Chapter 11
Hailey
Walking Las Vegas Boulevard is like entering a completely different planet.
More specifically, a planet positioned right next to the sun, because even at midnight, it is unbearably hot and dry.
We are in the desert, after all. Showgirls in high-heeled boots, lingerie and feathery wings strut the strip, trying to summon passersby for photographs.
The sidewalks are packed with people from all over the world enjoying their weekend of fun and freedom, carrying their cans of beer and plastic yard sticks full of fruity, frozen cocktails, hopping from hotel to hotel, casino to casino, club to club.
It’s overwhelming just how much choice there is.
Every hotel is enormous. We are in the center of the strip, with over a mile of sprawling resorts to the south and another mile of resorts to the north.
The neon lights travel on forever, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to gawk at first. The contemporary, glassy design of the Cosmopolitan behind me, the giant Eiffel Tower replica cemented into the side of the Paris hotel across the boulevard, the looming Roman architecture of Caesar’s Palace .
. . I suddenly feel panicked that we’re only here for three nights, and it’s going to be impossible to see everything.
On paper, Las Vegas sounds like hell on earth for someone like me, who much prefers a quiet night in rewatching all of my comfort shows, tweaking my monthly budget spreadsheet, and tinkering with my manuscript.
But like Theo, I am curious to see what Vegas offers other than its world-renowned nightlife.
We are drawing a lot of attention to ourselves, what with being handcuffed together in these fluffy, pink handcuffs. A group of Irishmen celebrating a birthday passes us dressed in leprechaun outfits. They drunkenly cheer at us, and Theo waves our handcuffed hands back at them with a grin.
“You’re enjoying this,” I say.
“Of course I am, Hails! It’s Friday night in Vegas. I’ve got a nice buzz on, and I have the pleasure of being handcuffed to you,” he says, and breaks into a faster stride. “Oh, quick! A show is about to start.”
Next door to our hotel is the Bellagio, probably the most picturesque hotel on the Las Vegas strip (or at least in my opinion, after many months spent conducting research for this weekend).
Its luxurious European facade overlooks the iconic Fountains of Bellagio, a gorgeous lake with an Italian charm.
Every fifteen minutes, the lake comes to life with its dancing fountains and lights.
A Las Vegas highlight, and one I’m now about to experience with Theo, of all people.
Crowds eagerly line the walls surrounding the lake, claiming the perfect viewpoint for the next show, a hum of anticipation in the air. Theo weaves and bobs his way through the congestion, giving me no choice but to also weave and bob my way through the congestion.
“Here,” he says, nodding toward a sliver of a gap, and I throw him a dubious look. “You need a clear view, short ass. Get in there.”
With his free hand, he takes hold of my shoulder and physically slots me into the tiny space. There’s no room for him too, but he has the height to see over my head, so he settles directly behind me, body close to mine. I glance back at him, and he smiles.
“My wrist feels kind of awkward like this,” he says, jiggling our hands. “Do you mind if I . . .?” He lifts our handcuffed hands up over my head and lowers them back down in front of me instead. His arm now kind of snakes around my waist. “Is this okay?”
He’s so close behind me, our hands in front of me forcing him even closer, that I feel the tickle of his breath against my hair.
I nod pathetically, because how else am I supposed to react when I have Addy’s little brother pressed up against me like this?
The worst part is that I don’t even mind, not really.
There’s a crash as water leaps hundreds of feet into the sky out of the lake, and the energetic beat of Elvis Presley’s “Viva Las Vegas” starts to play from loudspeakers.
The fountains dance, water shooting and cascading, as the glow of lights shines in the hot, midnight air.
Theo sings along, bopping his head in sync with the music.
I fight the temptation to reach for my phone to record the show, and instead just enjoy the moment.
When the show ends a few minutes later, onlookers applaud. Theo and I try to join in, but it’s impossible with these stupid handcuffs, and we laugh at our attempt, hands crisscrossing in different directions.
“Bellagio fountains, check,” he says as he marks off an invisible checklist in front of him.
The crowds disperse around us, heading off to their next stops on their late-night wanderings down the strip, and we also need to decide where to head to next.
He steals a quick glance at his phone. “Addy texted me. They’re at Marquee. ”
“Does she seem mad that we aren’t there?” I ask, nervously chewing my lower lip. It was me who made all of the bottle service reservations, and I’m not even there to see it through. Some maid of honor I am. “Maybe we should head there now.”
“You know Addy’s pretty laid back about this stuff. Besides, we’re only just starting our tour,” Theo says, and he tugs on the handcuffs, spinning me around to face across the boulevard. “Let me whisk you off to Paris, sweetheart.”
Ugh, why is he making me laugh? Everyone who knows Theo knows that he is a certified charmer, and he’s worked his confident, charismatic ways on me over all of the years I have been best friends with Addy, but it was always so playful, so teasing, that I simply rolled my eyes at him and went along with his skits.
But throw in a pair of fluffy handcuffs, his willingness to sit patiently by my side while I work on my book, the neon lights and scorching heat of Las Vegas, and suddenly I feel like that charm is genuine.
“Alors, emmène-moi à Paris, Theodore,” I say, the lilt of a French accent in my voice, and I enjoy the way Theo’s mouth parts in surprise. So, take me to Paris, Theodore.
“Never, ever do that again,” he warns, pointing a finger at me and looking flustered. It’s not the reaction to my (limited) French I expected, and it’s clear I’m not as well versed as him when it comes to knocking out smooth lines.
“Never do what again?” I ask, confused.
“Speak French to me.”
“Why?
“Because it’s hot,” he says, eyes locked with mine.
Heat prickles up my neck, and I can’t blame it on the Vegas climate this time. Hot is an unusual compliment for me. I’m reserved and quiet, so men usually refer to me as pretty or cute. I don’t have the confidence to pull off being hot.
What am I doing?
Theo didn’t say I was hot. He said my French is hot, which I believe is like a factual, legit thing. The French language is supposedly one of the sexiest in the world. There’s a big difference between me being hot and French being hot. Why do I care, anyway?
“Quick, we can walk!” I say lamely, pointing to the crosswalk as the traffic signals claim it’s safe to go. I’ll be dammed if we get ticketed for jaywalking, so I safely pull Theo across the street.
We make our way toward the gorgeous Paris hotel, heads tilted back to take in the replica Eiffel Tower, before heading inside.
Three legs of the Eiffel Tower sit inside the casino floor, like the casino has grown around them, and with the cobblestone walkways and wrought-iron streetlamps, it honestly feels like we’ve teleported to France and are strolling the Parisian streets.
We follow a path through the hotel named after the Avenue des Champs-élysées.
Above us, the ceiling is painted to look like a baby-blue sky with candy-floss clouds.
“This is what I was dying to see,” Theo says in amazement as his head moves swivel-like. “All of the architectural designs. Like, how did they even begin planning all of this? I’ll be reading this hotel’s Wikipedia page later when I’m listening to John and Tyler snore off all the beer.”
“I’m sorry, what? You’ll be reading Wikipedia articles?”
“You really should stop making assumptions about me,” he says, sternly wagging a finger at me. “Yes, I read. Yes, I have actual interests. Yes, I’m happy to help you work on your book. But no, Hailey Clark, you cannot run your hands down my chiseled chest. At least not yet.”
“It’s just that you’re—”
“Too damn hot to have such a great personality? I know,” he finishes for me, and I wonder if perhaps I will miss his cocky wit when Melissa releases us from these handcuffs at the end of the night. “Oh my God, Hails, look!”
I follow the direction of his pointed finger until my gaze lands on the entrance for the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower, located forty-six floors up, with views over the strip.
From my research, I knew there was a restaurant within the Eiffel Tower replica, but somehow I missed that there was a viewing deck, too.
It’s 11.55 p.m., and the sign states final admission is 11. 59 p.m.
I hesitantly glance at Theo. “Shall we?”
“Fuck it, let’s do it.”
We race to the hotel’s box office and successfully secure our tickets, and we’re in such a rush that I don’t have any time to argue with Theo over him paying for mine, then head back to the attraction’s entrance where the attendant laughs and tells us we’ve made it with twenty seconds to spare.
We’re loaded into a glass elevator and ascend forty-six floors through the center of the Eiffel Tower, rising high above the Las Vegas strip to the panoramic views that await us.