by Meg Jackson
Morning came and I groaned into the sunlight, head squeezed like a monkey wrench, stomach turning, mouth as dry as the Nevada desert. Hearing my own groan echoing throughout the hotel room, I knew that the girls felt at least as bad as I did. This time, we really would need those Bloody Marys.
“We’re three for three with four days to go,” Alicia said as we lounged around on the lavish couches in our hotel room, picking at the leftovers from breakfast and slurping down hair-of-the-dog. I was feeling much better now, the hangover dulled to a mild discomfort. “Should we pick new goals?”
“Ugh, we should pick a time to nap,” Becky said, surprisingly the worst-off in terms of hangovers, even though she’d had less to drink than Alicia and I.
“Okay, after the nap. Me? I’m going to…um…go to a strip club!” Alicia nearly fell off the couch shouting. Becky and I rolled our eyes. A strip club? Dream on, Alicia.
“If you think that we’re going to accompany you to a gentleman’s club…” Becky said, her voice sharp.
“Whatever, Beck. You don’t have to come with me,” Alicia said, a tad irritated herself. I saw the growing tension between them and decided to nip it in the bud. Even best friends fight, but I didn’t want anything to ruin our trip.
“I’ll go with you, Leesh. And I’ll do whatever you want to do, too, Beck,” I said, wanting to be the great compromiser.
“Whatever,” Becky said. “As long as we still go on that hike tomorrow.”
“Um, duh. We have to take some photos that we can actually show our parents,” Alicia said with a laugh. Even Becky grinned at that one.
“So…hike. Strip club. Sammy? What’s your new goal?” Alicia looked at me with genuine curiosity, as well as a twinkle in her eye. I threw her a dirty look.
“NOT whatever you’re thinking, Alicia. I don’t know. Give me some time to think,” I said, knowing full well what I really wanted to do. Find Boon. And see what else he could open me up to…
I must have gone off to la-la land, and had it written all over my face, because Alicia threw a pillow at me and squealed.
“YOU’RE gonna lose your V-CARD to that BOY!”
She’s small, and she acts ditzy, but you can’t hide a damn thing from that girl.
That night, despite my still-unbelievable desire to find Boon, I agreed to stay in and watch movies, so that we could be up bright and early for our hike. I was still trying to hide my true feelings from my friends, and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Probably, still, to this day, it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Harder than anything that would come next.
It’s not even like I thought they would judge me: I knew for a fact that Alicia would encourage me, and that Becky wouldn’t judge me no matter what I did. It was more like I was worried that by admitting it to them, I would be admitting it to myself. It was easy to consider it a girlish fantasy, a passing fancy, a fleeting moment, when I lied to myself. It would be harder if I actually had to vocalize my feelings to my friends, had to tell them the absolute truth.
Because I couldn’t lie to them. I could keep silent about something, but I couldn’t outright lie to them. That’s why, I guess, I didn’t tell them where I really went when I “went out for air” that night.
But I know they knew.
It was around ten, and I’d sat patiently through one whole chick flick (Becky’s choice) and one B-grade horror movie (Alicia’s favorite genre) without picking up the plot of either. I was a little distracted; I spent half the time worrying about “sneaking out” for the night and the other half trying to figure out where I would even start looking for Boon in the wild city.
I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember the name of the second bar we’d gone to, but the bar where we met was right next to our hotel. Telling Alicia and Becky that I was just going to walk around for an hour or so, and trying to avoid their knowing glances, I put on a pair of shorts and a simple tank top and slipped out into the hall, a pad of paper and pen in my pocket.
I figured I’d start at the beginning, and pushed my way through a crowd of smokers outside the bar where Boon and I had met. Scanning the room, I quickly confirmed that he wasn’t there. I didn’t bother checking the dance floor; something told me that Boon wouldn’t be caught dead with a girl twerking against him.
I shimmied my way through the crowd to the bar, looking for a familiar face amongst the bartenders. Finally, I noticed that one of the bartenders was the same one from the night before, the one who had made me Boon’s “awful” Seven and Seven. I waited for about two minutes before the bartender approached me.
“What’ll it be, princess?”
“I’m actually not drinking tonight, I’m looking for someone,” I said, noting the way the bartender rolled his eyes.
“Everyone’s looking for someone, sweetheart,” he said, turning away. I reached over the bar and grabbed his sleeve. He was my first and, possibly, only chance to find Boon, or at least get a message to him.
“Wait, please. You might remember me,” I said, hearing the desperation in my voice. The bartender heard it too, apparently, because he sighed and leaned against the bar, looking at me.
“I see a lot of pretty girls every night,” he said, a sympathetic smile on his face.
“Well, I ordered a Seven and Seven for a man. He had tattoos, blue eyes, blonde hair. He ordered one for himself right after. And my friends and I were all drinking those fishbowl drinks,” I said, racking my brain for anything that might jog his memory. “My little red-haired friend was really drunk?”
“Oh,” said the bartender, his face lighting up as he remembered. I felt my heart leap. “That’s right. You’re the big tipper with the bad fake ID.”
He was smiling now, and I smiled back, sheepishly.
“Well, I appreciate you serving us, anyway. But, have you ever seen that guy before? Or since?” The bartender’s brow furrowed slightly, though the amused look remained on his face.
“Now, I can’t say, I don’t notice guys as much as I do gals. But I’ll tell you what, if I see him tonight, I’ll let him know there’s a pretty blonde looking for him. How’s that?”
“That would be great. Except, would it be too much, do you think, can I give you a note to give him if you see him? It’s just, he doesn’t know my number or anything, and…”
“Sure, sure, whatever. It’ll end up in his hands, or in the trash if I don’t see him. Hurry up, though, I’ll be skinned if I waste any more time with a customer who isn’t paying.”
I hurriedly pulled the pad and pen from my back pocket and scribbled my name and number on it. Hesitating for a moment, I decided that I was already being pretty ballsy, and that there couldn’t be any harm in being a little ballsier. I want more, I wrote in neat script above my number. With my heart jumping all over the place, I tore off the sheet of paper, folded it, and handed it to the bartender, blushing like crazy. The bartender started to unfold the paper.
“No!” I said, reaching out and grabbing his hand. “Please don’t read it.” He gave me another amused look and nodded, slipping the paper into his pocket.
“Well, I sure hope I see him. I’d hate to think of a poor fellow missing out on whatever it is your offering,” he said, starting to walk away. “Just stay away from the chapels, honey. You’re not too young to remember Britney Spears, are you?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer him as he turned to the next closest customer, but my blush didn’t go away. I stood at the bar, stupidly, for another minute, wondering what came next. I could try to find the bar he had taken us to, but I knew that it would be a miracle if I could remember even one side-street we’d turned down. I could just walk up and down the strip, checking every bar in sight. That seemed the only option; I still had 45 minutes before the girls were expecting me back.
So that’s what I did. I’ll tell you something, too. If you ever really want to see what Vegas is like, walk from bar to bar, totally sober. You’ll never see or hear such mayh
em in such a short amount of time. It was like walking through a kaleidoscope. From gambling floors to dance floors to exclusive-looking clubs, everything just comes at you in flashes of light and sound. It’s pretty crazy.
But bar after bar, no sight of Boon. And it wasn’t much use asking the bartenders; they were all either busy as hell or had no patience for my admittedly vague description: tattoos, blue eyes, blonde hair. I might as well have been asking for a girl with brown hair and pierced ears.
Finally, the hour was up and I was disheartened and tired and hopeless. It wasn’t happening. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to happen, I thought, reminding myself that the whole plan was pretty crazy. Track down a stranger I made out with once and ask him to take my virginity? That really was Britney Spears-level crazy.
I clomped up to the hotel room and found Alicia and Becky were passed out on the couch, an old TV show playing softly. I switched the TV off and covered the girls in blankets before taking to my own bed. I lay there for a long time, tossing and turning, thinking about Boon and trying to figure out what it was about him that was so irresistible to me.
At around 1am, I still hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, and when my phone buzzed I assumed it was one of my friends from home sending a drunk text. My heart stopped entirely when I saw an unknown number on the screen.
Tag, you’re it, the text read. I nearly fell out of bed, I was so excited. My heart started beating again with a vengeance, pounding in my chest. There was a picture attached to the text: it looked like the Vegas skyline, taken from above. I racked my brain to see if I could recognize the angle or view from any of the little amount of sightseeing we had done. Coming up blank, I pulled on my shorts and tank-top again, grabbing my wallet as well, and slipped out the front door.
In the lobby, I marched right to the concierge desk. It was late, but there were still lots of people milling around, and the concierge looked bright-eyed and eager to help.
“Do you know where this could have been taken? Sorry, I know it’s weird, but….” I started to say, handing my phone to the concierge, who took it with interest. He adjusted his glasses and stared at the screen.
“There are no weird requests in Vegas,” he said, smiling broadly and handing me back the phone. “That photo would have to have been taken from The Mix Lounge at Mandalay Bay. Shall I call you a cab, ma’am?”
“Yes! Please! Tell them to hurry!” I said, ecstatic. This had to be it. It had to be him. He would be there. And at least I’d have a chance to see him one more time, sober, before never seeing him again. I was being impulsive, and probably acting recklessly, but I didn’t care. If I saw him and still felt that magnetic attraction, I would go for it. If I saw him and it didn’t do anything for me, so be it. I just wanted to do it, take the risk, walk the tightrope without the net.
I pulled a ten from my wallet and handed it to the concierge as he called a cab; he grinned at me and took it suavely, hanging up the phone.
“Shouldn’t be more than five minutes, ma’am,” he said. “Would you like to have a seat while you wait?”
“No, no, I’ll go outside, I don’t think I could sit still,” I said with a giggle, my giddiness showing. The concierge smiled knowingly and nodded.
“Best of luck, ma’am,” he called out after me as I hustled outside. Once on the sidewalk, I could hardly keep still. I wanted to pace back and forth but realized that would look crazy. My mind raced with a million thoughts as I waited. I wanted to text Boon back, but I also wanted to take him by surprise. Part of me was horribly anxious that he would leave before I managed to get there; the other part wanted to keep this as mysterious and exciting as possible, and that anxiety was just adding to the rush.
A cab pulled up and I nearly broke my ankle jumping to grab it.
“Are you the lady going to Mandalay Bay?” the driver asked gruffly.
“Yes, please, and fast!” I said, my voice cracking as my emotions ran higher and higher. The cab pulled away and the driver began to make his way down the strip, far too slowly for my addled mind but as fast as he could possibly go in the traffic. I fidgeted as I looked out the window, wondering if I could have walked it faster.
For the first time, I wondered if it wasn’t Boon who’d texted me, after all. Maybe it was the bartender from the bar, just getting off his shift, planning to try his hand at wooing me. Or maybe it was someone else, someone that the bartender had mistaken for Boon. Maybe it would be Boon, but it would just be a joke. My nervousness grew as the cab moved slowly down the long, brightly-lit street.
“Someone waiting for you?” the driver asked, pulling me out of my frenzied thoughts.
“I hope so,” I said, smiling at him in the rear-view mirror.
“Well, if they leave before you get there, they’ll surely be kicking themselves for it,” the driver said, pulling a sudden turn and slowing down in front of a huge, lavish building.
I could give you every last detail of my trip through the lobby, to the elevator, up to the bar. My nerves were so on edge that I think I devoted every vase and painting to memory. But, of course, that wouldn’t be very interesting for you. Suffice to say, I was impressed, and I was impressed that Boon would want to meet me there. It showed…class.
Especially when I got to the Mix Lounge, which was a multi-colored fantasyland, with views of the strip that dazzled the eye and gave you pretty bad vertigo at the same time. It was dark, and I panicked for a moment, worried about finding Boon in the crowd. But I needn’t have worried; as I began to slowly inch my way around the room, walking along the windows, I felt someone tug on my shirt.
My palms immediately began to sweat as I turned. And there he was. Handsome and dangerous and smiling. Dirty and cool and bright-eyed. I saw his lips first, I think, and spent a long second remembering last night’s kiss, the memory turning my legs to Jell-o. My eyes traveled up to meet his. It was still there. The uncontrollable, immediate, surprising, animalistic craving that took me entirely by surprise.
“Hello,” he said, his voice deep and warm. I melted.
“Hi,” I managed to say, aware of a crimson blush lighting up my face.
“You found me. Drink?” I shook my head; I desperately wanted a drink, something to take some of my anxiety away, but I also wanted to remain in control, totally aware. I didn’t want to make a mistake that could be chalked up to alcohol. If I was going to make a mistake, I wanted it to be entirely my own.
“Come,” he said, grabbing my hand and leading me towards a darkened corner where there were some empty seats. His grip on my hand was strong, forceful, and I found myself pulled along like a rag doll. My hand was wet from sweat and I was embarrassed, but I also thrilled at the chance to feel his rough, calloused fingers against my own. I imagined what they would feel like on my body, tracing my sides…
I could barely breathe when we sat down, and bit my lip. Boon took a long, slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine.
“So,” he said at last, putting the drink down and looking at me critically, as though he were studying me. “How can I help you?”
I blushed even harder, and my brain skipped like a broken record. I could barely process the question, never mind come up with an answer.
“Um…I just…I liked…I don’t…I mean…I’m not…” I said, starting a hundred sentences but not finishing a single one. I stopped trying, then, and simple stared at him hopelessly. God, he’s so fucking handsome, I thought, my only coherent thought. He was grinning at me, his face boyish and yet still mature, as though he had lived too much too young.
“Okay, okay, it’s okay. I’ll make it easy,” he said, pulling two keycards out of his back pocket. “These keys go to room 254. They are going to stay right here on this table between us. In fifteen minutes, I am going to take one of those keys and go to that room. Five minutes after that, you are either going to join me, or you’re going to leave. How does that sound?”
I nodded, mute. He was calling the shots now. I was just along for the ri
de. But he was giving me an out, too. And I appreciated that. A lot.
“You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” he asked, leaning back in his seat and picking up his drink again. I shook my head no. He chuckled.
“Well, I admire you going after what you want. Gotta say, it’s kind of a turn on,” he said.
“How can you afford a room here?” I blurted out. I don’t even know where the question came from, it was just the first thing that popped into my head. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as Boon studied me, a look on his face like he was trying to figure out whether or not to lie to me.
“There are hundreds of ways to make money,” he finally said, a tone in his voice that told me that this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to continue. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“Okay,” I said, happy to move onto a different subject and praying that I wouldn’t have any more stupid questions pop into my head.
“So why me? Why tonight? Is this just some post-high school experimenting? Blowing off steam?” He was asking questions like he already knew the answers, and it kind of upset me, even though I recognized that they were totally legitimate questions for the situation.
“Something like that. Sheriff’s daughter and all,” I said with a nervous giggle, speaking just for the sake of speaking, not even really thinking about what I was saying. A strange look came over Boon’s face, a mixture of intrigue and distrust. Stop saying the wrong things, you idiot! I reprimanded myself, wondering just how badly I could possibly mess this up.
“Sheriff’s daughter? And he let you go to Las Vegas on your own?”
“Daddy’s pretty liberal,” I said. “And he trusts me.”
“Well, bully for you,” Boon said, taking a deep swig of his drink, a frustrated look in his eye.
“I’m sorry,” I said, half-sarcastically. The night had suddenly taken a strange turn, and while I was still enamored with Boon, still felt the way my body was responding to his mere presence, I didn’t like the way he was speaking to me. “But you can’t chalk this up to daddy issues.”
