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“So that’s a yes? We couldn’t imagine our wedding without her.”
“Of course. Thank you both so much.”
“No, thank you for being you, Lily. And thank you for dressing up as a butterfly. You win the costume of the night.”
“No way. There are some pretty incredible costumes out there.” My eyes scan the crowd of our impeccably dressed friends, taking in the various villains, angels, princesses, and other original ideas until I settle back on Olivia and Hunt.
“That may be true, but there is none quite as meaningful as yours given how we became friends. I really hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am. I promise.”
I’m going to shake off all my friends’ concerns if it’s the last thing I do tonight. I’m here until the end.
Chapter Four
LILY
Mask in hand, I stumble up to my room, my mind already conjuring enticing images of my comfortable bed. Nine p.m. is a late night for me. It’s now almost two and I’m absolutely delirious. After Olivia’s “costume of the night” comment, another wave of confidence ran through me. Which in hindsight, may have been the idea behind the comment. Either way, I don’t think I’ve ever had as much fun as I did this evening.
Swiping my card against the door, I bounce on my toes as I wait for the little ding to signal it’s unlocked, and frown when nothing happens.
Frantically swiping a second and third time, my heart races in panic until my gaze drops to the card in my hand, and I burst out laughing. Who hands over a business card to someone they want to have random sex with? Michael McCain, that’s who.
I study the details on the card. Chief Financial Officer at Chifflies Dairy. The only person on the planet that still says, “beep me,” and the reason I’m presently unable to get inside my room. His business card is not going to open my door.
Where the hell is my key?
Assuming Henley’s already inside, I lift my hand to knock, only holding off when a male grunt echoes from inside. My eyes widen as I gasp. Am I on the wrong floor?
I step back and scan my surroundings as a thought hits me and I burst out laughing again, covering my mouth with my hand. Henley’s getting lucky.
Good for her.
Not so good for me.
I search my bra again, hoping to find my keycard where I thought I’d cleverly stowed it, but all I find are my boobs. Dammit.
Grabbing my phone, which is thankfully still nestled inside the other cup of my skintight corset, I send off a message to Henley and make my way back toward the casino. I’d rather sit somewhere that’s comfortable than hover like a stalker, waiting for Henley’s hookup to leave.
For the early hours of the morning, the bar closest to my room is still bustling with people, and the idea of that calms me.
The thought of being alone was weighing on my mind, but I shouldn’t have worried. After all, most of Vegas is open twenty-four seven. If not all of it.
I walk slowly through the lavish prohibition-style room and soak up the rich atmosphere. It gives off similar vibes to the club we were in, only the club felt more risqué, as though I was part of a secret society.
This is the first time I’ve been to Vegas, and I’ve got to admit, I’m a little in awe of every new room I walk into. There’s a freaking canal running through our hotel, for God’s sake. A canal!
God, maybe I’m sheltered.
After all, it's the first time I’ve been out in general, in years. Not since Henley forced me to relax the first time my parents looked after Ava for the night.
And that didn’t go well. I spent the entire evening stressing, drank myself stupid, and could barely dance by eight p.m. Safe to say I was not on anyone’s list of women to take home that night. I even stopped Henley from hooking up when she was forced to get my drunk ass to bed. Since then, we’ve still had fun, but it revolves around our time spent at the bookstore or Friday movie and pizza nights.
More often than not, we’re curled up on my couch in pajamas, laughing over a glass of wine with Ava sleeping in the next room, or sitting on the back patio sipping cranberry vodkas and talking all night while Ava’s at her dad’s. In other words, the polar opposite of how my night has played out.
Someone gets up from their seat by the candlelit bar, and I rush through the crowd, sitting down loudly, a relieved sigh escaping my lips as my feet leave the floor.
Another thing I don’t do…four-inch stiletto heels. Why I thought that was a good idea is beyond me. That may not be high for some people, but I live in sneakers or chunky-heeled boots. It’s been a long time since I wore any kind of stiletto.
