Adrenaline

09 | what happens in vegas pt. i

Cursing under my breath, I rub a tube of lip balm across my lips for what feels like the hundredth time since touching down in the Vegas.

"It's freezing," I complain, tugging on the sleeves of my cardigan. "How cold is it?"

Jun glances at his watch. "Thirty-eight."

"End me now."

He tosses me his big puffy jacket and I pull it over the rest of my clothes, breathing in the scent of his cologne. "You act as if you've never been here in December. Where's your coat?"

"In my suitcase upstairs," I sulk.

The two of us wait in the valet area for our delivery driver to drop off our dinner. After landing at the Las Vegas airport late in the afternoon, we did our usual routine of booking it over to our hotel so we could get settled in, and, after realizing how tired we were, decided none of us could be bothered to eat at one of the hotel's restaurants for dinner. Nobody is in the mood for socializing after a five-hour plane ride. Nobody looks like they should be socializing after a five-hour plane ride.

"What time do we have to wake up?" Jun asks, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other.

"I don't know," I answer, trying to remember what Jenny texted us. "I think we need to be at the venue around eleven to do soundcheck."

Jun groans. "I hate soundcheck."

"We know. You tell us every time."

"And then we're coming back to the hotel, right?" I nod. "When is his highness sir Maverlot gracing us with his presence?"

A simple mention of his name makes me want to throw my phone across the parking lot. "Ideally, never. But I think he'll stop by before we head over for the show."

"Just how we want to ring in the new year," Jun replies gravely. "What about Brendon?"

Guilt orbits around my tired brain as I realize I've forgotten to check up on him. With all the flights he had available, he ended up flying in a day early and was keeping himself busy with friends who were also in Vegas for New Year's.

I send him a text asking how he's doing, but he doesn't reply during those few minutes we wait downstairs for our food. After the driver pulls up—thankfully an older woman who's blissfully unaware of who we are, but sweet nonetheless—we carry our food back into the warmth of the hotel lobby and follow the security guard escorting us.

"Food's here!" Jun announces when we cross the threshold of our hotel room. Like a bunch of wild animals that have been starving for days, everyone surges toward us and rummages through the bags for their food and drinks.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the minibar has been ravaged in since Jun and I went downstairs.

"Really?" I shake my head. "We can order drinks that cost a quarter of the price and have five times as much."

Seira shrugs and walks away with her takeout, her green hair glistening under the iridescent decorative lights like coral. "Can you blame us? We're in Vegas."

"Vegas is overrated."

With a fork between his teeth and his drink and food in each hand, Rami nods toward me and muffles, "At least you know it wasn't me."

"I'm holding you accountable for letting them at it."

Marty bursts through the door seconds later with his own food he ordered downstairs, frugal enough to refuse to pay a delivery fee, even though he wouldn't have been the one footing the bill. Dinner was on Jun tonight, bless him.