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“A sign of what?”
“Well, I don’t know! But come on, what are the chances of something like this happening right after we declare ‘yes weekend?’”
“Ugh, I know, it is a little crazy. I’m not ready for this. I don’t even know what this is.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be. Let’s go have fun for the weekend and get your mind off everything you’ve been worried about lately,” she says as she shakes my shoulders, as if it’ll fling the negativity out of me.
“Okay, okay. He does look good, doesn’t he?” My voice goes dreamy.
“He sure does. So weird, he looks nothing like Mack. I expected you to have a type.” Halfway through her thought, Troy walks up behind us, and I can tell he heard what she was saying, despite it being so loud in here. I leave the question in his eyes unanswered as he sets our drinks in front of us.
Lexy and I spend most of the next hour researching things we want to do while we are in Vegas since neither of us have been before. Troy only stops over a few times to check on us. It’s really busy here, and I’m okay with it. Seeing him is enough to process on its own without having to figure out what to talk about.
We cut ourselves off after our first drink–thank goodness no one asked us if we wanted another. I made sure Troy knew not to ask if he wanted us to make it to Vegas. The one time he did hang at our table for more than a moment, Lexy took the liberty of explaining our “yes weekend” rules to him–the only ones being nothing that hurts us or makes us broke. I’m already being way too good of a sport with this, so I made her promise we’d stop drinking so we could leave tonight and get the lay of the land on our own first. Plus, I want to have a good time before its potentially ruined by whatever comes of this terrible idea. Thankfully, she agreed.
We are home now, quickly packing bags. It’ll only take a few hours to get there, and since Vegas is basically open all night long, we will still have plenty of time to do something fun tonight. I fill my backpack with a few of my clothes, then head to Lexy’s closet to pick out a few more. Let’s face it, she has much better style than me, and it's only natural to want to look good in front of any person you’ve ever had any feelings for.
We finally get on the road around nine thirty, blasting T Swift the entire way. As soon as we left, I found a cheap last minute hotel at Planet Hollywood. I only booked one night, upon Lexy’s insistence. As soon as we check in, we pick out the sexiest dresses we brought. I thought about saving mine for tomorrow night, but I deserve to dress up for myself as much as anyone else.
My dress is strapless, black, covered in sequins and so short that if I bend over, someone might see my underwear. Thank goodness it is crowded and dark in this city. Lexy's dress is silky and red and scoops low in the back. Knowing her and seeing the way her dress is smooth and flawless against her skin, I doubt she’s wearing underwear. We stand in front of the mirror to fix our makeup before stepping back to assess ourselves. I do get jealous of how easy Lexy makes sexy and confident look, but right now, both of us look like total babes. I feel so incredible, I temporarily forget the reason we drove to Vegas. My stomach churning experience from earlier is easier to ignore because we look so damn hot, and I’m excited to have a new experience for the first time since everything happened with Mack. Before we head out of the room, we each drink at least two shots straight from the bottle of tequila we brought with us to save us a little money on what I’m guessing will be ridiculously overpriced drinks.
Neither of us have visited Vegas, or even been to a club since turning 21, so this is a new experience for us. We aren't quite sure where to go, but one of Lexy’s coworkers told her the club at the Cosmopolitan was the best, so we should go there. Driving in, it took us a back way behind the hotel, so we haven't been on the Strip yet. Walking through the casino to check in and find our room was overwhelming with all the flashing lights and slot machines. It was nothing compared to stepping outside onto the Strip.
This place is magical. The lights make everything sparkle–the hotels and restaurants and the dresses of every girl in our vicinity. As we cross the street, we watch the giant fountain at the Bellagio shooting off water higher than the building itself. Walking into the Cosmopolitan is another shock. The entire inside looks like a giant chandelier, strings of crystals forming beautiful designs from the floor to the ceiling four floors up, and there’s a purple hue to all the lights giving the entire place an even sexier feel. We read the map and take the escalator to the second floor, snapping a selfie on our way up.
After stepping off, we walk in circles until we see “Marquee.” We start heading to the entrance until we notice the line. Holy shit, it wraps all the way around the outside of the club. How are we going to get in tonight? We go to the end anyway and start passing the time people watching everyone that goes by. So many drunk guys and bachelor parties whistle at us. Even a few girls stop to ask us where we got our dresses and compliment us. Part of me is uncomfortable with the attention, but the other part soaks in the confidence spike I’ve been missing the past month. Avery is the type of friend who encourages me to work through my pity party and lets me know she’s there for me. Lexy, on the other hand, is the type of friend who forces you out of your comfort zone. I try not to compare them because they are both different and important to me, but I’m thankful for Lexy’s approach tonight.
Ten minutes into our wait, two very big guys in black suits approach us. “We’d like to bring you in through the VIP entrance,” one of them says.
I stare at Lexy in shock and for what to do. She gives me a “you know what to say” look that makes me turn on my heel back to the security guards with a bold “Yes!”
We follow them past the entire line, and once we get to the entrance of the club and our IDs are checked, they lead us into a different entrance. Instead of going through the main part of the club, we walk down a hallway, popping out on the side of a bar. It's so dark and loud we can hardly see the guy we are supposed to be following. I can barely understand what he’s saying when we reach the VIP table. All I know is we are being introduced to two guys sitting on the back of the curved leather booth seat. They are both wearing dress pants, and white button up shirts that aren’t buttoned hardly at all. Paired with smug looks on their faces and way too much gel in their hair, they look douchey.
On the small table in front of them is a giant crystal bucket with a bottle of Greygoose, surrounded by tiny bottles of fancy water. On the tray in front are small glass pitchers of what I’m guessing are orange and cranberry juice. The guys in the booth direct us to sit with them as a very attractive blonde in a sparkly blue bra and black mini skirt appears in front of us. I can’t help but look her up and down, snapping back into the moment when she asks us what we want to drink before proceeding to make them for us.
I’m feeling very out of place and a little like a hooker, but I’m hoping nothing bad will happen with so much security around. Just in case though, I’m not willing to take a chance on alcohol that’s been sitting out on a table, especially not after what happened with Avery. I never told Lexy. She could tell I didn’t want to talk about it after Mack dropped me off at her apartment that night, and eventually too many days passed for either one of us to bring it up. I know she’d be more sensitive to it if I told her, but I don’t like to think about it. That’s why it doesn’t bother me much when she sometimes jokes about me being overly cautious with my drinks. It's one of those things people typically don’t realize is an issue or big deal unless they've experienced it themselves.
Before I pretend to take a sip of my drink, I lean into Lexy. “Lex, don’t drink that, who the heck knows what's actually in these drinks. Better safe than sorry.” She gives me a questioning glance and I can’t tell if she takes a real sip or not before turning to chat with the guys we have been sitting with. I lean back and observe because I'm sitting on the other side of her, so it would be awkward to cut in on their conversation.
Shifting in my seat, I have this strange feeling of confidence for being escorted into the club while also feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, like I don't belong here. I end up taking a drink because I’m nervous and just hope for the best. A few minutes in, I’m still sitting on the outside of the circle. Lexy tends to be the center of everyone’s attention. I mean she's absolutely gorgeous, outgoing and confident all the time–not only on occasion like I am. I tug on the bottom of her dress, that's riding up a little too far. “Come to the bathroom with me? You have to say yes.”
She laughs, grabbing her drink in one hand and my hand in her other, letting me lead her out of the booth. We get all the way into the bathroom before we can hear each other because it's so loud in the club. “This is wild!” I exclaim as we walk into the handicap stall together. I’m not quite drunk, but one of the few things Avery and Lexy have in common is my level of comfort with them, especially with any amount of alcohol in me. I will most likely tell either of them anything, and I’ll go in the bathroom stall with them. Even if I’m only buzzed at this point, with how foreign this place feels, I’m much more comfortable with her than the alternative.
“So insane! I can’t believe we just drove to Vegas on a whim! And got into the club because my best friend is a total bombshell.” She waves her hand up and down pointing at my body before handing me her drink to hold while she pees. “Those guys are hot too, but please let’s ditch them. They are so boring. I’d rather go dance with you.”
Thank goodness.
We exit the stall to a bathroom much more crowded than when we entered. A pretty brunette in a blue and purple sparkly romper washing her hands at the sink looks over at us. “Are you two at a VIP table? I could kind of hear you talking in the stall.”
“Yes,” we say in unison, and look at her while turning on the sinks in front of us.
“Just be careful. Those guys pay tens of thousands of dollars for security to bring them girls that match their “type.” Their intention is for them to find someone to take home at the end of the night.”
Damn. We are Vegas newbies over here, excited about a confidence boost that doesn’t feel so great anymore. “We are definitely getting out of here,” I say. Maybe I’m less trusting because of everything that happened with Avery, but I think “yes weekend” rules can be bent for the potential of harm.
Luckily, Lexy seems to agree, and we thank our new friend and make sure to sneak away in the opposite direction when we exit the bathroom. We don’t want to leave because the vibe in here is exhilarating, despite the creepy situations going on at the VIP tables. As we walk down a ramp to get to the dance floor, the DJ starts remixing “I Gotta Feeling.” Perfect. Nothing like a dance party with your best friend, lost in a crowd away from someone who wants us to practically be hookers to keep this night on the right track.
By the time we collapse onto our bed, our feet ache after walking around the Strip people watching and two hours of dancing in the club. We don’t even have time to recap our night before we pass out on the huge white bed.
