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Editor’s note: This is part 2 of a continuing series. Get caught up by reading part 1.

Normally, a round-trip airline ticket between Los Angeles and Las Vegas would cost about $100, at most, if booked far enough in advance. Because he didn’t book our trip until one week before we were scheduled to leave, my plane ticket ended up costing him over $400. (No, he wasn’t tacky. The travel confirmation email included a receipt at the bottom.) That is when I knew he was serious.

I woke up that Friday morning thinking, Wow, this is really happening. I’m going to Vegas.

Then my period made her appearance like, “Nah, bitch. We goin’ to Vegas.”

I was a little panicked. The first full day of my period is always the heaviest and most uncomfortable. I didn’t want to be curled up in the fetal position my first night in Vegas. I didn’t want to spend Saturday battling cramps.

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More important, I didn’t want to have any type of leakage accident in bed with him for the first time. I would be mortified.

Because we were going to be sharing a bed. He offered to get me a separate room, but in the end I decided to stay with him. We both agreed that there were no expectations, and as I stated before, I had an escape plan if anything went left.

I am as last-minute as it comes in everything in life, so I was simultaneously showering, packing and dressing two hours before my flight. I called a Lyft, and because of L.A. traffic, it took me longer to get to LAX from Hollywood in a car than it did to get from LAX to Las Vegas on a plane.

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I got to the airport 20 minutes before my flight was scheduled to board, and I cursed myself once again for not getting TSA precheck. I was in the world’s longest security screening line, so of course my carry-on got pulled for the physical check.

So there I was, standing in LAX security screening, bleeding to death, feeling incredibly angsty and irritated because, at this point, my flight was already boarding and these fools wanted to run through my bag.

Luckily I got a cool-ass black dude who told me he didn’t understand why I got pulled because all my toiletries were bottled correctly and the right size. I told him I was about to miss my flight, so he let me go, and off I ran to cut in front of everyone in line to board my flight as if I were sitting in first class—when really I had to walk way to the back of the plane because, again, last-minute booking.

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I sat in my seat and sent a text letting Mr. Big know that I was on my flight. Then I paid $10 for 30 minutes of Wi-Fi because I still had one more story to post for the night before I could put my laptop away for the next 48 hours.

Mr. Big told me to get a Lyft from the airport to the hotel and call him when I was close so he could meet me in the lobby. I did as instructed.

I recognized him immediately as he walked toward me. He was even more handsome in person. He hugged me, took my heavy-ass bag and led me to the suite that would be our base of operations for the next two days.

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It was gorgeous. It had a view overlooking the fountains on one side and looking toward Red Rock on the other. There was a huge two-room bathroom with a soaking tub and separate walk-in shower. He’d brought a Bluetooth speaker so we could listen to music.

We ate dinner that night at Yellowtail, the sushi restaurant in the hotel, and we were both unimpressed. The sushi was good, but not that good.

I would catch him staring at me throughout dinner, and when I asked him what he was looking at, he told me he was taking slow sips of me, the way one does with a good scotch one wants to enjoy.

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Those slow, sipping stares would happen quite often over the course of the weekend, and I know the ladies know what I mean when I talk about how warm and fuzzy you feel when someone is looking at you like that.

That first night, we snuggled up to each other, listened to music, laughed and talked.

He smelled like heaven (Dolce & Gabbana’s Light Blue). His hugs turned me into jelly. His kisses gave me butterflies.

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We were indeed a match, and I liked it.

And then he fell asleep and snored like a bear, and I was lying there scolding myself for not falling asleep first.

In the morning, he told me that he had thought to bring me a pair of ear plugs (aww!) but had forgotten to give them to me the night before. He was thoughtful and attentive like that.

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The entire weekend, I didn’t want for anything. I didn’t have to think about anything. I never had to make a decision. He took care of everything. It was perfect.

We ordered room service, lay around the hotel room eating edibles and listening to music, discussed politics, rape culture and everything in between. We took long naps and even longer showers.

We never left that room after Friday night.

We intended to, and late Saturday afternoon we even got up, showered, and I got dressed, but we ate a high-potency edible that rendered us both completely useless, so we lay in bed giggling and having nonsensical conversations until we passed out instead.

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When we woke up, it was late Saturday night and almost time for Cardi B to come on Saturday Night Live, so he ordered us pizza from room service and we sat there eating it in our underwear. It was the best. The experience, not the pizza.

He’s smart, funny, affectionate, passionate, sensual, sexy, confident, self-assured and no-nonsense. He gets mani-pedis (!!) and he manscapes.

Yes, I saw it. Even if I didn’t ride it, I saw it, and, well ... yes to all of that, too.

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We both had late flights Sunday night, and checkout time at the Bellagio is relatively early. When he called to see if we could get a late checkout, they told him that there was demand for the suite, so he arranged with the hotel for us to get moved to a different room where we wouldn’t have to check out until 6 p.m.

When we were on our way to our last dinner before going home, our driver asked us how long we had been together. I told her that we were on the world’s longest first date.

“No way,” she said. “Seriously? When did y’all meet?”

“We met in person for the first time two days ago,” I said.

“I would have never guessed that,” she said. “You seem like you have been together for a long time.”

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When he got out first to open my door for me, she turned to me and said, “And he’s such a gentleman! You better keep him, girl.”

I plan to.

Mr. Big is smart enough to have TSA precheck for himself, but because I don’t, he went through the commoner process with me just so that he could see me off at my gate.

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Just like on Friday night, when we got there, my flight was already boarding. I dropped my purse and wrapped my arms around his neck, not wanting to let go.

He kissed me and told me he would let me know as soon as he made it home.

He stood there watching as I walked down the ramp. I kept looking back at him until I couldn’t see him anymore.

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Dates 2, 3 and 4 have already been planned.

This is a Twitter fly-out story that did not end in tragedy.