Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Daphne
W e go straight from the air-conditioned lobby to the stretch limo waiting at the valet. The car isn't all that different from the casino, really.
It attempts to project an aura of fun and sophistication, but it comes across as a teenager trying too hard to have a good time. Purple lights, throbbing music, expensive bottles of cheap sparkling wine.
It's too loud to hear myself think. Or to hear the conversation happening around the grooms.
Somehow, I end up next to Jackson, my bare thigh pressed against his slacks, the soft linen fabric the perfect friction against my skin.
Damon shoots me a go for it look.
Cassie sends her brother a mental message I can't explain. Is it you should also go for it . Or don't even think about it .
No.
I don't have time to consider it. Zack starts a game of Never Have I Ever. It's all aimed at taking down the grooms.
Never Have I Ever fallen for a cute Japanese guy.
Never Have I Ever told my parents I met my fiancé at the library when I met him on Tinder.
Never Have I Ever felt the sort of love that inspires people to write sonnets.
He and Laurel are surprisingly romantic about the whole thing.
By the time it's almost my turn, we're at Freemont, and everyone is sipping bad, cheap champagne.
I raise my glass to toast to love, down the terrible sparkling wine in two gulps, and follow the crew out of the limo.
Big parties aren't my scene. Any parties, really. I prefer one-on-one. But there's a certain anonymity to a crowd.
With an instigator like Zack leading the charge, I can easily fade into the background. I can easily check out and think about other things.
Like when I'll be alone with Jackson.
With the sun down, the air is cooler. The vibe downtown is the same, really. There's an old-school grime that feels both authentic and fake.
Here, the tackiness is on purpose. Here, the tacky light shows and big neon signs are symbols of the Las Vegas that once stood for sleaze, not an attempt to look classy.
There's a giant LED dome with a light show set to The Doors. People zip line between souvenir carts. Instead of walking around with plastic Eiffel Towers or Empire State Buildings, they sip their slushees from plain cups.
Yes, everything still smells like smoke and sweat and stale air, but it's honest about it.
Disneyland for people who think dirty martinis are a clever order at the bar. Only cheap.
After half an hour of taking in the atmosphere, we head to a popular club, one in the back of a casino.
Half is inside, half is outside, all of it is rainbow string lights, potted palm trees, cheap liquor, and excess.
No one is here to show off their designer outfits.
Everyone is here to drink and dance the night away. People sip punch and beer from red Solo cups, slam shots at the bar, laugh as they pour cheap sparkling wine into plastic champagne flutes.
We don't go straight to the bar.
Instead, we dance.
Zack does, in fact, dance with Kenji, and Laurel with Nathan, and the rest I don't see. Because Jackson offers his hand, and then I can only see him.
And when he pulls me closer, I can only feel him.
His hard, warm body against mine. The scent of his citrus shampoo.
He holds me there for a moment, then he releases me, and we move toward the dance floor. Not that it's a specific floor. More a section of the concrete outside. And people aren't dancing really. They're throbbing in time with the music, bopping their head, or swaying or grinding.
There's no control or form or grace.
Only the pure sensation of music and movement.
"Do you know how to do anything but waltz?" I whisper-yell in his ear.
He nods and brings his hands to my hips.
For a song, we stay there, swaying together, close, but not close enough.
I want to move toward him, but something stops me. A hesitation. A fear. The logic that only comes with sobriety.
Maybe this is a bad idea.
Maybe I can't play the games he plays.
I tried BDSM once. I made an account on a dating app, but everyone I met went straight to discussing sex, and they made it sound so strange and sterile. Impersonal.
I still went for it. I met a guy with a taste for restraints. I went on two dates. I went home with him.
But then he offered to tie me up, and I couldn't do it. Even though he was respectful and safe at every turn, I didn't trust him. I didn't want to experience this with him.
I'm not a romantic. I don't need to love the people I fuck. But I need to like them. I need to trust them.
And there was no way I could trust a near stranger.
But, at the moment, I see the logic in semi-anonymous kinky sex.
With Jackson, there's so much at stake. My closest friendship. My family. My relationship with him too.
What if I'm not what he wants?
What if he's not what I need?
This just might ruin everything.
Then he pulls me closer, and I forget all those concerns. He feels so good against me.
What else could possibly matter?
I wrap my arms around Jackson's shoulders, and I move in time with the music.
He moves with me, pressing his hips to mine.
Slowly, my body melts into his, my thighs around his leg, my chest against his chest, my cheek against his cheek, my hands against his skin.
It is easier not looking at him.
I don't have to think about what it means or who can see.
I close my eyes and let the beat flow through my body.
I didn't inherit my father's talent. I can't hum a melody or keep time, but I still love the feeling of music flowing through my veins. I love the way it syncs up with my heartbeat, breath, movements. I love the way it overtakes me.
It's visceral, and spiritual, and intellectual.
The perfect mix of body, soul, mind.
It sends calm racing through my veins. Calm and excitement. How is that possible? Some mix of neurotransmitters. The focus. The sense of touch, of Jackson and me in sync.
Human beings are social animals.
We feel good when we connect. And we want to connect physically. Through touch. Through movement.
There's new research. Shared physical experiences bond us. That's part of why sex is so important to relationships.
Why it's so hard to fuck without feelings.
For a few songs, we melt into each other in perfect harmony.
My inhibitions dissolve. It's only me and the music and Jackson Steele.
I'm not sure how much time passes. It might be ten minutes. It might be two hours. I'm only aware of a tap on my shoulder and Jackson's body leaving mine.
Zack.
Of course.
He rounds us up and heads to the bar.
It's a little quieter here. Quiet enough to talk.
"The grooms are getting tired." Zack shakes his head the tragedy . "Leaving for the same reason Cassie and Damon are." Zack hails the bartender and orders a round of shots for everyone, minus Damon.
And Cassie.
She insists she wants to go home mostly sober.
"Aren't we a little old for this?" Jackson asks.
Zack shakes his head. "You really do hate fun, don't you?" He turns as the bartender pours a round of shots. "I asked for your favorite thing. A blow job." He winks at Kenji. "The traditional way to drink these is with your hands behind your back. I won't ask everyone to do that. But you two… I hear you have plenty of practice." He winks again.
The grooms look at each other with that perfect mix of shamelessness and love.
I'm not sure how the bartender creates almost a dozen blow jobs so quickly. The shot is a mix of almond and cream liqueur topped with whipped cream. I guess the dollop of white semi-solid is vaguely reminiscent of semen.
The grooms go first, but instead of putting their hands behind their backs, they lock hands and they bring their bodies to the bar.
It's the most romantic, tacky shot I've ever seen.
One body shot was enough for me. I play along, but I drink this one the normal way. I toast and I swallow.
Almond, cream, artificial flavor, and sugar. Closer to an almond-flavored latte than fellatio, but hey, it's a bachelor party, not a sex research study.
"All right, kids, we're going to let these two go. But first, I want everyone in the know to rate the shot. How did it match your experience. Go." He looks to the grooms.
Kenji laughs. "Nothing could match you, baby."
"You either." Nathan pulls his fiancé into a tight embrace. A soft kiss at first. Then a slow, sloppy one.
Cassie laughs. "You know, if you didn't try so hard to be outrageous at all times, it would be more believable."
"I don't hear a rating," Zack says.
She shrugs. "Why do we fuss over fellatio and not cunnilingus?"
She shoots her boyfriend a can you believe this look, but he's not as, uh, evolved as she'd like to believe.
He fails to hide his interest in the mental image of her with another woman.
Cassie came out as bisexual a billion years ago. No one was surprised—the way she talked about Shirley Manson was a dead giveaway—and everyone was supportive. But most of the guys we knew, guys our age, said some stupid shit.
I never heard my brother say anything idiotic about it, but I heard his friends talking about how much they wanted to see Cassie making out like she was in a girl-on-girl porno. There was a year when they kept daring her to kiss women like there was something edgy about that idea.
Men are so stupid sometimes.
But never Jackson.
"Okay, kids, that's it for me." Cassie waves goodbye. "I've got to—"
"Enjoy your next blow job somewhere private," Kenji says. "No wait. That's my plan." He hugs Cassie goodbye.
She, Damon, and both grooms trade hugs with the group.
Cassie leaves with smart parting words. "If Zack gives you too much trouble, call me, okay?"
Everyone nods.
But then… if the grooms are leaving, isn't the bachelor party over?
"Should we get out of here?" I ask.
"After one thing," Zack says. "I heard you and Damon talking."
How the fuck did he hear that? And how much did he hear?
Zack notices my blush and smiles. "And, well, the idea you and J had is brilliant. Truth or dare. One round. Then we leave."
"Right here?" Laurel asks. "Really?"
"Would you rather use the limo?" Zack asks.
"Aren't they taking it back?" Laurel asks.
"Back?" Zack laughs. "They're going to a sex club."
"The grooms?" Laurel asks. "That's a fun bachelor party activity. Why didn't they invite us?" She pouts.
"No. Cass and Damon." He laughs. "She left the page up on her phone."
When the fuck did Zack get so savvy?
He sees—and knows—too much.
I guess he finally hit Laurel's limit. This time, her nose scrunches.
Zack smiles. Victory. He's the most disgusting person here. Go him. "So you want to play in the limo?" he asks.
"I'm going to hit the hay," Rome says.
Laurel smiles, triumphant for some reason. "Okay, Let's play on the way back to the hotel. That's enough time for one round, yeah?"
Jackson looks to me and raises a brow.
I'm not sure what he's asking. Only that my answer is yes. I nod and follow Zack out of the club, through Freemont Street, around the corner, down two streets.
We pile into the oversized limo like kids on our way to prom.
And just like kids on our way to prom, we settle in for an epic game of truth or dare.
Zack, of course, comes out swinging. He volunteers to go first, and he looks at me, and he says, "Daphne Webb. Truth or dare?"
"Dare," I answer instinctively.
And in the ultimate teenager move, he says, "I dare you to kiss Jackson."