Page 3 of The Vegas Rerun
I don’t know, but I try to shake it off as I make my way to a table to wait for the others. It’s our last night in Vegas and I don’t want to bring the others down. I tell myself to let go of Molly, that it was just a fun night, a harmless flirtation and that I’m blowing it up into something much bigger in my head.
We do manage to have a good night, although I find myself keeping thinking I have spotted Molly everywhere we go, and at the end of the night, when I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, all I can think about is the way she looked at me. Like she felt that crazy attraction too.
The next morning, I get up and go to the airport with my friends, knowing that I really am going to leave without seeing Molly. We reach the airport and join the line for getting checked in. I only have carry-on luggage but some of the guys need to check in their luggage too.
The usual banter and jokes fly around between the guys, and I laugh when the others laugh to keep up appearances, but I’m not listening. My mind is somewhere else – back at the hotel, still wondering if I should have done something different, if I would have had a chance with Molly if I had only spoken up. I feel like I would have, because she was flirting back with me, and it didn’t feel like a ‘I want a decent tip’ kind of flirting – I know that kind of flirting from waitresses and what Molly was doing wasn’t it.
I rub my jaw, exhaling slowly. Then, out of nowhere, I hear myself say it before I fully registered that I was going to speak up at all.
“Shit. I think I left my passport in my hotel room,” I say, patting my pockets for effect.
The words taste like a lie, but they sound real enough that my friends freeze. Mark, the groom to be, groans.
“You’re joking, right?” he says.
I shake my head.
“Nope. I must’ve left it in the room safe. You guys go ahead. I’ll catch a later flight,” I tell them.
Of course, they want me to double check everywhere, and I turn my pockets out and make a show of going through my bag – all except the small, zippered compartment on the sidethat is barely visible and contains my passport. I finish checking through everything and shake my head.
“Nope. I definitely don’t have it,” I say. “Now that I think about it, I remember thinking I needed to grab it and getting distracted and then we left, and I never did go back to the safe for it.”
They start throwing out ideas for solutions like checking with the airline to see if I can fly without it – I could because I have my driver’s license I could use as ID because we’re not flying abroad, but I don’t say that. Then they suggest getting the front desk of the hotel to put it in a cab and send it over to me, but I cut them off, saying it won’t get here in time. Of course, they offer to wait with me, but I don’t hear of it.
“No, I’ll figure it out,” I say. “No point in all of us missing the flight and having to pay for another one.”
It takes some convincing, but eventually, they go through security without me. I feel a twinge of guilt because truthfully, I didn’t expect them to be as bothered as they were or as helpful in trying to get my passport to me. As soon as they’re out of sight, I let go of the guilt and I let out a breath and pull out my phone to call a cab to take me back to the hotel.
I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Actually, that’s a lie. I know exactly what I’m doing.
I’m going back for Molly.
Back at the Caesar’s Palace hotel, I go over to the reception desk and book another night. As I hand over my credit card to pay for the room, I feel ridiculous. Who does this? Who misses a flight over a girl he barely knows? But the moment I check intomy new room, the nerves settle. This feels right, and it’s not like anyone is ever going to know that’s why I came back.
Now, all I have to do is make this all worthwhile and find her.
I head down to the bar, scanning the room, hoping she hasn’t already finished her shift and left for the day. Imagine me going through all this just to miss her again. She’s not behind the bar and I don’t see her walking between the tables. Oh fuck. It’s happened. I’ve missed her again.
I feel like screaming, but then a group moves away from the bar and heads towards a table, and I see her.
She is sitting on a tall stool at the bar, laughing at something the bartender just said to her. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, hanging in soft looking red curls, and she looks relaxed in a way I didn’t get to see before. I guess she has finished her shift which is good, but she hasn’t left yet which is even better. My pulse kicks up a notch as I walk toward her, but I force myself to stay cool.
This is so weird. I’m never normally nervous about approaching a woman, but I think I know why. I’ve never felt this drawn to someone before, and normally when I approach a woman, obviously I would like her to want to go out with me, but if she says no, I can shrug it off and not be too worried about it. This feels different. The only thing I can think of worse than me having got on that plane earlier on is me asking Molly to have a drink with me and her saying no.
She doesn’t see me at first and that gives me a moment to compose myself. She’s focused on her drink, swirling the last little bit of liquid in her glass. I order a drink from the bartender and ask for another one for Molly too, and as soon as she hears my voice, she glances up, and when her eyes land on me, they widen in surprise.
“Joshua?” she says, looking surprised to see me. That bodes well, it means she noticed I was gone.
“Hey, Molly, how’s it going?” I ask, as cool as cucumber.
CHAPTER 3
MOLLY
For a moment,I feel like I’m in my own little bubble. The sounds from around me disappear and my stomach clenches. Did he lie about not getting my note? Was it him who sent me that text message pretending to be someone new who had just checked in? I mean he’s here, after all so he definitely isn’t on a plane on the way home. Is this going to be one of the most cringey moments of my life?
But then, as his gaze drifts toward me, something in his expression shifts. His lips curve into a slow, unmistakable smile, and warmth spreads through me. That’s not the smile of a man who’s avoiding me. That’s the smile of a man who wants me, and the clenching in my stomach doesn’t exactly stop, but it is now for a very different reason, and it has gone from feeling nasty to feeling good.
