“I don’t have clubbing dresses. You know that,” Jessica reminded her friend, hoping Cindy would accept it and let her slip it on.
Cindy gave her a triumphant smile, and Jessica waited for whatever disaster it foreshadowed. Cindy said, “It just so happens that I was very aware of that and took the liberty to pack a few dresses for you. And shoes that match so you don’t try to wear those boots or whatever ridiculous shoes you brought.”
Jessica almost said something about the difference in what she and Cindy considered to be ridiculous footwear, but she kept her mouth shut. It was her friend’s weekend—she could suffer through a few uncomfortable nights. She shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss. It’s your weekend.”
Cindy’s grin widened. “I was really hoping you would say that. Ladies, Jessica needs help with her hair and makeup. Hurry! We have dinner reservations.”
In less than a minute, Jessica found herself sitting on the edge of the hotel room’s bathtub, her eyes closed, with Cindy and Alexis or whoever tugging at her hair, the one who was either Marilyn or Arely brushing eye shadow across her eyelids, and somebody else scraping at her lips with a lipstick pencil thing.
“This color is perfect on you,” one of them said. Jessica couldn’t move her mouth to respond or open her eyes to see who it was.
She had been Cindy’s guinea pig enough times to not move unless she wanted a burn from a curling iron or a stab in the eye, so she just stayed still until they moved away, satisfied.
“You look so pretty!” Cindy exclaimed. “And don’t you dare tuck your hair behind your ears.”
Jessica glanced in the mirror. Actually she did look pretty good. Her hair curled over her shoulders in a way it never did for her, and her eyes looked big and greener than usual.
“We need to get going,” Cindy called out to the women as they rushed around making last-minute adjustments to themselves.
Jessica had just realized she was still wearing her button-down shirt and yoga pants from the flight when a small red bundle of fabric hit her arm. She looked to see who had thrown it.
Cindy smiled at her. “Put it on and don’t complain. We have to go!”
The moment she unrolled the dress, Jessica could see why Cindy had waited until the last minute to give it to her. “Cindy, this is going to be way too short on me. I can’t wear this.”
Cindy didn’t even turn around. “Don’t care. You said I’m the boss. It’ll be fun!”
Jessica bit back her grumbling and slid into the dress. Her legs stuck out of it like flagpoles, and if she pulled it down another inch, the top would reveal enough to get her arrested for public indecency. What was Cindy thinking?
But there was nothing to be done. She slipped into the four-inch heels that Cindy had set beside her, a pair Cindy had tried to get her to borrow at least a dozen times and had now finally succeeded in foisting upon her, and left the hotel room without looking in the mirror. She didn’t want to know how awkward and gangly she looked.
She felt as if she was towering over everyone else, but there was nothing she could do about it. They were already on their way, off for dinner and clubs and who knew what else?
Before walking out the door, though, she rushed back to her pants and pulled a slip of paper out of the pocket. She folded it carefully and slid it into the tiny purse Cindy had lent her. Not that she would call him, of course. It simply felt better to have it with her. Just in case.
Back in the limousine, Jessica felt like leaning her head against the window, but forced herself to sit upright. It had been a long day, and all the excitement left Jessica feeling worn down, her nerves frayed from the constant chatter. And it had hardly begun.
But she was determined to stay optimistic. It could end up being a fun evening if she managed to stay awake past her ten-thirty bedtime. Besides, there was a possibility she could meet Aaron the cowboy again, magically solving her dilemma about whether or not to call him. It wasn’t too far beyond the realm of reason, and even if it was, a girl could dream, couldn’t she?
Jessica would have slapped her own forehead in annoyance if she was sure Cindy wouldn’t yell at her for messing with her makeup.
Jessica watched as Cindy and her friends danced to the loud music thumping through the speakers she had somehow managed to block out—it was some song she’d never heard but they all seemed to know—and they were laughing and shouting unintelligibly at each other.
She smiled at them, glad they were enjoying themselves, but she couldn’t help feeling incredibly out of place. Again.
It would take a lot of liquor to get her even half as comfortable and free as these women were at the moment, despite being stone sober. Why couldn’t she just let loose and dance and giggle like them?
It was as if she were a scientific observer watching a unique species and trying to understand them. She was near the women, but that didn’t make her one of them.
Luckily nobody seemed to notice that she wasn’t bumping along, so she kept that smile plastered on her face and tried to look as though she was enjoying herself.
“We’re here!” Cindy suddenly called out.
Their first stop was Firefly, a Spanish tapas restaurant off Las Vegas Boulevard. Jessica took a deep breath, trying to clear out the crazy idea that she would somehow spot Aaron here.
If she didn’t let that idea go, it was going to spoil her whole weekend. She could either call him or not, but thinking random chance would throw them together was beyond idiotic.
She walked down the steps of the SUV limo carefully, very aware that another near spill like in the airport when this high up would probably end with a trip to the hospital. She wasn’t exactly confident in the heels she was wearing, and was relieved and quite proud of herself when her feet were on asphalt.
Marilyn/Arely—their names were way too similar—followed her out and took a deep breath. “Don’t you love Vegas? This is their December weather!”
Jessica couldn’t agree more. The night air was cool, but not cold enough to cause discomfort despite the thin fabric of her dress, and the air smelled deliciously of spices and seafood. Vegas had a few things going for it, that was for sure. Early December in New York involved biting winds and the musty smell of melting snow mixed in with the garbage. This was much better.
Once all the women successfully climbed out of their outlandish vehicle, they strolled into the restaurant as one mass of femininity. They were seated at a private booth, and several waiters descended on them.
“Hello, ladies,” one began as the other placed pitchers of sangria on the table. “Welcome to Firefly. We will bring out a variety of tapas for you to enjoy once you are settled. Please enjoy your meal and let us know if there is anything we can do to make your evening more pleasant.”
Cindy had told Jessica that the first night’s dinner was all part of whatever package her sorority sisters had picked out for her, but she’d had no idea it would be quite like this. Within minutes, dozens of plates filled with bite-size delicious morsels were spread across the table and her glass was filled with sangria, fruit floating around in it cheerfully. How much had the sorority sisters spent on this? She felt bad for Lacy, the one who had been unable to come and whose place she was currently filling.
These girls all seemed to really love Cindy.
The alcohol was a welcome addition to the evening, and Jessica drank a large glassful to steady herself and throw off her discomfort, and then another to try and help her forget the blue eyes that kept swimming to the front of her consciousness.
By the time they left, she was full and had downed enough sangria to help