I dropped my bags and moved to the giant windows. Tall buildings, city lights, and mountains lined the horizon. I wanted to encapsulate my emotions and remember the moment forever.
The city drew me in, and called my name as if I were meant to be there, a divine intervention that patiently waited for each piece of the puzzle to be placed. As I stared at my surroundings, I knew that moving to Vegas was the right choice.
After staring at the pastures of pavement for god knows how long, I unpacked my clothes, and placed them in the dresser drawers. I took my phone charger out of the side pocket of my suitcase and plugged my phone in next to the bed. The whole drive, I refused to answer although I could hear ringing and dinging until it finally died. Even once settled, I didn't have the energy to look at the calls and texts.
When I entered the bathroom, I didn't expect a separate tub and shower, shiny tile floors, or honeysuckle-scented bubble bath. The sweet scent reminded me of summer, sugar, and sunshine. Two capfuls would do the job.
As soon as I turned on the water, it instantly became steamy hot. Little rainbow-colored bubbles hugged the side of the fiery, sweet water, and I could not get out of my clothes fast enough. I practically ripped them off. Water, warm and comforting, relaxed my muscles. Steam filled the bathroom, causing the mirror to fog. I leaned my back against the jets and closed my eyes. Slowly, my body gave in, and my muscles turned to gelatin.
I grabbed the little bottle of honeysuckle body wash and the shower pouf, and lightly rubbed up and down my arms, my legs, and in between. I let go of the fluffy sponge, positioned my arms on the edge, and sunk deeper into the tub.
Although my skin had a hint of pink from the hotness and my fingers wrinkled from the amount of time I lingered in the tub, I refused to get out.
My breathing slowed, and before I fell asleep the bathroom door creaked opened.
I tried to cover my naked body, but not before the man in a designer black suit got an eye full.
His eyes, the color of grass, met mine.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss," he said with a British accent, surprised.
"Get out!" I yelled and threw the body wash. He ducked as the bottle flew inches past his head. Damn, if my hands weren't wet, I would have nailed him. My aim was usually impeccable.
"I'm sorry!" he said, and closed the door, dodging a little plastic bottle to the face. It rolled to the floor.
"What the hell? Get out!" I screamed back.
Anger filled me. I struggled out of the bathtub, splashing water onto the tile, and grabbed the fluffy cotton towel before wrapping it around my sopping wet body. I twisted my hair in a tight, wet bun, put on some jogging pants, and slipped on an old, worn T-shirt. Forget wearing a bra and panties, a manager would hear from me immediately. There's nothing like a pissed off Texan on a mission.
I stormed to the elevator. I could have taken the stairs, but I'd rather my anger be boiling over by the time I made it to the lobby. The mirrors in the elevator showed every sin. My nipples were hard, and I could see straight through my white shirt.
Out of all colors to choose.
For a second, I thought about going upstairs and changing, but instead, I crossed my arms to hide my body. The last thing I needed was someone gawking at the girls. Bringing attention to myself was never something I wanted, and I felt so exposed.
I stormed toward the counter where Mr. Eye-full-in-a-nice-suit coincidentally stood. He complained to the woman at the front desk, and I overheard bits and pieces of the conversation as I waited behind the "wait-here" sign.
"No… Yes, there was a woman in that particular room… You must have made a mistake and double booked the room… I understand you're the manager. Do you know who I am?"
"Yes, sir. You're Finnley Felton. I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience, and we hope this incident does not discourage your future stays. We will be upgrading you to a suite, and can guarantee this will not happen again," the overly happy woman said.
She handed him a new key, and he rudely ripped it from her hand. As he turned, he made direct eye contact with me, and I cowered. I had only been in Vegas for approximately an hour and a stranger had already seen me fully naked.
Thank god he is a stranger and I will never have to see him again.
"And here is the young woman I walked in on," Mr. Felton said.
With a voice as sweet as candy, he said, "I do apologize, Miss."
Little specks of light brown sprinkled the inside of his irises. His green sparkled like emeralds. At a closer inspection of his face, I realized he wasn't much older than me, mid-twenties—early thirties, maybe. I opened my mouth to reply, but he was gone before I could say a word.
The woman at the counter would hear an earful from me.
"Do you have any idea what just happened to me?" I said.
"Yes, Ms. Downs, and I would like to apologize for any inconvenience this mishap has brought to you. In return, we will be compensating your room for the next two nights. Also, feel free to order anything via room service."
"Do you think this takes back the fact that he saw me completely naked?"
"Oh."
The woman didn't know what I experienced.
"Ms. Downs. I am very sorry for the inconvenience. Is there anything I can do to rectify the situation?"
"Actually, I would like a bottle of wine," I said, matter-of-factly.
"I will have room service deliver it right away," she said.
I walked away without thanking the woman. My mother had taught me better manners, but at that moment, I didn't care.
Mindlessly, I punched seventeen on the elevator and within a blink I was at my room. Outside of my door stood a woman with a bottle of wine, and two glasses on a silver platter. Bitchiness worked, and it felt good.
Once inside, I sat the platter on the dresser and changed into my bra and panties. After pouring myself a glass of wine, I pulled the chair up to the window, rested my feet on the little ledge, and soaked in the city lights.
This is what a queen must feel like.
Tonight, I will get sloppy drunk. First time for everything.
I tasted wine at a friend's wedding, but after a glass, the desire to drink vanished. But the wine hadn't been expensive and sweet, or cranberry like the kind I had in my hand.
Without another thought, I picked up the bottle and drank straight from the top. I didn't want to be responsible. I wanted to let loose, relax, and pretend I was important.
The most important woman in the Bellagio.
Hell, if I were pretending, I wanted to be the most important woman in all of Vegas.
My head swam as the alcohol moved through my bloodstream, making everything seem hot. Then my face went tingly, and I had to pee.
As I stood, I slightly lost my balance and placed my hand on the window to steady me. The cool glass felt nice on my palm.
I raised the bottle toward the city streets and the urge to be wild without worry or care overcame me. But that wasn't me, must have been the alcohol talking.
"Fuck it!" I said, aloud.
Tonight, I would drink myself drunk. I had a sexy man see me naked and in front of the entire city of Vegas, I stood confidently in my bra and panties.
I lived on the edge.
Well, the edge for me.
Three
I woke with a headache from hell.
Stupid-ass wine. Stupid-ass Jennifer.
As I walked past the bottle, I picked it up. Bone dry. I had drank the entire bottle and passed out.
Hangovers sucked royally, and the queen needed coffee.
I stood and shut the curtains because my eyes were just a little too sensitive to light. Gah.