“Well, you might want to try to acclimate,” Samantha snarks. “We both know you were always headed there.”
I look up and down the valet area for the Uber pickup, squinting as I say, “Too bright. Need glasses. Jesus, this is assault. The sun should be charged with first-degree battery.”
I drop my head, eyes locked on my fist—the one clutched around the fabric of my dress.
Fuck it. Be free.
My entire stomach springs into view as I let go before fumbling through my bag for my sunglasses and slap them on my face.
“Sooo,” Sam breathes. “What’s the plan? I mean…you’re getting this shit annulled, right? Even if he is Crew Matthews.”
“Duh? Like I care who he is,” I shoot out incredulously. “I don’t even know anything about football. You know that. I left him all my info. When he wakes up, we can take care of it. The great thing about Vegas is you can get married and divorced on the same day. Everyone knows that.”
She ignores the important part, blurting out, “Hold up. You snuck out? Whyyyy?”
“Shut up.”
No way. I’m not talking about it. She’s just going to probe me for information until I admit I woke up in a T-shirt that said I’d hit that. That my kitty requires an ice pack as well as underwear—which I still don’t have—and that there’s still enough red on my cheeks to force an admission of blushing.
My nose scrunches as I lift my hair off the back of my neck.
“Sami, I can feel the hot air in the back of my throat every time I speak. It’s like I’m swallowing the sun.” I’m trying to sound serious but failing as I add, “I just can’t answer any more questions right now.”
A loud and far-too-enthusiastic “Eleanor” makes my shoulders jump. She’s like a fucking dog with a bone. Shit.
“Eleanor! You cannot drop tiny little bombs like that. I want to know everything. Literally, from the beginning. Why is my not-even-remotely-shy sister suddenly shy? Dish. Do you have a crush on your future ex-husband? And if you don’t tell me, I’ll call your ex and tell him you slept with his twin…before you guys broke up…and on purpose.”
I suck in all the fucking hot air, gasping again. Because while Sami’s grasping at straws, she’s unknowingly right on target. Sometimes you gotta run a little product comparison.
And those twins were definitely not identical. Unless it’s measured in the ability to find my clit because then, they were the blind leading the fucking blind.
“You are a demon spawn,” I spit, playing along. “And one day, I’ll find your real family and have you returned.”
She chuckles like the witch she is. But we both know that eventually I was going to tell her everything. Because that’s us. Not all sisters can be this cool, but someone has to set the standard.
“Fine,” I hiss, giving in as I look at the valet, mouthing, Uber pickup.
He points to an empty line sectioned off by red velvet ropes. So, I traipse over as I speak, seeing my ride pull up.
“I have to start from the beginning. So don’t interrupt. Pretend you’re choking on dick…we both know you’re an expert at that.”
two
“Let’s get slutty, buddy.”
eleanor, yesterday
“It’s open,” I yell over my shoulder, zipping the last item into my suitcase.
The door swings open as Millie bursts into my apartment. She’s feral, holding up a bottle of pink champagne in one hand and a stack of ones in the other.
“Vegas, baby,” she shouts, shaking her hips.
“Whooooo,” I yell back, arms lifting in the air as I do a little dance.
We deserve this. We’ve both been busting our asses at the salon we work at, each of us taking on extra clients, working with zero days off to save for our future salon and spa. But even boss bitches need a weekend off. And there’s nothing better than a trip to Sin fucking City.
Laughter spills out from both of us as she sashays toward me, holding out the bottle.
“Pre-party is now commencing, bitch. Get the cups.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I’m already moving quickly, walking into the kitchen of my apartment before I grab two glasses and tossing my words over my shoulder.
“The Uber will be here in fifteen minutes, so we’re shooting the champs and then maintaining until we get off the plane. Because I am not missing the best fucking weekend we’re ever having because we’re too drunk to drive a rental car.”
“Deal.” She laughs.
I set the mismatched glasses in front of me on the counter. She’s smiling, manhandling the cork as I scrunch my face, anticipating the thing that makes me squeal.
The pop sounds, my shoulders jump, and Millie laughs as the bubbles cascade over the rim.
“Oh shit,” I breathe out, tossing her a kitchen towel.
“For you…” she silly sings, filling my cup, uncaring of the mess before she adds, “And for me.”
We lock eyes as she places the Mo?t bottle on the counter and picks up her glass for a toast. But I go first.
“To meeting famous DJs who fly you out for lavish Fourth of July weekends and let you bring a plus-one.”
There are wingmen, and then there’s my Millie Boobie Brown, as I affectionately call her. She always seems to stumble into the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow—aka a hot dude—every single time she tries to ensure I get lucky.
Millie winks and raises her glass even higher, adding her own toast.
“Here’s to the best weekend of our lives, Eleanor Roosevelt. Because what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Let’s get slutty, buddy.”
We’re standing on the cracked pavement between the Strip and downtown in front of a shitty pink motel with a half-lit no vacancy sign and neon palm tree. And apparently, whose biggest flex is that a celebrity from the fifties slept there once.
The minute we drove up in the rental car, we both knew this had to be a mistake. And after meeting the smarmy check-in manager in the claustrophobia-inducing lobby, we were further validated.
I blink twice more, staring over at a green half-filled pool before my head turns. My eyes locked on Millie’s profile.
“This doesn’t look like the pictures.”
She bites her lip, her brows almost touching her forehead.
“That’s an understatement.”
“Millie Rock…this place—” My duffel lifts in the air as I swing my arm, motioning toward the fucking Bates Motel. “This is not a hotel with an H. It’s a motel with a fucking M for murder. I’m pretty sure, based on the smell, there’s a fucking dead body in one of these rooms.”
“Yeah,” she breathes out as she turns to look at me, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I should message the girl I booked it with. This can’t be right—”
My eyes pop open as I cut her off. “You booked through a travel agent? Amazing. Call them. They can fix this.”
A car horn honks, drawing my attention to the street, the one we’re literally standing next to on the sidewalk that’s littered with last night’s bottles and old cigarettes.
A guy leans out his car’s window and yells, “Ten bucks,” as he makes lewd gestures with his tongue.