21
The sun is just starting to rise as I sink into a tub full of bubbles, a Butter Burger in one hand and a cupcake the size of my face in the other.
“Is the bruising on my face going down yet?” I ask Zahara. She’s hanging out by the toilet. Girl doesn’t want to admit it, but she can’t hold her ambrosia. I didn’t even know what ambrosia was, but sometime during our crazy night we dropped in on Edie. We were having so much fun after the MMA fight (which is where my bruising came from) and playing slots in Monte Carlo, that I thought she might like to join us. But she was busy with Val. And by busy I mean getting busy.
Before ordering us to get out, Edie said if we were gonna act like a bunch of i***t gods, we should do it right—and that meant getting drunk. Apparently, ambrosia is the go
