Page 3 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

the full conference experience

Devon

“What is this, Grandma’s first FaceTime?” Gia asks as I fumble to turn the camera around on my phone.

“Shut up, you know I’m not a huge techie.” Giggling, I get the screen pointed away from my face and at the spacious hotel room I’m in. “Voila! There we go.”

Gia rolls her eyes into my phone screen. “Give the girl a medal.”

“Look at this room! It’s so pretty. And the view is amazing,” I gush, walking around to show her the space.

“I’ll agree it does look swanky. However, you are maybe the most boring person I know. You live here, Devon. All of Vegas is your home. So why would you get a hotel room in your own city? You live like fifteen minutes from that hotel.”

“I’m having the full conference experience. Just because I live here doesn’t mean I should miss out on the experience I would’ve had if the Sports Nutrition Expo was in, say, New York City.”

“Okie dokie.” Gia sounds dubious and obviously amused. “I’m just saying, you could’ve saved seven hundred bucks and gotten a flight to Mexico this summer instead. You could’ve taken your good friend and neighbor with you, and we both could have had fun in a place that is not in our backyard.”

“It’s fun,” I say, pushing my lips out in a pout. “Don’t poop on my parade.”

Gia giggles uncontrollably at this. “Don’t poop on your parade?”

“You’re a mean person.”

“I’m not. But you have to admit that you’re dipping a toe into boring old lady territory, if your idea of fun is getting a hotel room at a work conference in your own town.”

“I do fun things. There’s a spa here at the hotel. I could get a massage or a facial. Maybe a mani-pedi.”

Gia closes her eyes and snores in response.

“I get to work with pro athletes every day,” I snap. “That’s exciting enough.”

“Dude, I’d have a way more exciting life than you if I worked around all those hotties all day long.”

“Well, then you’d be fired, because you sign a non-fraternization agreement when you go to work for the Vegas Crush Organization. It’d be a lot less exciting not having a paycheck, too.”

“The Vegas Crush Organization is clearly miscommunicating that message, then. Didn’t you tell me that there’s been like five marriages between players and staff recently? The whole freaking world knows about the Crush goalie, Cal Lefleur, and Billie Hirsch getting engaged a few months back.”

“Yes, but Cal and Billie weren’t bound by that policy as she didn’t work for the Crush.

Only three actual marriages…to date…that would be in direct violation of the non-fraternization rule.

A couple of engagements still planning their big day, but again, if the fiancée is not an employee of VCO, your point is moot. ”

“Still. Clearly there’s some old-fashioned fraternizin’ goin’ on up in there, if you know what I’m saying.” Her tone and facial expression tell me she’d be elbowing me in the ribs if we were together in person.

“Maybe, but that’s not for me. You know I married a basketball player far too young and the four years we spent together taught me that I am not in the market for a pro athlete. They are just big boys, and I need a man.”

“That I can get behind,” Gia says. “How is ole Shawn these days?”

“I don’t know. He’s playing in Miami and I’m thankful to be on the other side of the country.”

“Is he still with the woman he cheated on you with?”

“Of course not. He told me marriage wasn’t what he wanted. He felt like we got married too young and he wanted to sow his oats or whatever. So he’s out doing that, I guess.”

“Yuck.”

“No doubt. But he’s not wrong. I was a freshman in college when we met and a sophomore when we got married. That’s too young.”

“It actually surprises me that you would make such a spontaneous decision,” Gia says.

“I was in love, and he was the big man on campus. He was getting NBA recruiters out to see him all the time, so it was only a matter of time for him to get picked up to play pro. And at twenty, I thought being married to a pro basketball player would be glamourous and romantic.”

“Well, he’s a shit for breaking your heart.”

“He says that from time to time.” I let out a sigh. “It’s okay. We’re mostly cool now and he’s living his best life or whatever. I’ve just learned to guard myself, you know?”

“Well, don’t guard yourself for too long. You’re, like, the most beautiful woman in the world and a damn fine catch. I’d hate to see you miss out on someone good.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Gia laughs. “No, definitely not. But I’d at least like to see you take a booty call every once in a while. A girl’s gotta get off.”

“Who says I don’t?”

“With a person. Not a vibrating massager that they keep stashed in their nightstand drawer.”

“How do you know what’s in my nightstand drawer?”

She makes a face and changes the subject. “So what’s on the docket for your oh-so-exciting sports nutrition conference?”

“Well, there’s a product expo, and a keynote by this top sports doc that wrote the best book about…”

I’m interrupted by the sound of snoring again.

“And there’s a mixer tonight in the bar,” I say drily.

Gia perks up at this. “Okay, that’s promising.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna go because I was planning on taking a long bubble bath, ordering expensive room service, and watching Netflix in this big-ass bed.”

My friend is silent, but her raised eyebrow says enough.

“I mean…I guess I could go, but do you want to come down and go with me?”

“Okay, you big introvert. I’ll come protect you from the legions of people who will try to say actual words to you.”

I have to laugh because I am, indeed, an introvert.

I’d absolutely rather take a bath and curl up with a good book or binge-watch a show.

The idea of mixing and mingling with people I don’t know, keeping a smile plastered to my face while I ask, “What do you do?” forty different times just doesn’t sound all that fun to me.

An hour later, Gia knocks on my door. Dressed to kill in a short, black skirt and cheetah-print top, she’s obviously not impressed by my choice of business suit, from the way her lip curls as she looks me over from head to toe.

“You are eighty years old, I swear,” she scolds, shaking her head and clucking her tongue.

“What? It’s a professional conference, not a nightclub. These are other nutritionists.”

“It’s a mixer,” she insists. “In a bar. Wear a pair of jeans, you old woman, you.”

I look helplessly at my closet. I brought lots of options because it’s been a while since I’ve been to a multi-day conference like this.

Gia just huffs and stomps over, rifling through my clothing until she emerges, triumphant, with a pair of skinny jeans and a soft, off-the-shoulder, cream-colored sweater. “These will do. You got heels?”

“I do.” I grab the outfit and head into the bathroom to change.

Gia has me sit while she styles my long, brown hair into a messy bun, telling me it makes my neck look sexy when I wear my hair up. I pull on a pair of nude peep-toe heels, and she declares me “perfecto,” while kissing her fingertips.

I keep my makeup simple, just eyeliner and mascara and a light-pink lip gloss because that’s pretty much how I roll on a normal day.

I present myself to my friend, holding my hands up for her honest assessment.

Gia gives me a thumbs-up, grabs me by the hand, and proceeds to practically drag me from the safety of my room.

I’m pretty sure the “full conference experience” I wanted is about to get painfully real.