What Happens in Vegas… I Still Think About Every Damn Day

went to Vegas for a girls’ weekend — nothing wild, just four of us from college reuniting for some poolside drinks, spa days, and a little nostalgia. I’m 34, divorced, and not really the type to “go wild” anymore. At least, that’s what I told myself before we landed.

By our second night, we were all buzzed off overpriced cocktails at some rooftop bar at the Cosmo. One of my friends dared me to go flirt with this guy standing by the railing. He had that quiet confidence — clean-shaven, dark hair, rolled-up sleeves, drinking whiskey straight. Definitely not my type, but something about him pulled me in.

We talked for maybe 15 minutes before he asked if I wanted to “ditch the noise.” I should’ve said no. I didn’t. We ended up walking the Strip, talking like we’d known each other forever. No pressure, no game. He told me he was in town for a tech conference, recently out of a long relationship, and looking to feel something again. Same.

We ended up in his suite at Aria. I told myself I wasn’t going to sleep with him — I really believed it, too. But then we kissed, and it was like something snapped. It was slow, intense, like neither of us wanted to rush it but couldn’t hold back either. He undressed me like he’d done it a hundred times in a dream. It wasn’t messy or fast or drunk — it was the kind of sex that makes you feel seen, like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. I didn’t want to leave that bed.

We spent the entire next day together. No sex, just talking, cuddling, laughing, room service. It was like we were in this perfect little bubble — no past, no future, just this. I cried in the airport bathroom before my flight home. We didn’t exchange numbers. I didn’t even ask for his last name.

Every now and then, I Google random names or scroll LinkedIn hoping I might see his face. I know it sounds ridiculous. I don’t regret it — not even a little — but it kind of ruined casual hookups for me. I had one perfect night. And no one’s come close since.