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

my bedroom door to the public, so I’d have to prove it some other way.
    I wasn’t the girl next door anymore. I never really was.
    I decided that for the next few years, at least, I would have to keep my personal life as far out of the public eye as possible. I had no idea what a challenge that would be.

C HAPTER 3

    Yet Dorothy felt a sort of joyous excitement in defying the storm, and while she held fast to the railing she peered through the gloom and thought she saw the dim form of a man clinging to a mast not far away from her.
    —L. Frank Baum, Ozma of Oz
    G etting up early for church wasn’t my typical Sunday routine.
    A few days earlier, Angel invited me to go to church with her. I loved spending time with Angel and her family, so I gladly accepted. We invited a bunch of friends to meet us afterward at Simon, the popular brunch spot of the moment. She and I were seated in our booth and had a good amount of time to kill before the rest of our party wandered in.
    “They’re cute, right?” I whispered to Angel. A few seats away, a group of ink-covered rocker boys who looked to be in their late twenties roared and laughed, as two of the members argued playfully over the retelling of a story. One of the guys, in a worn-out death-metal shirt and blue-streaked hair, began animatedly describing a run-in with a group of girls the night before.
    “Totally,” she said, not so subtly craning her neck to get a better look. “Should we say something?”
    “No!” I gasped, throwing my hands over my mouth. Angel, who was always brimming with confidence, started to rise from her seat with a big cheeky grin on her face. I leaned over the table and waved my hands, gesturing to her to get back into her seat.
    I glanced over at the table carefully, and when I was sure they weren’t looking at us, decided to stare a little longer. Most of the guys were cute, but one in particular stood out, thanks to the tall Mohawk he sported.
    “Hol, come on . . .” Angel encouraged in her cute, I-just-inhaled-helium voice. “That Mohawk guy is cute.” I knew she was trying to help and have fun, but she didn’t understand how I was feeling.
    “Let’s just leave it alone, please,” I begged, under my breath, praying they hadn’t heard her.
    “But why?” Her tone was genuine, and I realized she didn’t see what was so obvious to me. I didn’t want to have to say it out loud, but I didn’t seem to have a choice.
    “Because they would never be into me,” I blurted out. I appreciated that she believed me to have more game than I actually did, but it was a blow to the ego to have to admit it in public.
    Angel shot me a look, quick to let me know that my excuse carried no weight with her, but she knew me well enough to let the subject alone for now.
    Perhaps if I were a “normal girl,” those are the sorts of guys I’d hang out with, but I wasn’t. I had only recently turned thirty, but having just come out of a world where any woman over twenty-eight was considered ancient, I felt like I might as well have been a hundred. Plus, my dating history was pretty much public record. Maybe they wouldn’t know at first glance, but everyone googles everyone. It was only a matter of time before they figured it out.
    These guys would probably think I was gross, I thought. Experience had led me to believe that guys couldn’t handle my past.
    Luckily, our group started to filter in before Angel could ask me more about it.
    “Sorry I’m late,” Hannah announced, collapsing into an empty seat and snatching my mimosa to take a swig. “Ooooh, those guys are cute,” she said, nodding toward the booth next to us. “That guy with the Mohawk looks so familiar, but I can’t place him,” she continued, tapping her nails against the table. After a few moments of unsuccessfully trying to place Mohawk man, she turned her attention back to us. “Anyway, I was held up this morning because I had to get an emergency manicure.”
    She was baiting