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One
Iwoke up with glitterin my junk. Granted, I also woke up wearing a dress I didn’t remember buying, in a bed I’d never seen before, and with the worst hangover in the history of time. I had to pee as if I’d drunk twelve gallons of liquid and, judging by the intensity of the hangover pounding in my body, I might have had that much in alcoholic beverages.
I groped my way around the too-bright room and found the bathroom, shielding my eyes from the pure white marble and gaudy gold accents. I yanked up the dress to find (with relief) that I was wearing underwear, but then a shower of glitter fell to the white marble floor.
“The fuck?” I said, taking my underwear fully down and folding myself in half to glare at my junk. What was going on down there?
Glitter. Glitter all up in there. Why in the hell did I have glitter on my vulva? I peed and attempted to wipe the glitter off with toilet paper, but it was a lost cause.
Giving up on that, I decided to crawl to the shower and wash when I heard a moan. I guess wasn’t alone in the strange, ostentatious hotel room. I grabbed the closest gold vase and raised it up, preparing to defend myself as I peered around the doorway. Sprawled on a purple velvet couch across from the bed was—
“Emma,” I breathed out, lowering the vase and putting it back on the counter. She let out another moan and then opened her eyes, raising her head slowly and blinking a few times.
“The fuck?” she said, struggling to get into a sitting position. She also wore a sequin-drenched gown that was cut down to her navel in the front. Holy mother of cleavage. One of her boobs was making a break for freedom, so I tried to focus on her face instead. Friends didn’t stare at their friend’s escaping boobs, at least not on purpose.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I just peed glitter.” Emma squinted her green eyes at me and started to laugh, but then groaned and put both hands on her head, her fingers tangling in her dark hair. “That was a bad idea.”
My brain had started to sharpen and remember where we were and why we were here.
“Vegas. We’re in Vegas.”
“No shit,” Emma said, wiping mascara streaks down her face.
“Right, we’re in Vegas for Lara’s bachelorette party. But why are wehere? This isn’t the hotel we were staying at. And I do not remember putting this dress on. Or putting glitter on my downstairs,” I said.
Emma finally stood up and she looked like a baby giraffe on new legs. Wobbly and uncertain.
“NowIhave to pee, out of the way.” I moved aside and she headed into the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door. I turned my back and ignored her while she let out sounds of relief as she used the facilities and then washed her hands.
“Fucking hell,” she said, putting a hand on my shoulder, which caused me to jump. “Let’s just order some room service. I need to eat or else I’m going to hurl.”
“Don’t say the word ‘hurl,’” I said, putting my hand on my stomach. It had started rolling a few minutes before and I wanted to make sure it didn’t try to turn itself inside out.
Emma found her way to the hotel phone and pulled out a menu. Flopping down on the bed and holding it in the air, she looked over at me. Her boobs were seriously about to jump out of that dress. I looked at her face.
“What do you want?” I walked slowly to the bed and sat down next to her. She smelled like the cheap perfume they’d have in a vending machine at a bar, not like her. Not like Emma.
