Page 36 of What Happens In Vegas: Jessa & Jaxon
“You’re probably PMSing, girl. Happens to me all the time,” Meesha offers from her seat.
Jasmine’s posture stiffens. Looking at her through the mirror, I notice the tightening in her throat. Her hand drifts to her stomach and her light brown eyes widen before blinking rapidly.
“Girl, are you okay?” I ask, concerned.
Jasmine clears her throat and force a smile. “I’m good,” she replies. “Let’s see about buying this dress.”
While waiting for the store attendant, Meesha enthusiastically discusses her wedding. “With only sixteen days left, I’m freaking out about finalizing everything. The caterer needs the final headcount by Tuesday because Connor's mom keeps calling her to change it, the florist keeps pushing for decisions on centerpieces, and the DJ wants our must-play list ASAP.”
“Let’s schedule a planning session on Monday evening,” I suggest, grateful for a concrete task to focus on beyond Saturday’s encounter. “We can knock out all the remaining decisions in one three-hour block instead of these scattered conversations.”
I created a master spreadsheet tracking every wedding task, color-coded by deadline and priority level. Meesha initially laughed at my organizational system, but now refers to it as her “wedding bible.”
Despite talks of the wedding, I can’t help noticing Jasmine’s unusual silence. She sits with perfect posture, nodding occasionally while her gaze drifts repeatedly to the calendar hanging behind the counter, as if calculating dates in her head.
Meesha’s vibrating phone interrupts the conversation. She glances down at it, and I catch the worried frown creasing her brow. She turns the phone off and puts it into her purse.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you girls about.” Her perfectly manicured nail traced the rim of her champagne glass, creating a faint, crystalline hum. “My heart’s been filled with guilt since Vegas.”
The air in the boutique suddenly feels too warm. I look down at my hands, studying my cuticles to avoid making eye contact with either of them.
What could Meesha possibly have done that was worse than what I did?
“You didn’t do something stupid like getting married in Vegas, did you?” I make myself look up, struggling to keep my expression neutral.
Meesha’s head jerks backward. “What? Of course not!”
“Well, you did say you felt guilty,” I say. “And it is the only thing I could come up with that would make you feel that way.”
“Getting married in Vegas is tacky. I could never,” Meesha responds.
“I feel you, girl,” Jasmine adds.
My shoulders tense at the unintentional jab. Great, now my wedding is officially “tacky” before I even explain myself. So much for my big confession. I’m definitely not telling them today.
“Come on, do we really have to talk about Vegas?” Jasmine interjects before I could speak.
“I want to talk about it,” Meesha insists. “I did something bad. It’s been eating at me.”
“Did you kill someone?” Jasmine asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course not!” Meesha recoils, looking genuinely offended at the suggestion.
“Then what happened in Vegas should stay in Vegas,” I say, infusing my voice with a finality.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Jasmine chimes in, her voice unusually quick. “Let’s talk instead about Jessa being snowed in with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hostile.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, don’t play innocent,” Jasmine says. “You were trapped alone for seven days with your nemesis?” She emphasizes the word with air quotes and a smirk. “That must have been... interesting.”
The memory of Jaxon’s hands on my skin, his mouth against mine, flashes through my mind. I take another sip of champagne, hoping the flush I feel rising isn’t visible on my face.
“It was... fine,” I say. “We were civil.”
“Civil?” Meesha repeats incredulously. “Girl, please. You’ve been crushing on that man since you were twelve.”
“I have not!” My protest comes too quickly, too forcefully.
