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But maybe that wasn’t so bad.
I mean the whole experience had been just… strange and awkward.
The orgasm, I mean, that was amazing. But Nyx always gifted me some sort of vibrator for each Valentine’s Day, so I could handle that on my own.
The lobby was all white and brushed gold, everything somehow managing to look glittery in the middle of the day.
“Now this is the kind of life I deserve,” Nyx declared as we took our keycards and made our way toward the elevators. “Maybe I should focus less on finding some hot, bad news guy and try to find me a high-roller who wants to wife me up and spoil me with fancy hotels until the end of time?”
“It’s always good to have many options,” I agreed, giving her a smile as she hit the number for our floor.
It wasn’t until the doors were starting to slide closed that a movement in the lobby caught my eye.
But no.
No.
It couldn’t be.
That would be far too coincidental.
I mean, I’d only seen the guy for a split second before the doors closed and reflected my own face back to me.
I was sure there were any number of hot, fit, guys with tanned skin and light eyes.
There was no way Judge was in Vegas at the same time we were.
Still, it was hard to shake the idea even as we went to our rooms.
“Oh, my God,” I could hear Nyx calling out through our adjoined bathroom. “Have you tried the bed out yet?” she called.
I had barely gotten a chance to take in the room, let alone sit down.
It wasn’t a huge space, but I had a queen-sized bed in all-white linens, a tufted headboard in a sort of mushroom color that matched the heavy drapes on the large floor-to-ceiling window.
It was both simple, yet upscale.
“Oh, oh man, this tub. I am going to need some alone time with this tub,” Nyx said, making me turn to look inside our bathroom.
And there she was, fully dressed, stretched out in the big jetted tub.
“Jets. Do you see the jets?” she asked, giving me a devilish smile.
“Damn, and we forgot the candles and the bow-chicka-wow-wow music.”
“I do like to romance myself,” Nyx agreed. “Okay, so. Do we have a casual late lunch, then get dolled up? Or do we doll up first so we seem sophisticated and worldly?”
She was saying that as though she wasn’t already dressed for a night out with her sleek black pencil skirt, her black button-down, and her chunky lace-up heels.
She looked like some celebrity. And I looked like her lowly assistant in my jeans and white long-sleeve tee. I hadn’t even bothered to put any makeup on. And my hair was in a claw clip to keep it out of my face, but also avoid that dreaded band from a hair elastic.
“I think… quick lunch, then get pretty, and hit the town early.”
“I like the way you think. Which of our restaurant picks? I mean, if we are doing a late dinner, but want to drink, we need a layer of carbs and fat. Pasta? That pasta buffet place?”
And so it was a date.
It was all excitement from me from there on out.
Until, of course, Nyx shoved the dress at me that she wanted me to wear.
I wasn’t opposed to dresses. I just didn’t often have reason to wear them. Except maybe in the middle of summer. And even then, that was just a simple sundress. Demure, almost.
This?
This was something you wore to pick up a man at a bar and have sex in the elevator because he can’t keep his hands off you long enough to make it back to the room.
Or so Nyx said.
Which wasn’t helping my anxiety about it.
“How about you put it on before you make up your mind about it?” Nyx reasoned.
“That’s fair,” I agreed, taking the dress with me into the bathroom.
“Bra-wearing is forbidden!” she called through the door.
As if the dress would allow for a bra. It was just a slip of a thing in all black with a neckline that dipped down between the breasts without giving any secrets away, and a fully open back.
“And, actually, panties are totally optional too,” she added.
Nyx was someone with an epic lingerie collection but a tendency toward commando. Just one of her many quirks.
Me, well, I liked wearing panties. It just felt more, I don’t know, protected.
Looking up in the mirror, I saw myself. Well, a more glamorized version of myself.
Nyx had let me go without any foundation or blush, but had gone full-on sultry with my eyes and lips.
The lipstick was, apparently, “blow-job proof.” Which, she claimed, was something they really needed to put on their packaging.
I looked like a more grown, more confident version of myself. The exact kind of woman who could put on a sexy dress and go out in it.
