if you handed them a GPS and a tour guide.”
We burst out laughing. I can’t argue with her. Eric, of course, is in a league of his own and had to throw the question out there that was burning a hole in his pants.
“And… you know… did his goods match up to his feisty personality?”
“Let’s just say it matched and then some.”
Eric and I look at each other and happy-clap like old times. It’s this that I miss, this carefree chit- chat. For a moment, I feel safe, but it soon disappears as I look down and stare at my flat stomach, soon to be a daily reminder of the mess I’ve gotten myself into.
I spend my lunch hour working through the mountain of emails that have piled up. My stomach hurts, but it’s an unusual pain, something I’m not accustomed to. I ask Eric to grab me a sandwich, maybe I’m just hungry. As I wait for him to return, I continue to drink water to pass the time while my queasy stomach churns.
Rocking back and forth in my chair, the room begins to feel stifling hot. Placing my hand against my forehead, my skin is on fire. Removing my blazer, I fan myself to cool my body temperature down.
I must be dehydrated. That’s it. With a desperate need for cold water, I walk out of my office to be greeted by Eric. He looks hazy, but I realize it’s not him, it’s me.
The room starts to move, and I clasp at my chest while struggling to breathe. Eric’s voice echoes in the background, his panicked words making no sense.
Around me, I see shadows, but the spinning only blurs my vision until all I see is darkness.
LEX
I have every email answered and every meeting scheduled and prepared. The stationery holder on my desk is perfectly organized—I have exactly eighty-two paperclips in that holder—and I even cleaned my keyboard, removing each key and wiping it down.
This is what happens when you work seventy-two hours straight with no sleep.
By Thursday, I’m losing my mind, bored and demotivated. I need a distraction, anything to wake me from this miserable life I’m currently living. My phone buzzes, and I check the caller ID. I let out a small laugh at the name gracing the screen.
“Dude, it’s me.”
There’s only one person in my life who calls me ‘dude.’
“Wait, did Nikki give you permission to call me?”
“Funny, Edwards. Listen, we haven’t organized a bachelor party for Elijah.”
“Rocky, Elijah isn’t one of those pussy-watching types of guys,” I tell him, bursting his pornographic bubble. “You saw him squirming at the strip club.”
“Of course, you’d say that, he’s marrying your sister. Listen, Adriana told me Saturday night is his only free night. Vegas… are you up for it?”
Normally, I’d have hung up on him ages ago. Actually, I probably wouldn’t have answered his call to begin with. But I have grown accustomed to somewhat enjoying his company and being around other men for non-business purposes. I hadn’t done this since college, and that feels like a lifetime ago.
“I’m in.”
“Great! All right, so Adriana suggests Elijah’s cousin and two college buddies plus your dad.”
“My dad?”
My dad is the last person I want to see right now. I can’t even recall the last time we spoke.
“Yeah, why not? Adriana tells me he’s young at heart.”
“Look, whatever.” I ignore it, knowing that arguing with him is futile. “Okay, so what have you organized?”
“Nothing. Was hoping you could pull some strings?”
“Leave it to me.”
We end the call minutes later after the conversation went stale because Rocky starts talking about some European movie. I pull out my contacts list and call George, the owner of a few hotels in Vegas. Calling in a favor, I book the penthouse suite mentioning the occasion. He says he’ll take care of the rest. Done in one conversation, just the way I like it.
I fly over to Vegas but not without Adriana giving me a lecture on appropriate bachelor party behavior. She went on and on, and luckily, I was forced to board the plane giving me an excuse to end the call.
We arrive at the Palms early Saturday afternoon. George outdid himself again, pimping out the suite with everything you could possibly imagine. Topless waitresses stand at the door taking our jackets, offering us drinks, and basically anything else we want. As Elijah walks in behind me, his face cringes as he avoids looking at the tits on parade.
“Okay, so why the Elvis costume?”
Scratching my