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Forty-One
Nick takes his time, leaning in slowly. Our lips meet in the kind of kiss even Elvis would write songs about. He tastes like champagne and mint—refreshingly intoxicating. Not a trace of smoke in the slightest. His hands press into my back, pulling me closer, and I fall deeper and deeper and—
“Hey, whose love story is this anyway?” Chuck yells, yanking us out of our magical moment. Nick and I share a we’ve been caught glance and I run my finger across my lip, feeling the buzz of his skin on mine.
—
Afterward, Nick takes my hand like I’m his girl and I hold on tight. The four of us cross the threshold, where a leather-clad Elvis waits, leaning against the roof of a white limo. “Nelson party?” he asks.
“That’s us,” Chuck says, and looks at his bride. “After you, Mrs. Nelson.” She giggles then glides inside. We’re ready to wave them off when Chuck offers us a ride back to the hotel. “Anything for the best man and maid of honor,” he adds.
Nick and I share a look.
“When in Vegas?” I say, shrugging.
“Yeah, why not?” We climb in the back next to the newlyweds, where the Elvis tunes carry on and the minibar awaits.
Nick and I sit suitably shoulder to shoulder across from the bride and groom. Still, it doesn’t stop me from imagining what I’d do to Nick if we had the limo to ourselves. By the look in Nick’s eyes, he has a similar fantasy. Thank God the hotel’s not far. These next ten minutes are about Mr. and Mrs. Chuck Nelson. The next ten hours... well, we’ll see.
“So where’s the honeymoon?” I ask.
“We’re going to Hollywood. Amy’s never been.”
“That’ll be fun,” I say, thinking I’m also a Hollywood virgin. “Actually, Nick and I are playing a show in West Hollywood tomorrow night.”
“Well, we have to come see you guys. You’re our new best friends now,” Amy says, reaching over to take my hand like we’re practically sisters. I wonder if she’ll remember me tomorrow, or if I’ll just be the bitch who ruined her wedding photos with my aesthetically displeasing glasses.
“I’ll get you tickets. Show’s at eight at The Comedy Shoppe,” Nick offers. “Consider it a wedding gift.”
“Thanks, man,” Chuck says, and cuddles closer to his new wife.
Soon, the limo pulls up to the hotel and we file out. “You guys wanna hit the tables with us?” Chuck asks.
I fake a yawn, stretching my arms wide. “I’d love to but I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“Oh, right. Your show!” Amy says, sounding excited about the extra treat.
“No, she’s got an audition tomorrow afternoon for The Late Night Show,” Nick brags, and I tug on my ponytail. I can’t believe it’s almost here.
Amy gasps. “With Anderson Vanderson? My maid of honor’s gonna be on The Late Night Show!” She flings her arms open and barrels into me. “That’s so exciting! Congratulations!” God love her. Isn’t she the cutest?
“Thanks,” I say, praying I don’t disappoint both of us. “We’ll see you two tomorrow night.”
Nick and I send the bride and groom off with a wave and wait for them to walk deep into the casino floor. The moment they’re out of sight, we look at each other, communicating the obvious, and hurry toward the elevator. Meaning we attempt to restrain our excitement by hiking at a normal pace but somehow make it in record time.
Inside the elevator, we’re alone. Finally. I rest against the mirrored wall, a hard rail against my back. The best man leans his body onto mine, kissing me again. This time it’s hotter and hungrier than before. On our floor, we stumble over each other, crashing against the walls in the hallway like Ping-Pong balls. Soon we’re locked in a room—his or mine, I can’t keep track. My body responds to his every touch, even more than before. A shiver runs through my body and I roll my head back, giving a little moan.
I know we promised no funny business. But there’s nothing funny about this moment. Not funny ha-ha anyway. I tangle my fingers in his hair and he slides my white top off, kissing my neck. The awkwardness of Atlanta and the restraint of New Orleans and every moment after that all fall away. Here in a room at the Isle of Riches Hotel and Casino, Nick and I are completely in sync. Our bodies harmonize perfectly the way our voices do when we sing classic rock. Only this is a lot more fun.
The pleasure he provokes builds and builds inside of me, heightening the way a good joke does before the punchline drops. I almost can’t believe it. I can’t stop it either. It’s coming. The release I’ve been waiting for. The bliss I’ve been missing for so long. I belt a pleasure-filled cry. And there’s nothing fake about it.
—
In the morning, I wake up to Nick’s warm skin against mine, his heart beating steadily. I smile, biting my lip at the memory of last night and all the other little moments of the last ten days. He stirs and blinks his eyes open.
“Hi,” he says, like he’s just as pleased to wake up next to me.
“Hi.” I take in his morning-after look, wanting to capture every second of it.
