A/N: My attempt at a feel-good romance fic to ease the depression of Jonnie the Girl. Written for Kat as an birthday/engagement/just-because-I-love-her gift. But secretly I'm writing this for me. Hope you enjoy, girlie. Cuz I am.
-"Seven Days of Vegas"
-Day 5 (morning):
Do you know that feeling you get, that sharp, intense feeling in your chest when you wake up knowing you're late for work? And you feel it in your gut that something's wrong, even before you look at the clock?
This was just like that, only ten times worse. I wasn't late for work. I had just rolled over in bed to find a very naked woman next to me. Sleeping on a ton of money and casino chips.
Not so bad for a guy, you say? Let's elaborate.
Woman: evil ex-girlfriend. Currently dating someone else. Hated my guts. Wearing a wedding ring, to which I wasn't quite sure belonged to him or me. Either way was equally horrific.
Me: a pounding migraine, a lot to explain when she woke up, and perhaps now attached to a ball-and-chain that I was not aware I signed up for when I came to Vegas.
Now that I have your attention, lets start when the nightmare began.
Day 1 (afternoon):
I thumbed the flint of my Zippo as I brought the flame to the tip of my cigarette and took a sweet, burning lungful. Then I took a swig of my Starbucks macchiato and savored the caramel taste, with just a hint of ash. Whoever invented these addictive stimulants had love in mind.
The name is Casper Black. I'm a twenty-one-year-old male, dyed black hair, blue eyes, and so thin many claimed I was born as the love child of two ass-less twigs. My best friends were girls, which is why I was pretending I didn't belong to this area of the outdoor mall, which only housed dress stores and a Victoria's Secret. I'm a highly offensive person, who often says racist, dirty, or altogether mean and inappropriate comments.
So, if you're a sensitive pussy who gets their panties in a twist at such things, you should click on a different story now. Perhaps one with a non-offensive female lead, who falls in love with a cliché girly excuse for a guy that makes all her dreams come true… Because I'm telling you now, this is not that kind of story. This is a story about girl things, from a foul, cruel, and all around nasty man's perspective.
Don't get me wrong though. I'm a hopeless romantic, I've discovered. It might just be my saving grace.
I take another good puff of my cig, and sneak a good look inside the window of the store behind me. Inside, my sister was surveying over her maid of honor getting fitted for her magenta bridesmaid dress.
That maid of honor was my bitch of an ex-girlfriend, and the woman who I was completely hopelessly fallen for. She was the reason I was really here. In front of a dress store. Pretending I cared about dresses.
I cared about Delancey Lane. I hated her guts, but I cared so much about her. Her and her zebra-like hair, her Green-Peace attitude, and her coffee-muse clothes. Well, she wasn't in her berets and turtlenecks now; she was standing on a pedestal getting inappropriately touched by a tailor who claimed to be gay, but I wasn't so sure. That dress looked so good on her it might just turn a gay man straight.
I'll never know why my little sister, Katrina Black, A.K.A. Kat, wanted to get married in Vegas. She was two years younger than me, only 19, and still seemed fresh out of high school. Her and her boyfriend, Randall Von-something, had been together practically all their academic career, so marriage made sense, but in Sin City? I'll never get the appeal. I assume it's all the glitz and glamour, and that in the end all people were attracted to bright shiny things. And, oh yeah, it was Randy's first choice of location and Kat was a pushover when it came to him.
Personally, I wasn't a huge fan of Randy. Kat liked him, so I was obligated to support. Even in their eternal union.
Yet, helping my little sister hold a Vegas wedding together to a guy I didn't much care for whilst suffering the likes of Satan's daughter Delancey on a pedestal in a dress that accentuated all the right places-- I was quickly realizing, it was the least of my problems.
My sister had this nasty habit of purposely leaving out very important details, just to see me squirm. Like the detail that the rest of the bridesmaids were coming to get fitted too, which included… the twins. Two embodiments of terror, that treated me like a couple of unsupervised three-year-olds would a trapped kitten-- tail-pulling and all. One was anemic and one was anorexic, which meant one was a sugar-addicted butterball and the other a skin-and-bones walking TV ad for saving starving children in Africa.
Hey, I warned you I was offensive. It's your own fault for continuing to read. Don't worry though, Karma always catches up with me.
"Casper, honey!" I heard one of their shrill voices call out. Mona, the skinny whore.
I nearly swallowed my cigarette. The last inch or so of my Starbucks was now a brown puddle on the floor. I thought quickly, checking around for the nearest escape route. It was too late, though, I'd been spotted. Their eyes burned holes in my back.
"Oh, Caspie, baby!" the other one now hollered as they ran to me. Vicky, the fat whore.
I had no choice but to duck back into the dress shop, pretending I didn't hear them.
"Katrina, Delancey!" I wheezed. "Save me!"
"What's wrong?" Delancey asked, as Katrina grew a huge, evil smile on that treacherous face. I did the only thing I could think of on short notice and dived into a fitting room.
There was a very alarmed girl behind the curtain of that particular room, so I chose the next one over.
I hopped up and propped my hands feet on the wooden walls beside me like Spider-Man, so if the stalker girls bothered to look they wouldn't see big man feet.
"Cas, sweetheart!" Vicky squeaked as I heard the bell above the door jingle. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to let the horrific memories of those two grabbing my crotch at a Christmas party cloud my mind from balancing on the walls. My leg muscles were starting to shake from the exertion. God, I was out of shape.
"Oh, Mona, Victoria," Katrina's light-hearted voice rang out. "I was hoping you would've been here an hour ago. Delancey and I had to get started without you."
"We just needed un quicko bite, don't wig," Mona cooed in her version of hip lingo. "Where's Casper? I just saw him run in here."
My body was shaking in fear now.
"Nevermind that," Katrina ordered. "We have to make up for lost time. Jump in a fitting room and get this dress on, pronto."
I bit my lip, wondering what the hell I did to make my sister want to scar me for life.
My curtain yanked open, to reveal Vicky, in all her muffin-top glory, smiling like she had found Brad Pitt smothered in chocolate.
"Cazzie!" she squealed. "Were you hiding?"
"And you found me…" I grumbled, dropping back down to the floor. Katrina was giggling away while Delancey immediately came forward and grabbed me before Vicky could touch anything but my arm.
"Com'on, Caz, lets feed you," she sang out words of the heavens as she finished putting her jacket on over her normal clothes. She shot Katrina a firm look, and dragged me out of the twins' hold. "You don't need me any more, right, Kat?"
Katrina didn't seem to be too happy about her two closest buds abandoning her with the twins, but she waved them off anyway. I sighed in immense relief.
"You'd better be back for rehearsal tonight," Kat warned.
"Of course," Delancey promised, then practically shoved me out the door. "Let's go."
We soon walked through the mall together with fresh batches of Starbucks, and we shared a Wetzel pretzel as I found the urge to smoke another cigarette. Delancey was an every-day-is-Earth-Day kinda girl, so more pollution in her atmosphere was not tolerable.
"So," she broke the ice with more conversation. "Thank you for my legal addictive stimulant and my fatty, twisted piece of cinnamon-y fried dough goodness."
She had such a way with words.
"You're welcome," I replied.
I could smell her perfume. Some Hawaiian Ginger scent she buys from Kmart. It was driving me nuts.
"God, I hate how those twins treat you," she grumbled, biting down on her green straw. I couldn't help but be flattered, perfectly content to believe that was jealousy coming from her, even if it wasn't.
"We should catch up, you know?" I tried to strike up more of her conversation. "Man cannot live on texting alone… there's this outdated thing called human interaction, you should try it sometime."
"You know why I can't talk to you," she said, shaking her head.
"Yeah… how is, uh, what's his name…? The boyfriend?"
"Like you care," Delancey snickered.
"You're right, I don't really care, no," I agreed.
"You're such a butthead," Delancey huffed in insult.
"Commitment phobe," I shot back, trying to pick a fight.
"Me?!" she spat. "Try looking in the mirror! You wouldn't settle with a woman even if your life depended on it! Oh my God, scary labels! It's the attack of the woman who loves you and wants to claim you as her own-- run!"
"You've got it all wrong," I argued. "You were never sure about me!"
"Damn right, I wasn't. All we ever did was fight and fool around. Pretty soon, all we'd be left with is the fighting."
"Good thing we were never officially together then, isn't it?"
"Thank God for small favors."
Day 4 (night):
"Oh my God, I am sooo drunk!" I lost my balance off the bar stool when I raised my hands in the air, spilling beer on my shirt. Delancey laughed as she tried to catch me.
"Not me!" she slurred as she sipped on the straw of her daiquiri. "This is my fifth-- well maybe sixth one of these, and I don't feel a THING."
As we laughed and I fell into her arms, I got a good glimpse down her dress. Like the rest of the male species, alcohol made me hornier than usual. We caught eyes. In a burst of passion, I grabbed her by the cheeks and kissed her. Kissing quickly turned into making out. Making out quickly turned into trying to find the nearest exit.
When we reached the sidewalk, we started attacking each other's mouths some more. She smelled like strawberry daiquiris, while I was breathing the fire of Jack shots.
"My God, you are so HOT!" I shouted into the night sky.
"I've never found anyone better than you!" Delancey cried out in-between lip-locks. The strap of her purple dress fell off her shoulder. "It's always been you, always! MARRY me!"
I don't remember much after that.
Let's see if I can
pull this story off, shall we? Please review.