Oh crap. The months.
“It’s been—a while,” I hedge.
“How long is a while?”
“How long has it been since you had sex?”
“Hmm.” Kelsey taps her finger against her pursed lips. Can I mention how gorgeous she looks after just getting off a plane? We’re all a little frazzled and I know I plan on freshening up before we go to dinner, but Kelsey looks amazing. I sort of hate her.
Okay fine, I don’t hate her. But what’s that like, looking perfect all the time? I don’t have a clue.
“A month,” she finally says. “It’s been a month.”
“With who?”
“No one important.”
“You have to tell me.”
“He’s some rando I met at a bar.”
“Kelsey! What in the world? You should never do that!”
“I know him, don’t worry. We used to work together at Wilder.”
“Oh, that’s interesting,” I say. “Tell me his name.”
She doesn’t appear fazed by my questioning at all. “No way. You’ll make a big deal out of nothing. We were just looking to scratch each other’s itch, that’s it.”
I wish I could view sex as casually as Kelsey. Stella is the same way. Me? I get all weirdly emotional when it comes to getting naked in front of a guy. Like it’s this giant, momentous thing. Which it is, am I right?
Not according to Kelsey. Or Stella. Well, Stella has changed her tune now that she’s with Carter. Oh, they are disgustingly in love. I never thought I’d see Stella act that way, but the way she looks at him…it’s straight out of a romance novel.
Once Kelsey leaves my room, I grab my phone and start texting Mitch. I told him when I’d landed and he asked that I text him when I arrived at the hotel. I take a photo of my view out the window along with a short message.
I’m here!
I’m hanging up the dresses I brought with me when my text notification sounds.
Glad you made it safely. Did you still want to meet up?
Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I stare at my phone screen. I want to meet up. Very, very badly. We’re supposed to go out to dinner together tonight at the restaurant here in the hotel, but after I think I’m going to ditch my friends.
That sounds shitty, right? Like I’m a bad friend who doesn’t want to hang out with the bachelorette party. But they’re all encouraging me to do this. Every single one of them, even Caroline. I think they want to meet Mitch too, which I don’t have a problem with.
But I want to meet him first. Spend time with him alone, get to know him in person before I bring him around my friends.
I definitely want to meet up, I tell him. We’re going to dinner together tonight, so maybe after we’re done you can come here to the hotel?
He responds quickly. Sure. Text me later when you think you’ll be done with dinner.
Our reservation is at 7:30, I tell him.
Great. Text me when you’re ready. Can’t wait to see you.
I press my lips together, trying to hold back the smile that wants to break free. I can’t wait to see him either. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this. Meeting a man I don’t really know in Las Vegas—Sin City—for the weekend. I sort of know him, I guess.
Not really.
He’s a complete stranger. I have no idea what I could be getting myself into here. And while it’s exciting to think about, it’s also kind of…
Scary. I can’t lie.
Seeing Mitch, spending time with him this weekend, means I will get to know him. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to tell if he’s my kind of guy or not within the first ten minutes of being with him. Maybe sooner. We either connect or we don’t, right? Isn’t that how all of this works?
What’s pitiful is I’m questioning myself on how this works, like I don’t know. I sort of don’t know.
But maybe. Just maybe…
I’ll figure this dating thing out.
“Do you want another drink?” Sarah turns away from the server to face me with an expectant expression on her face.
“Sure,” I say with a nod, smiling up at the handsome waiter who’s gathering up our empty glasses. “I’ll take another one of these.” I wave my hand at the half-full drink still sitting in front of me.
Once he’s gone, I grab my glass and take another sip, making a face as the alcohol slides down my throat, warming my stomach. Whoever is at the bar tonight is making these cocktails extra strong, not that I’m complaining too much. I need liquid courage for my meeting with Mitch later tonight.
We’re almost done with dinner, and I’m starting to get nervous. We went to the most upscale restaurant at the hotel, where Alex had made a reservation for us. We sat at a round table smack dab in the center of the room, our every need taken care of by the attentive waitstaff. It’s like Alex pulled out all the stops for his future wife’s bachelorette weekend, and I know she’s feeling special. Heck, I’m feeling special, and it’s not even my weekend.
The food was delicious—and it was on the house. All of us talked and laughed, sharing stories about Caroline, focusing all of our attention on her. She basked in it, and the fun stuff isn’t even happening until tomorrow night, when the actual bachelorette party is scheduled to go down.
I can’t wait.
“Hey, I have a question,” Caroline says after the server dropped off our fresh drinks. “What’s going on with you tonight, Eleanor?”
I rest my hand against my chest, going for shocked. “What do you mean?”
“I hear you’re meeting your new ‘friend’.” Caroline smiles.
“Magic Mitch,” Kelsey adds, making them laugh.
Well, I don’t laugh. I glare at her, though my glare feels more comical than anything else. Giving into the giggles, I reach for my new drink and take a sip from the tiny straw. “Don’t call him that.”
“Why exactly are you calling him that?” Candice asks.
Kelsey tells her the entire story about thinking Mitch might be a stripper and how I confessed to her that I got Channing Tatum vibes from him. That’s when Kelsey came up with his new nickname. I sort of hate it.
But then again, I sort of secretly love it too.
“He promised he’s not a stripper,” I say once the laughter dies.
“That’s unfortunate,” Candice says, her gaze meeting mine. I’m sure I’m giving her a look because she throws her hands up. “What’s the big deal? This is just some Vegas fling. So what if he’s a stripper.”
“Would you have a fling with a stripper?” I ask her. Really, I’m asking the entire table.
They all appear uncomfortable by my question, which is exactly my point.
“That’s what I thought,” I say as they remain quiet. “He’s not a stripper. He’s an athletic trainer for professional athletes.”
“Really? Like, what athletes?” Stella asks.
“He’s not allowed to say. They made him sign an NDA.”
“Uh huh,” says Sarah.
I ignore her doubtful tone. “I believe him.”
“Are you sure you want to meet this guy on your own?” This is from Caroline, who looks genuinely concerned. “Maybe you should take one of us with you.”