Bad Bitches Anonymous (BBA)

The Night I Became His

The laughter faded gradually into comfortable silence. The bubbles in my champagne glass suddenly seemed less celebratory and more intimidating. I glanced around at my circle of judgmental yet supportive sisters, their eyes locked on me with curiosity that bordered on impatience.

I knew them too well. They wanted details. They craved tea served hot, with every messy, reckless, possibly regrettable ingredient stirred in.

Latrixa was the first to break the silence, leaning forward with that sharply defined smirk of hers that told me she wasn’t about to let this slide.

“So, hold up, Ava,” she began, swirling the champagne in her glass. “You gave us a cute little teaser, a name drop, some vague s**t about passion and soul fires. But girl, I’mma need you to rewind that tape back a bit.”

I raised an eyebrow at her cautiously, waiting for whatever Latrixa was about to serve next.

“Because you ain’t fooling nobody here,” she continued, dark lipstick framing a smirk so sharp it might have cut through glass. “I wanna know exactly how you met this man, Austin, who got you risking your life and your husband’s freedom. Matter of fact, I need to hear exactly what went down in Vegas, because clearly, it didn’t stay there.”

Keisha snapped her fingers twice, leaning forward eagerly. “Hell yes. Start with how he approached you because I know your bougie ass didn’t chase no white boy around Vegas.”

“Please tell me you didn’t,” Toni chimed in, giggling. “I don’t think Keisha’s blood pressure can handle that information tonight.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, I didn’t chase him.”

“Okay, thank the powers that be, you out here having our ancestors rollin’ in their graves,” Keisha exhaled dramatically, placing a hand on her chest.

Latrixa held up a perfectly manicured hand, silencing the group. Her eyes narrowed, serious now. “Ava, tell us what really happened. How’d you meet Austin, exactly? What was it about him that had you acting like your home training got left at baggage claim?”

Camille adjusted her glasses, her eyes warm but focused. “And don’t leave out how it felt, Ava. You’re good at glossing over feelings, baby, but tonight we need it all, the messy, the reckless, and the real.”

Nia nodded, smiling at me, her presence calming. “Take your time, Ava. We’re not rushing you.”

Toni coughed loudly. “Girl, speak for yourself. I'm rushing. Ava, give us visuals like was it love at first sight, lust at first touch, or tequila at first shot?”

“Start at the beginning, Ava,” Latrixa said firmly. “When you first saw Austin, what did you see? And why the hell couldn’t you look away?”

I took a long, steadying sip of champagne, the bubbles burning my throat gently as I prepared myself to dive headfirst into memories I'd tried to bury for years. Every woman in the room leaned closer, ready for my next confession.

“Alright,” I finally said, exhaling. “Y’all really wanna know how I met Austin? Fine. It all started at that damn branding convention in Vegas…”

And with that, I let myself slip fully back into that night back into the beginning of everything.

The Lumiére Resort and Casino, Las Vegas

June 14th, 2015 — 9:30 PM

I saw Austin for the first time across a crowded hotel bar, leaning casually against the counter as if he owned the place. His confidence irritated and intrigued me simultaneously. There were a mixed group of guys with him but his copper hair made him stand out. I always had a thing for ginger men.

When he noticed me staring, his lips quirked into a cocky smile, and before I could look away, he was already approaching.

“You look bored,” he said smoothly, sliding onto the stool next to me without waiting for an invitation.

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And you look lost. I think the frat boy convention is two hotels over.”

He laughed and moved closer, completely unfazed by my jab. “Ouch. You always this mean, or am I special?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath, covering my nerves with a layer of sass. Subtly, I shifted my body and discreetly reached down to adjust my dress a designer piece I had absolutely no business buying. I’d saved for damn near six months, only for the cheap ass clasp to betray me and pop loose the night of the event. Of course, I hadn’t packed safety pins; that would’ve been too much like right. Instead, I’d secured the expensive fabric with a tiny metal clothespin I’d found in my hotel bathroom, one of those flimsy little bastards meant for hanging complimentary robes, not holding dreams together.

Finally comfortable, or as comfortable as a woman could be holding her life together with a metal prayer, I finally dared myself to look, really look into his eyes. After all, if I gave him enough direct eye contact, he wouldn’t have the chance to notice my wardrobe malfunction.

Big mistake. His eyes were stunning, the kind of beautiful green that instantly pulled you in like cool waters you couldn’t resist diving into, deeper and deeper until you found yourself enjoying the swim a little too much.

Damn, he was fine as hell. And tall, unnecessarily tall. Austin stood somewhere around six foot six, easily towering over me, even in my carefully selected six-inch stilettos. He was a delicious combination of pale, almost porcelain like skin and thick, vibrant hair that fell effortlessly into place. Every detail of him screamed confidence, and every fiber of my being wanted to challenge it.

“Well,” I finally said, feigning calm as I arched one perfectly threaded brow, “I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself mean. I just don’t take kindly to men stepping into my space acting like they own it.”

A smirk played at the corner of Austin’s mouth, amusement dancing in those dangerously inviting eyes. Without breaking eye contact, he smoothly tucked one expensive leather shoe against the rung of the barstool and leaned forward, casually lifting a finger to summon the bartender. I watched the way his perfectly tailored jacket tightened slightly across broad shoulders, confidence practically dripping from every move.

When the bartender finally approached a woman who seemed just as unbothered as she was underpaid, Austin turned to her, briefly breaking the intense eye contact he’d held with me, and spoke.

“Get this fine lady a bottle of your most expensive champagne,” he instructed, as if dropping money was as simple as breathing.

The bartender, a petite woman with sharp eyes and a sharper attitude, raised an eyebrow skeptically as she finished polishing a crystal glass. Clearly, she wasn’t convinced he knew what he’d asked for. “Are you sure about that, sir? Our most expensive bottle is twenty-five hundred dollars.”

I watched as Austin’s relaxed composure tightened instantly. His head tilted slightly to the side, revealing a faint flush rising up his neck, staining that pale, perfect skin with a faint red hue. His eyes narrowed, jawline clenching sharply beneath perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Slowly, deliberately, he ran his tongue across his straight white teeth.

“Did I stutter?” Austin’s voice was calm but ice cold, cutting through the ambient chatter of the bar. “Or did I give you any indication I can’t afford it? Last I checked, this was the most prestigious hotel in Las Vegas, and my card was good enough to book the best damn suite here. Now, maybe if I was a rapper or a baller, your steps would carry you faster and silently, at that. Bring the lady the bottle. Now.”

Before the bartender could recover, Austin reached into the pocket of his tailored trousers and whipped out a leather wallet so thick with cash I briefly wondered if he moonlighted as a drug lord. A crisp hundred-dollar bill was clearly visible, almost taunting the bartender from between folds of bills. He pulled out a sleek black credit card, slamming it onto the marble countertop loud enough to echo.

I flinched involuntarily, startled at the sudden intensity. But the bartender? That b***h looked more shocked than me. Her carefully cultivated attitude evaporated in seconds. Without another word, hell, without even another glance she quickly snatched the card off the counter, placed her polishing towel down gently like it was made of porcelain, and scurried off to fulfill his demand. Clearly, Austin wasn’t a man used to asking twice.

As she retreated, he seemed to remember himself, turning back to me with an apologetic smile and a softer tone. “Sorry about that, beautiful. I hate terrible customer service. Think of the refreshments as my apology for being so forward with you.”

Then, his voice lowered into something smoother, more intimate. “Hey, um…I didn’t catch your name. What is it?”

My heart beat faster, though I maintained my composure outwardly. I allowed myself one slow glance up and down his frame taking in the way the tailored suit hugged his body, the effortless confidence that rolled off him, and the undeniable pull between us. Something about his presence made heat rise steadily between my thighs.

“Ava,” I finally said, voice steady but softer now, eyes holding his gaze. “And yours?”

“Austin.” He smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ava. So, tell me: how is Vegas treating you? And what brings a woman like you to a branding convention filled with stuffy tech nerds and desperate entrepreneurs?”

I allowed myself to smile, leaning back slightly, settling more comfortably against the plush barstool. Inwardly, I thanked God that the makeshift clothespin was still holding up.

“Oh, you know,” I replied casually, eyes locked onto his, voice laced with just enough sarcasm to intrigue him further. “Overpriced drinks, overly ambitious men, and the occasional life-altering moment. Vegas is giving me exactly what I expected.”

He leaned in a bit closer. “Life-altering moments, huh? Tell me more.”

And as I inhaled, gathering my nerve, I realized this man was trouble. Pure, delicious, soul shaking trouble. Exactly the kind I was looking for, even if I didn’t yet realize it.

“Alright, Austin,” I began, leaning slightly forward to match his posture, heart pounding. “You asked for it. Let me tell you exactly how Vegas is treating me so far and exactly what kind of trouble I’m in the mood to find tonight.”

The Lake View Hotel Los Angeles, Penthouse Suite 161

Friday, August 22nd, 2025 — 9:05 PM

“Hold up, Ava!” Keisha interrupted, leaning forward aggressively, waving her nails like colorful daggers. “You not about to just skate past the fact this man dropped twenty-five hundred dollars on champagne just to flex on some rude ass bartender. That s**t is sexy as hell, problematic as f**k, and bougie all at once.”

Toni burst out laughing, clapping her hands loudly, eyes shining mischievously. “Girl, right? Forget big d**k energy, that was platinum Amex energy. Austin got money-money.”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t even about the money for me, honestly. It was the way he handled it, like he was mad she even thought he couldn’t afford it.”

“Exactly,” Latrixa chimed in, sipping her champagne. “Men like that got egos bigger than their bank accounts. You better believe he’ll spend that money to prove a point and remind everyone in earshot exactly who the hell he is.”

Nia tilted her head thoughtfully, eyebrows raised in genuine curiosity. “Did that impress you, Ava? Or did it scare you?”

I hesitated, rolling the stem of my glass gently between my fingers, feeling their stares intensify. “Honestly? Both. But mostly, I think it excited me. It felt like power.”

Camille leaned back gracefully; eyes warm behind her designer frames. “Of course it did. It’s primal watching a man take charge like that, defending his pride. But be careful, baby. That kind of pride cuts both ways.”

“Exactly!” Keisha snapped her fingers, pointing aggressively at Camille. “See, this is why I f**k with Camille. Wisdom and elegance wrapped in one expensive ass sweater. But Ava, real s**t, please tell me you at least got that bartender’s reaction on camera.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Girl, I was too busy trying to hold my busted ass dress together with a hotel clothespin. Trust me, the gram was the last thing on my mind.”

“Busted ass dress? Ava Bolden, since when do you step out looking anything but flawless?” Toni demanded, mock offended. “Don’t tell me you were in Vegas being ghetto fabulous.”

“More like broke and bougie,” I corrected. “Designer dress, dollar store solutions. You know the struggle.”

Keisha cackled loudly, clapping her hands. “See, this is why Ava’s story is the best damn reality show I never knew I needed.”

Toni refilled her champagne flute, raising her glass dramatically. “Alright, alright back to Ava’s ratchet Cinderella story. So, Austin flexed hard, got the bottle, and clearly left you ready to risk it all. Keep going, girl I need details about what happened next.”