Page 75 of Love in the Lab
Jonathan eyes me up and down, and grins. “You look ready to take on Las Vegas,” he teases.
“So do you. What’s the flower for?”
His eyes turn serious. “I know our presentation isn’t until Friday, but I want to say how proud I am of you. This is a big deal, and I’m so happy that you’re getting the recognition you deserve.”
I take the flower from his hand. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. It’s your project too, though, you know.”
He grins. “I know. But I was following your lead. You’re the mastermind. I’m just the work grunt.” He winks so I know he’s kidding.
I gesture for him to come inside, and he does, keeping a hand behind his back. “What’s in your other hand?” I ask, trying to peek behind him.
“Ah,” he says, holding up a finger. “It’s our ultimate Las Vegas travel kit.” He pulls out a sling crossbody bag and places it on the end of the bed. He unzips it and starts cataloging the contents. “We have reusable water bottles, sunscreen, a portable phone charger, a map of the Strip, lip balm, Advil, blister bandages, a microfiber cleaning cloth for your glasses, noise-canceling earbuds, and…” He smirks at me. “Hair ties. And the best part is, I’ll carry it, so you can just sit back and relax.”
I laugh. “That’s perfect.”
He shrugs. “I like to be prepared.”
We head out and follow the hotel signs to the monorail station. Jonathan buys our tickets at a kiosk in a space that reminds me of a subway station, except we’re high above ground, not belowit. Within five minutes, the monorail arrives, and we shuffle on with the rest of the crowd.
I’m glued to the window as I list the sites I’d like to see. “The Bellagio fountain, The Venetian, and the Sphere.”
Jonathan tracks each suggestion on a map on his phone. “How about we ride this to the end and then hit all the spots on our way back?” he asks.
“Fine with me.” I settle into my seat next to the window. Though the monorail is almost full, it doesn’t feel stuffy or loud. We ride all the way down to the SAHARA station, each of us pointing out what we see: lots of hotel pools, a Ferris wheel, plus some unglamorous parking lots. We pass right by the Sphere, lit up and pulsing a rhythmic pattern. A lush, green golf course looks out of place among all the concrete.
Jonathan plans out our return stops. Most of what we want to see is at the Harrah’s station, so that’s where we hop off. New Orleans also has a Harrah’s casino, which is maybe why, in addition to proximity, I decide this casino is the one I’m going to try. Even though the whole idea of a loud, crowded, chaotic casino makes my skin crawl, I promised myself before we even got on the plane that I would at least enter a casino while in Las Vegas. It’s part of the experience, after all.
I take a deep breath and tell Jonathan that I want to go inside Harrah’s.
“Are you sure?” he asks, with a tilt of his head and concern in his eyes. “I’m not a casino person, so don’t worry about me missing out.”
“Yes,” I say resolutely. “We can’t come all the way to Vegas and not go into a casino.”
He smiles widely, all his teeth showing. “Let’s do it.” He takes my hand, and we walk up to the glass doors. They open automatically. Gleaming marble floors give way to a tacky dark-purple carpet where tables and chairs and gaming machines sit.Nearly all of these are glowing with bright and blinking lights. A long bar with tall stools, huge television screens, and shelves of bottles stretches out to our left.
The strong smell of cigarette smoke mixed with some sort of cloying citrus fragrance assaults my nose, making me immediately want to walk back out. Instead, I press my face against Jonathan’s sleeve, and we continue on.
It’s soloud. Music, beeping, alarms, and the tick-tick-tick-tick sounds of the roulette wheel clamor around us, plus the sound of conversations and laughter from the crowds of people.
We walk halfway through the room, past a pizza parlor. All the while, I can feel Jonathan’s eyes on me.
“Seen enough?” I ask brightly, glancing sideways at him.
Jonathan smirks. “More than.”
We turn around and make our way back out the glass doors. I exhale in relief when we get to the sidewalk outside. It’s not exactly calm and quiet on the streets of Las Vegas, but at least the noise can escape into the desert sky instead of being trapped next to my ears.
Jonathan grins at me. “We can check that one off the bucket list.”
“Yep,” I say, pinching my thumb and pointer finger together as if I’m holding a pencil and miming a check mark in the air. “Check and check.”
Next, we walk to The Venetian, passing a group of women dressed like showgirls, including feather plumes swaying behind their leopard-print cowboy hats.
I pull Jonathan to stand next to the railing that looks out over the hotel’s re-creation of a canal in Venice, Italy. Gondoliers push their boats along with long poles while tourists enjoy the tour.
Jonathan nudges my shoulder, and I look up at him. He has his eyebrows raised expectantly. “Wanna ride?”
I grin. “Definitely.”
