The fantasies typically took different paths from there. Sometimes he’d tell me that I was a dirty girl and needed to get on my knees and suck his cock. Other times he’d push his fingers inside of me, my face pressed against the cool side of my car, my mouth opening in a silent O of pleasure as he stood behind me, his hand furiously working between my legs. Sometimes he’d tell me to bend over the hood, and he’d unbutton his pants, and take me right there, the whip of passing cars drowning out my cries of pleasure.
Easton’s hand settled on my knee and he squeezed it, then leaned in for a kiss. I allowed it, then flicked a piece of glitter off his neck with more force than needed. He winced and I smiled sweetly at him.
My phone dinged and I glanced down at the display. Calling Chelsea’s father in the middle of the night had not been my first choice but, for once, the time zone had worked in our favor. Her 2 A.M. arrest happened around the same time that her father slipped into his cashmere robe and walked down the pearl-inlaid steps of his mansion. By the time I called, he was being served lobster Benedict and fresh-squeezed orange juice, the fruit picked from his own trees. He’d absorbed the information of Chelsea’s arrest with a quiet chuckle, then asked for the location where she was being detained. He hung up with promises to get it handled. Now, $40 of cheap fast-food later, his message came through.
She is being released now. Please pick her up at the substation on Sierra Vista Drive.
I glanced at the street sign, verified our location, then texted him back to let him know we were already here.
Thank you, Elle. I appreciate your help.
He was really the coolest dad on the planet. Chelsea said that it didn’t make up for her lack of a mother, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. I loved my stiff and conservative parents, but if my friend ever called with news of my arrest, my dad would tell them to leave me in jail for an extra week, just to make sure I learned my lesson.
I pushed off the hood. “Daddy Warbucks said she’s being released.”
“Good.” Aaron stretched. “I’m exhausted.”
“Exhausted?” I teased him. “We had plans to visit a brothel next. Clean out those cobwebs that are hanging off of your dick.”
“Ha.” He picked up his McDonalds’ bag and stuffed his trash into it. “I’ve got big plans to be asleep within the next hour.”
“I think even Chelsea will agree with that plan.”
As if on cue, the front door to the station opened and Chelsea wandered out, her hair half undone from her updo, her tiara stuck in the front cleavage of her dress like a pair of sunglasses. She saw us scattered along the limo and brought up her hands in touchdown stance, letting out a loud whoop of victory.
“Never boring,” Easton reminded me as he helped me off the hood of the limo.
I smiled in response, then was pelted from the side as Chelsea tackled me in a perfume and beer-drenched hug.
Our suite was two master bedrooms. To avoid a Chelsea/Aaron sleeping arrangement, we’d put Chelsea and I in the left master, Aaron and Easton in the right. Between the two bedrooms was a sunken living room that boasted a sectional sofa, pool table, and fireplace. Our balcony overlooked the Strip and ran from one bedroom to the other. We didn’t, much to Chelsea’s chagrin, have a pool, though the website had shown one on the preview images when we’d booked the reservation.
I stepped into the suite and pulled off my shoes, feeling as if we’d been gone a week. Dropping my heels and my purse, I made it to the fridge and snatched a bottled water, trying not to think of its price as I broke the seal and chugged the water.
“I’m taking a shower,” Chelsea announced. “Dibs on the right side of the bed.”
“Let me run in there and use the bathroom really quick.” I set down the water and headed to the lavish bath that was open to our room. Sitting on the toilet, I looked longingly at the deep soaker tub. Tomorrow I’d have to take an hour and enjoy that. Maybe when they headed down to the casino again.
“I’m so freakin’ exhausted.” Chelsea walked past me and stared in the mirror, examining her ruined updo. “Good lord, no wonder that cop turned me down. How long has my hair been like this?”
I wiped, then flushed the toilet. “Not until jail.”
“Good.” She wrestled her hand behind her back, struggling for the top clasp. “Can you undo this? I swear, next time I get a wedding dress, it’s going to have a side zipper for easy access.”