Page 34 of Keep Vegas

mak

He didn’t respond, but I know he got it. I wonder if he’s still in town or if I was slipped a hallucinogen.

I roll over in my hotel bed and see Mags is awake, and her face is a little too dreamy.

“Hey. What was that with Colt last night?”

She rolls over, and we’re both snuggled in our beds facing each other.

“Who knows? Maybe it was simply catching up. It hurt to see him, and I didn’t want it to, so I guess I acted like I was more than fine.”

“He did you shitty.” He did to her what I did to Tony. That’s how I know it was shitty.

“If it matters, there were apologies and lots of laughs about how stupid it is to turn thirty.” Her lips curl into a smile and her long highlighted brown hair falls in her face over her hazel eyes. It’s nice to see my friend’s face, it’s been a while.

“It is dumb. Let’s stay twenty-nine for a while.”

“Agreed,” she says. “My highlights from last night are insignificant. What the hell was with you? Did you make love to Tony?”

“Uck. No. I would have, but he took me out to Valley of Fire, and we watched the sunrise instead. Our conversation was both everything and nothing at all. We did some super-hot kissing and cuddling under a blanket. Then he gave me his number.”

“What did you do?” She sits up. “This is huge! You never cuddle. You’re a wham bam thank you ma’am kind of gal.”

I laugh and turn onto my back, stretching while looking at the reality kaleidoscope that is the Vegas Strip. So different from the dusty brown view at home, which is twenty-five minutes and a world away from here.

I sit up and shrug, pulling a pillow onto my lap. “I didn’t give him my number until like a minute ago.”

“Why?”

“I lied,” I confess.

I walk to the bathroom, but Mags is up and following me. “What? Why? Wait, when? About the old lies? Stop it, Mak. You have a problem.”

“I know!”

“You’re like the most forthright person I know. And you lie to him? I thought you were done with all of that. I do not approve. No, ma’am. Tell me all of these details now. If we’re going to process the love of your life popping back up—”

I stop brushing my teeth, spit, and turn to her. “Hold up. No one said love of my life. He’s a guy I used to be with. And—”

She pokes me. “Bullshit.” Then Mags does a silly dance and twirls around. “Love. You looooovvve him. Lurve him. He’s your lurver!”

“Stop.”

“He’s the love of…. Wait. You lied? When?” She sees my face.

“Yeah, I lied. I mean, from before.” I can’t tell her I did it again.

“Before what?” She knits her brow. Sometimes she’s a little lost in her own world. She’s sweet and funny, but every once in a while, she loses the thread of a conversation.

“In Paris. I told him I was choosing between going to Northeastern and Arizona State.”

“That’s not even a choice,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What are you talking about?” I shake my head.

She counts on her fingers. “You go to Arizona State. It’s warmer, there’s a better football team, and you’re closer to home. How is this even a question?”

I push past her and grab a bottle of water. “Oh my God. Maggie. I didn’t graduate from high school, remember?”