The Vegas Diaries: Romance, Rolling the Dice, and the Road to Reinvention by Holly Madison

dined with.
    Russell was kind and seemed reasonably down-to-earth. We made small talk about how he was enjoying Vegas and the good times he was having on the set of the film. He was boyishly enthusiastic and witty. My friend had been right: he was funny and easy to talk to. I was definitely happy I decided to go.
    He told me that I hadn’t been what he expected at all and that when he had first seen me standing there, he’d done a double take. He said I seemed more ladylike than he had imagined, more shy and demure.
    “Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my smile from breaking out into a huge cheesy grin. Incidentally, that was just the kind of thing I liked (and needed) to hear. I was tired of my public image. I felt like everyone assumed I was a cunning, oversexed hot mess, based on what they saw on TV. It didn’t matter that I had said only a handful of things to Russell so far, and that he barely knew me. I needed to believe that I wasn’t crazy and that someone else could see me for who I felt I really was.
    “You know, this isn’t really me,” he said after we finished eating, leaning back in his chair and gesturing around the trendy night spot.
    “Me either,” I agreed, pleasantly surprised by his admission. I loved Tao, but I did loathe when restaurants got so loud that you could barely hear the person sitting next to you, let alone the person across the table.
    He leaned in closer as if he were about to tell me a secret, “I’d much rather just be in bed watching a movie and eating something chocolaty, wouldn’t you?”
    I couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or if he indeed wanted to jump in bed at that moment. He certainly gave off the vibe that anything could be a joke, but I couldn’t take the risk. I had been so scared off from guys that anything seemed like a dangerous proposition to me at the time. I was hyperaware that the last thing I needed was another notch on my belt, and I certainly wasn’t interested in a guy looking for a one-night pump and dump.
    “I’m down to get out of here, but I’m going to have to call it a night,” I repeated, trying hard to keep a straight face. I felt as if I were a character in an after-school special, staunchly trying to avoid a possible sexual encounter. I finally added: “I’ve got to get back to my suite. My roommate is expecting me.”
    “You have a roommate?” he asked quizzically, clearly not expecting my living situation to be so collegiate.
    “Yeah,” I said, giving him a nervous smile. “Okay, well, I’m going to go . . .”
    “Let’s share a ride,” he said, jumping out of his seat, and motioning toward the charismatic host who was handling this VIP table. “Since we’re staying at the same place.”
    “Okay,” I said, grabbing my small black clutch as I stood to leave.
    The cute, pullover-wearing host offered to escort us to the back exit. We wove through the hordes of people spilling over from the restaurant’s packed bar area. The host pushed open a secret door, hidden in plain sight from the rest of the diners, and we slipped out back and into the alley, where a black SUV was waiting for us.
    I directed the driver to the VIP entrance of Planet Hollywood as Russell texted on his BlackBerry while our driver battled the traffic on the Strip. He had already lined up a backup plan for a night on the town, he explained, if I was certain I didn’t want to hang out.
    “Thanks, but I can’t,” I insisted, as if my designer outfit was going to turn to rags at the stroke of midnight.
    He looked at me and smiled as we pulled up to my destination. Before he could say anything, I jumped out of the car and bounded toward the door as quickly as my over-the-knee boots would carry me. If he meant to give me a good-night kiss or not, I would never know. I wasn’t even ready for something as benign as a peck on the lips at that point.
    I wasn’t lying about the early rehearsals, so I headed up to my room to get some sleep. I smiled as I