absinthe

Travel Bug Tuesday: One Night in Vegas~How it Ended

| Melia Alexander

(If you missed last week’s post on the adventures of erotic historical romance author Delilah Marvelle, click here.)

When I found Delilah I knew the evening wasn’t over. After all, we’re talking about Ms. Marvelle!

The two of us crossed the bridge away from the hotel-with-the-bar-that-served-the-evil-absinthe. All the while she gushed about her *awesome* experience. Bartender . . . Other dudes . . . Learned a lot . . . Research . . . Everyone so nice. . ..

Me: Glad you had a good time. Watch your step.
Delilah (looking at the stairs like it was the most brilliant thing she’d ever seen): I want to go for a run. Let’s go for a run! Now!
Me: Not a good idea.
Delilah (pouting): Why not?
Me: It’s the middle of the night, the strip is packed, and we’re not in running gear. We need to wait ‘til morning.
Delilah: We could change.

And that was pretty much the tone of the conversation, which included her hitting me up to go dancing, or to head to another bar. All this wrapped around exclamations of how *amazing* she felt. And giggles. Lots and lots and LOTS of giggles.

Glad one of us felt that way. I just wanted to get her back to the room.

We finally entered the casino doors to our hotel, so I thought we were in the home stretch. Not quite.

Now, it probably wouldn’t have been such a surprise if I’d actually visited the casino at night, but did you know half-nekkid girls dance on these elevated stages on the casino floor? Even in six-inch heels their legs were right about eye level with dudes (and dudettes). How were Blackjack players supposed to concentrate on their cards? No wonder the casino raked it in.

I stared. Couldn’t help it. Unfortunately, neither could Delilah.

Delilah (pointing as she made a beeline away from me): I want to dance with them!
Me (grabbing her hand and practically dragging her): I should let you. Then I could take pictures and post them. But there’s a good chance you’ll get arrested. We need to get you to the room.

That dragging thing? Did it the entire way through the casino. Along with some serious whining about just wanting to have some fun. Seriously.

Once in the elevator, she insisted on pushing the button for our floor. I figured it was harmless.

And then a pleasant, elderly gentleman entered the elevator. You know the kind. Like a grandpa with kind eyes who’d play ball, and make you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and tell you all about the old days. Got that picture?

Delilah (to same gentleman): What’s your room number?
Gentleman (Pauses. . .. Absorbs her question, then turns me): Gee, they usually ask you what you’re doing tonight, first.
Me (cringing): Yeah. Sorry about that. She’s not well.
Delilah (laughing so hard she’s doubled-over): I’m fine, I’m fine.

Sure. About as fine as propositioning grandpa. Thankfully, our floor was before the other guy’s.

At the end of the night, I finally got her to bed. Took away her phone for a bit so she wouldn’t drunk-post anything. That was a trick and a half. She giggled like a child then finally, finally went off into la-la land looking ever-so-innocent.

So much for her being a grown-assed woman who could take care of herself. . ..*sigh*

Any guesses how many bags of Peanut M&M’s that Jessica Adams, the heroine in my debut book, MERGER OF THE HEART, would’ve consumed? Here are your choices:

Although I gotta admit I’m curious about absinthe, about what Delilah thought was so *amazing* about it. Since I’m headed back to Vegas later this year, I wonder if curiosity will override my good sense? Any bets out there?

Happy eating,
Melia

Travel Bug Tuesday: One Night in Vegas

| Melia Alexander

It all started with a plan.

Not my plan, mind you, but that of my super-talented Vegas conference roommate, Delilah Marvelle . . . who always seems to find ways to smack into adventure (read: trouble). Delilah writes erotic historical romance, and craves any bit of knowledge she can get about how her characters might have lived. So I’m never surprised when she goes after research material. Hence this particular evening.

Her text message: “There is a place that does absinthe. I have to go. Will you go with me?”

Absinthe? Uh. . . no. Wasn’t that drink illegal? (By the way, Delilah does plan to post the history of absinthe, so check her blog!)

20140624_211650I’d planned to go to a really rousing game of bingo with other Entangled Publishing authors in our publisher’s suite.

So. Delilah, being who she is, went without me. Without anyone, actually. (What can I say? We opted for bingo.)

But I first made sure to note where she was headed, the time she’d be back, her promise not to talk to strangers or weirdos – at which point she reminded me we were in Vegas, which meant her agreement would equal a boring evening so why bother to go? *Sigh* I hate when she makes a good point. . ..

Through most of bingo I’d get some sort of an update – she even sent me a picture.  2014062495220234Still not sure what this is so you’ll have to read her post to find out.

Anyway, all was well until this exchange at 10:31 PM –

Delilah: “On second one. OmG, awesome.”
Me: “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Then nothing. Nada. Lights out. Not a peep.

I wasn’t concerned. After all, she was a grown-ass woman who was capable of taking care of herself. Right?

Then again, this was Vegas.

I got to thinking that as far as stress levels went, for the Peanut M&M-eating heroine in my book, MERGER OF THE HEART, this whole adventure would’ve started out as a one bag crisis (eaten because she couldn’t decide which lounge outfit should be worn to the bingo game), then quickly escalated to two bags with the last of Delilah’s texts.

But it only got worse.

Join me at the next Travel Bug Tuesday as the adventure continues. . ..

~Melia