payment, and what exactly ‘fetish-play’ involved. The Chinese mother to my right covered her youngest child’s ears.
“This is fun, right?” Easton kissed my cheek, his hand curling around my knee. I turned my head toward him and managed an awkward kiss on the lips.
“It is.” I smiled. “But I’m worried Aaron isn’t having a good time.”
We both looked at him, his tall frame stuffed against the door frame, the fingers of his right hand playing with the buttons. One of the prostitutes was beside him, her hand sliding up and down his thigh as she cooed in his ear. He looked miserable. I glanced at Easton. “See what I mean?”
“He never did go for the slutty ones,” he whispered. “Look at Becca.”
It was true, and maybe that’s why he and Chelsea had fallen so naturally into the friend zone. Becca had been all prim and proper, the sort who never missed a Sunday service, or a top button on her cardigan, or an opportunity to stay at home and read rather than go out with friends. Not that I had any issue with a good book, I just didn’t clutch my pearls and skip over any of the ‘filthy’ sections while reading it.
“So then… why are we taking him to a strip club?” The destination, which had sounded logical after three hours of slots and free drinks, suddenly seemed pointless.
“Relax.” His fingers played along my bare thigh, pushing the edge of my gold skirt up. “He’ll have a good time.”
The limo slowed and I tucked my feet in, staying out of the way as the Chinese family crawled out, followed by the two prostitutes. Aaron pulled the door closed and stretched out his legs, glancing from the club promoter to the college kid to us. “Well, this is fun.”
“Have we passed Saffire? Hey!” Chelsea crawled toward the front of the limo, giving everyone a faceful of wedding dress along the way, and knocked on the driver’s privacy door.
“Is she really getting married?” The college kid asked, staring at Chelsea’s butt, which bobbed in the air as she gave our driver a barrage of instructions.
