8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Ali
Ten months later
“Rise and Shine, babe, it’s bachelorette time,” I chime, flinging open the drapes in Ria and Jack’s bedroom.
“What the hell,” a groggy sounding Jack mumbles from under the sheets.
“You too, action man. You have a flight to catch.”
“Ali, what time is it?” Ria yawns.
“5.30 am, but I want to get there early. Gabby is meeting us at the airport with the others, I've been put in charge of dragging your cute ass out of bed and getting you ready.”
“How did you even get in here?” Jack grumbles, burying his head into the pillow.
“I flirted with Fred on the door. Nice guy, gave me his spare key card. Now up.”
“Errrggghhhh, okay, just one more minute.” Ria pulls the sheet over her head and groans.
“Maria, soon to be Maria Lawson don't make me drag that sheet off you, I know you're buck naked under there. I've seen it once and I don’t mind if I have to see it again.”
“When did you see her naked?” Jack’s interest is obviously piqued, and he pokes his head out from under the sheet.
“Story for another day, action man. Now we've got things to do, places to be,” I shout obnoxiously, clapping my hands.
“I'll get the coffee brewing. You've got five minutes to do what you got to do, and we are leaving, naked or not.”
The Vegas heat hits us as we step out of the airport and into the waiting limo. If anyone deserves a weekend full of laughter, pampering, and the finer things in life, it's Ria.
We pile into the white stretch limo. Gabby and I scoot down to the end, so we are near the driver's screen, followed by Ria, Kate, and Harley, the two girls Ria worked with at the club that Jack owns before they got together. Over the past year, we've all grown really close.
I've gone for the tacky Vegas bachelorette for the airport. We are in t-shirts with ‘Team Bride’ on the back and Ria has a white one with ‘Bride to Be’ on the back and we’re making her wear a white veil on her head.
I take the champagne that’s sitting in the ice bucket and pop it; the bubbles exploding onto the floor of the limo as we all cheer. I fill everyone's glasses and we raise them.
“A toast to love, laughter, and happily ever after,” I shout over the Beyonce track that booms through the limo speakers.
We pull up to Caesar's Palace a short time later and check in. Jack has spared no expense this weekend for her. He told me to book whatever, and he would foot the bill, so I did just that.
We are shown up to our suite, which is already decorated for the bachelorette. White and gold balloons cover the ceiling in the entryway and a banner that reads, ‘Same penis forever’ hangs across the wall above a table that has personalized totes bags for each of us that I made sure had swimwear, sashes for tonight's antics, and of course, a hangover kit.
“Really, with the banner?” Ria snorts.
“It's Vegas, baby. Absolutely.” She pulls me in for a hug and squeezes me tight.
“It’s perfect, thank you.”
“You deserve it, babe. It’s so good to see you so happy.”
Six hours later, after drinks by the pool in a private cabana, a short nap, room service, and the suite being invaded by the glam squad I hired, we are all looking fierce and ready to hit the Las Vegas strip.
Each of us is in variations of gold dresses, and Ria is in a little white strapless number. I got everyone hot pink sashes with different words on them and mine says ‘bad influence’ on one side and ‘chief bridesmaid’ on the other.
We head to the hotel's club Omnia after dinner and cocktails on the strip and the atmosphere is electric. We thankfully have a VIP booth which is so big it could be considered a room. It has large brown leather couches, two small tables and luckily has enough space for us to dance in because it is packed in here.
“Oh, my god, this place is amazing,” Harley squeals.
“I can’t believe we are here,” Kate says, throwing back her Cosmo.
My kinda girl.
The music vibrates through the club, and we are all dancing in our private booth in the VIP area, swaying to the music. My dress is riding up under my ass, but I don't care, I'm too lost in the music. I lock eyes with a hot guy in a dark suit in the booth next to us. He's not stopped staring at me all night and I think I might want to find out his name.
The drinks have been flowing and our personal host brings over a huge bucket of champagne with sparklers and we all scream and holler in excitement.
God, it feels good to let my hair down. Work has been crazy, and although I don't want to admit it, getting over my one night with Harry was harder than I thought. I’ve really been off my A-game ever since. Not many men have caught my eye since our encounter, and it makes me hate the man even more. I refuse to let him ruin the one good thing I had in my life: casual sex.
I decide after this song I'm going to go chat with the hot guy.
“I love you girls, soooo much,” Ria shouts over the music, her speech slightly slurred.
“We love you too,” Gabby and I screech in unison as we all hug. Kate and Harley rush over to join in on the hug and we all jump and down when the music changes and our favorite song by Neyo plays. We part and dance to the beat and a light tap on my shoulder has me turning my head to see our host, holding a tray with a white drink in a large glass. I step away from the girls so I can speak to them. “Is everything okay?” I ask.
“This is for you, miss.”
I furrow my brows. “I didn't order a drink,” I reply, shaking my head. The host raises his voice to be heard over the thumping music. “The drink, which I have been instructed to tell you is called a screaming orgasm, is from the gentleman over there.”
Excitement flutters through my stomach, hoping it’s from the hot suit guy but, I look over, but I don't see him anymore.
“No miss, that gentleman over there.” I follow the direction of his pointed finger to the booth he's pointing at, where I see a group of familiar-looking men.
I see him instantly. Big, midnight blue eyes, a little more of a beard along his perfectly defined jaw, and in a dark shirt, grinning like the cat that got the cream. He raises his drink which looks the same as the one he sent to me, giving me a wink that would have most women dropping their panties.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumble.
Harry fucking Walker.