by Ney, Sara
Georgia pulls away to lean back against the pillows she was resting on earlier, a small smile on her face as she regards me from across the mattress.
“What should we do while we’re in Vegas?” Her face is set into a peaceful calm, her tone almost a whisper.
Not sleep in the same bed, I want to grunt out. “I think it would be cool to lay out at the pool for a few hours at least.”
It’s nice here, but it must be really warm in Nevada, and splashing around in cool water with a drink in my hand sounds bloody fantastic.
Besides, I can’t remember the last time I’ve been in water that wasn’t the shower, or from a cold hose at a summer house party.
“That would be fun. I’ll make sure to pack my suit.” Georgia yawns. “I should start making a list.”
“You have everything sorted out?”
“With the contest people? Yes, I actually had a phone call with them earlier because I had a few questions, and they were nice. I had to give them the names of the two people going—you and me—and she emailed me a form I have to fill out, for taxes I think she said.” That makes her groan. “I had no idea you had to pay taxes on prizes, did you?”
“Sort of. Not that familiar with American laws though.”
“Gift tax.” She pulls a face. “If I had won a car, I would have had to sell it just to pay the dumb tax.”
“Are you sure you want to go on this trip, Georgie? We don’t have to—we can take a road trip instead.”
She levels me with a stare. “I’m not not going.”
Alright. Okay.
I back off as she yawns, closing her eyes before laying her head back down. Wait…it doesn’t look like she’s in any hurry to leave—is she planning to sleep here then, in my bed?
Do I tell her she can’t stay?
I’ll never be able to sleep if she’s lying here breathing, smelling delicious, and looking amazing.
After a few minutes of silent debate, I glance over only to find her already snoozing, looking adorable and pretty, curled up in my blankets, quilt pulled up to her chin.
It doesn’t take me long to drift, either.
It’s pitch black when I wake in the middle of the night. I’m not sure what time it is, but it must be late because the sun hasn’t started to come out yet. No sense in getting up or even checking my mobile, and I don’t have to pee…
There’s a body pressed against my front side, an arse pressing against my cock, and I lie still, motionless, afraid to move an inch.
Afraid I’m going to get aroused and she’s going to wake up and think I’m doing something inappropriate.
I try to roll over—only to discover I’m already as far over on my side of the bed as I could possibly be, my roommate having rolled in my direction at some point in the middle of the night, hogging all the room.
Who knew she was a bed hog?
Never would have guessed it.
Unsure of what to do, I continue to lie still, motionless except for my breathing, and now I’m not sure where to put my hand, which I’ve had resting on my hip. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least, and I feel like a sardine stuffed in a can.
Maybe I should sleep on the sofa in the living room?
Or Georgia’s bed.
We both have to get up early anyway, and if she wakes and I’m not in bed, she isn’t going to think anything of it, like that I abandoned her in the middle of the night.
She will be none the wiser if I get up and leave so I can get sleep.
Georgia moans softly, wiggling on the bed, rolling onto her back now and throwing an arm above her head. She stays this way for a few minutes, restful.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
It’s too dark for me to see her face or watch her chest rise and fall from the motion of her breathing, but the side of her is still pressed into me and it feels good. Feels great to have someone lying beside me, actually. Definitely not something I’m used to, but it’s something I could get used to.
Perhaps there’s something to be said for having a girlfriend.
Not that I’m against having one. It’s just that I never…
Have.
A few more excruciating moments tick by, and all I can hear is the sound of my own breath in the still of the night, until Georgia rolls toward me. Softly moaning. But it’s a content moan, not a bad dream that has her tossing and turning.
Sighing.
Her arm goes out, seeking my hip, hand running along the curve of my waist. Down my side to rest there.
“Ashley,” she mutters, and I’m pretty bloody sure she’s still asleep. “You feel so good.”
So good?
I’m not doing anything but lying here!
Fuck.
I should have gotten out of bed when I had the chance to slip away.
Still could, except this time, since she’s wrapped her arm around me, surely she’d wake up.
There’s a war battling inside me now: the willpower to keep my hands off of her versus the yearning to put my hands on her skin the way her hand is on mine.
I let her snuggle into me further, loving the warm heat of her body even though I’m fucking burning up, her tits crushing my chest.
I breathe in and out then in and out again, trying to steady my pulse. Trying to make my heart rate go down so it’s not racing at one hundred miles a minute. I wonder what would happen if I actually put my arms around her too.
Would it be the worst thing in the world to hug her? After all, she is my friend. And isn’t that what friends do? Comfort each other?
Besides, she is in my bed and she is the one holding me.
Hesitantly, I bring my arm up and weave it through hers so we are actually kind of sort of hugging.
Is this how it’s done?
Or wait, are we spooning? Or were we spooning before when she was facing the opposite direction, away from me? I have no idea; I’ve never done it.
Only heard about it from my mates who love spooning because it leads to forking.
It’s a damn miracle and an exercise in patience, but I manage to drift off to sleep again with Georgia draped over me, stiffy in my boxers.
Eighteen
Georgia
“I can’t believe I’m in Las Vegas.” I’m staring out the window, gazing down at the lit-up Strip from our hotel room, the blinding lights already aglow even though it’s not dark out yet.
“Yup, it’s the stuff dreams are made of,” Ashley says sarcastically, slinging his suitcase onto a sofa at the far end of the room.
I let the curtains fall away and turn to face him. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“Me? No.” He laughs, unzipping one of his bags.
He’s brought three, and I was surprised to see he’s a bit of an over-packer—I assumed he’d bring a duffle bag or a backpack jammed with clothes, but that’s not the case.
Two checked suitcases and one carry-on, plus a backpack.
Where the hell did he think we were going, the moon for a month?
Honestly.
“It looks like Disneyworld down there,” I tell him, wanting to spin in circles but afraid he’s going to laugh at me.
“Have you been to Disneyworld?” he asks, not looking up as he riffles through his bag. He retrieves a pair of flip-flops and throws them down to the floor, slipping out of his sneakers and into the sandals.
“I haven’t.” I blush when I admit it; going to Disney feels like something I should have already done in my life. “But I want to.”
Ashley glances up. “Las Vegas, Disney—what other wonders of the world are on your bucket list?”
“Um.” My little hum of indecision is a delighted one. “Niagara Falls. The waterparks at Wisconsin Dells. Er, I’d love to see Big Ben.”
His smile seems rueful. “Those seem like very reasonable places to want to see. Easy.”
Well, easy is a relative term. It’s easy if you have the money to go gallivanting about the world to the tourist traps on my list, yeah.
Not easy if you have to count every penny and go into debt simply to get a college education and a “free” trip to Las Vegas.
I will probably regret accepting this prize because of the cost that will come later, but for now, I’m going to enjoy the view and the company.
It’s been two weeks since I slipped into his bed and fell asleep, rolling over and into his arms, which I was only vaguely aware of at the time.
I woke up alone, which didn’t surprise me; he was hesitant to have me in his bedroom to begin with. I could see it in his eyes. Was it because he wants nothing to do with me other than the occasional wet dream, or because he wants nothing to do with me, period?
Maybe he isn’t actually turned on by me.
Maybe the fantasy he had the other night was just a fluke.
We have dinner plans tonight for a steak restaurant I’ve seen on television, and I was lucky enough to borrow a few dresses from Nalla and Priya, who are around the same size as I am, albeit shorter.
I pull them out of my suitcase and walk to the closet, hanging them up.
“Ah, you’re one of those.” Ashley chuckles.
“One of what?”
“The kind of traveler who hangs up all their shit like they’re moving in.”
“I am not!” I glance into the closet where I’ve already hung up some shirts. “I don’t want them to get wrinkled.”
“You put socks and underwear in the drawers.”
“So?”
He shrugs. “You’re moving in and making yourself at home.”
“Stop making fun of me—it’s not a crime to be excited.” I’m giving him my most ferocious scowl. “We’ve been here ten minutes…don’t be a cockblocker.”
“I can’t be a cockblocker—there’s no sex involved.”
“You’re cockblocking my vacation vibe.”
“Your vacation boner.” He laughs. “I can see it from here. How can you walk with that thing between your legs?”
Whoa, whoa, whoa—hold the phone!
I look at Ashley in shock, holding a dress I was about to hang in the closet. This is the first time he’s said anything even remotely sexual—to my face at least. The jerking off doesn’t count.
I don’t even know what to say!
“I see I’ve rendered you speechless.” He’s laughing at me again, now shuffling toward the bathroom with a toiletry bag.
“You just said cock and boner—what do you expect? You’re usually the perfect gentleman.”
“Still am.” He’s in the bathroom, setting his things on the counter. “Using those words doesn’t mean I’m not the perfect gentleman. We’re on vacation and you invited me here as your friend, so I’m going to act like one of your friends.” His head pops out. “Don’t you girls talk like that?”
Uh, well yeah. “You’re not one of my girlfriends.”
It’s a not-too-subtle reminder, and I hope he hears me.
And I certainly do not want to keep him in the friend zone. Come to think of it, I don’t exactly remember how he got there in the first place, or who put who there.
It’s gotten so convoluted thanks to that freaking dare.
He pops his head out again. “Then what am I?”
“You’re…” My mouth gapes open like I’m a trout. “You.”
It isn’t the most brilliant answer, not by a long shot, and I’m not even sure what I mean by it.
“Right.”
He disappears again and my shoulders sag, having lost the opportunity to say something a bit more profound. A bit more…flirty. Something, anything to get out of this hole I’ve dug for myself.
For the next half hour, he busies himself by freshening up then giving me use of the bathroom. It has two sinks, but I need a shower in the worst way and to do my hair before we head to dinner.
Standing under the hot spray of the beautiful all-glass shower, I turn and look into the mirror above the vanity. It’s wall to wall, and I can see myself clearly through the clear stall, the steam not having risen enough to obscure my view.
Running a hand across the flat of my stomach, I run it back up again, hands cupping my breasts. Tip my head back to wet my hair.
I watch myself lather up and rinse off, something I don’t do at home. The mirror is far too high above the counter to get a good view of anything, let alone my boobs or belly or…other things.
Not gonna lie, it’s an intoxicating view, and I’m sorry to be in here by myself, imagining that Ashley would be turned on by the sight of my naked body.
Of course he would; what man isn’t turned on by naked flesh?
I towel off before stepping out. The cold tile floor and the marble walls have me shivering, so I make quick work of drying myself.
“I’m wrapping myself in a towel if you need to get in here,” I call out in case he has to pee; I don’t want to completely hog the bathroom the way I hogged his bed.
He’s reminded me of that fact no less than a dozen times.
Little scorekeeper, that one.
Tsk, tsk.
It takes me much longer to blow-dry my hair than it normally does, probably because I’m screwing around in here, using all the things provided by the hotel instead of my own stuff—the blow dryer, the fancy folded towels that have been laid out, all the styling products.
Lotions.
I make a mental note to take the tiny sewing kit and the shower cap before we check out, even though I’ll probably never use either of them. So cute though—I have to have them!
My hair gets curled.
My makeup? Minimal.
It’s hot and muggy outside on the Strip, and the last thing I want is my foundation and mascara to run because I end up sweating it off. I’ve been doing some research online and everyone says there’s so much walking in Las Vegas it doesn’t pay to wear really high heels and a lot of makeup—your feet just end up killing you and your makeup melts.
The dress I’ve chosen for tonight is already hanging on the hook behind the door, and I slide it off the hanger so I can step into it.
It belongs to Nalla.
Bright hot pink with spaghetti straps, and the neckline dips into my cleavage, no bra needed. With a wrap-style waist, the hem hits at mid-thigh.
It’s sexier than I would’ve expected to see inside her closet while I was scouring through it, and it was even more surprising that I would choose it to bring on this trip. But this is me taking a chance, me trying to do something different. And perhaps this is my attempt to make Ashley see me in a completely different way than just as his roommate and friend.
Shoes come next.
Nude wedges that belong to Priya.
This is a special trip, and I want to feel special.
Pretty.
Sexy even.
Anxiously I slide a few gold bracelets onto my left wrist and watch myself in the mirror as I fasten hoops into each of my ears, one at a time.
I’ve forgotten to put on lip gloss and sift through my travel bag for a pretty pink color. I don’t have much makeup, either, and both of my friends were kind enough to lend me some of theirs, too.
I’m hopeless.
Nervous.
Filled with excitement and anticipation—what is he going to say when I open the door and step out into our hotel room?
I’m about to find out.
Sucking in a breath, I let it out as I pull the door open and take the first few steps forward.
He’s seated on the couch, flipping through a magazine before glancing up. Sets it down, wiping both hands down the legs of his dress pants before rising.
Dress pants.
He’s changed into slacks and a pressed baby blue shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows, tattooed arms flirting with my attentive perusal.
I’m oddly flattered he made such an effort to look nice, hair combed back, stubble trimmed.
Oh god.
I bet he smells amazing.
“You look…” He pauses, searching for an adjective. “Pretty.”
/> I give a twirl, something I’ve wanted to do since we arrived, wanting to pinch myself.
“Thanks, so do you.”
So do you? Ugh.
“Ready to go?” He’s gathering up his wallet and cell and is stuffing them in his back pockets.
“Yes, just let me grab my purse.” I waste no time taking my ID and cash from one bag and putting them into a small, pink clutch—the bag that coordinates with this sexy, cute dress.
I catch Ashley watching me out of the corner of my eye and pretend not to notice, wanting him to look but still getting a knot in my stomach.
A few hours down, thirty-something more to go…
I can get through this. I can keep my hands off him. I can pretend we’re buddies.
Yup.
I do it every day. This shouldn’t be any different despite the close quarters.
The elevator ride to the lobby is quiet, like we’re two strangers riding down together, trying not to stare or make eye contact.
My fingers fiddle with the chain on this purse, wanting to stay busy.
The sidewalk is insane.
Packed.
Swarming with people.
The street? Jammed with traffic—cars and taxis and tour buses, bumper to bumper. Honking. Shouting.
Music streams from somewhere above and I glance up—a three- or four-story video plays for the entire city, promoting the artist in residence at that hotel.
Someone isn’t watching where they’re going and smashes into me; I tip, unsteady on these heels I have little practice walking on and should have left in the room.
“We have to go this way,” he shouts close to my ear, helping me right myself. “You okay?”
I nod.
“Follow me.”
Watching his strong back, muscles flexing with his every motion, I do my best to stick with him. It’s not impossible, not until we come to a landmark hotel with its famous fountain dancing out front.
Everyone stops to watch, causing congestion.
I get bumped into the back of Ashley again, crowd in front of the casino’s giant water show enormous and growing larger still now that the water is shooting up in sprays.
Tourists of every nationality are crowded here for videos and photos, elbows and shoulders knocking into us from every angle.
