I wake up in a pool of saliva on the warmth of a body. I'm on the floor with a comforter over me and a pillow at my foot. My eyes feel dry and crusty, it's a disgusting feeling and one I'm all too familiar with. It's accompanied with a pit feeling in my stomach and a pounding in my head. I'm hung-over: bad.
My head is rested on a bare chest, wet with my spit. When I realize this, I lift my head up and wipe the side of my face with the comforter. I notice I was sleeping on Lana and she is topless, only wearing nipple pasties. When I see the bright blue covers on her nipples, I have sudden flashbacks of last night and everything that happened. I almost laugh to myself when a man walks out of our bathroom; one of the male order strippers. He was tall and Hispanic and was quite literally a wall of muscle. He's actually not that bad looking so I rub my eyes to get a better look at him. When I do, I notice the rock on my finger. It's huge and I begin to wonder how Lana could afford something like it. Giant diamonds like this were only found in magazines like Forbes, it surely must have cost well over $10,000. The thing was absolutely gorgeous.
"I'm sorry, I have to go," he says and I look up at him as he walks over to me. He has a thick accent and bends down to shake my hand. "It was nice meeting you, thank you for last night."
I nod and look down at Lana who is still passed out. "No problem," I say.
"I'm gonna take the tip and go. Okay?"
I nod again and he walks passed me to a briefcase that was opened. It was filled to the brim with cash and he closes it and picks it up. He obviously knew what he was doing, so I don't question it. We must have bit off more than we could chew last night, getting the most expensive of everything, including strippers. I get up after he leaves with the money and go to the bathroom. I notice our suite is huge; it almost looks like a luxury flat. The large suite could have looked like a dream with its floor-to-ceiling windows and marble floors, if it wasn't completely trashed. There are alcohol bottles, clothes, cigarette packages, blankets and blunts thrown casually all over the place and I almost trip over an In N Out cup on my way into the restroom.
I look into the mirror and I've never seen myself look more fucked up. My hair is a tangled mess, my makeup is all smudged, I have dark hickies trailing down my neck, my "Married Bitch" tank top is torn and I only have underwear on underneath it. I remember clearly, how I tore my top last night, and the memory brings a smirk to my face.
"Hello?" A tired voice comes from the bedroom and I poke my head out to see Lana sitting up. She's holding her head and examining her surroundings.
"Good morning," I say, walking over to her.
She covers her face with her hands as I sit down next to her again. "It's not a good morning," she says. Her morning voice is deep and raspy, it's really sexy but the way Lana holds her head in pain, I decide not to tell her that.
"You know what you need?" I ask her and she looks at me. "A coffee...and a breakfast sandwich." She smiles at the idea and I kiss her full lips before she gets up and puts on a shirt.
I go back to the restroom and take a quick cold shower, trying to wake myself up and wash the smell of booze, pot and sweat off of me. I dry myself off with a fluffy white towel that bared a Caesar's Palace logo on it, before tossing it to my feet and drying my hair with the small blow dryer attached to the wall. I brush my hair and teeth before I hear another call from the living room. I poke my head out of the restroom again.
"Did you see a bag of money anywhere?" Lana asks. "Or a briefcase or something?"
"Yeah," I say, recalling the briefcase from earlier this morning. "But, that guy took it."
Her eyes widen and her eyebrows rise. "What? What guy? Are you sure?"
I nod. "It was that stripper. He said he was taking his tip."
