Page 11 of The Vegas Rerun
My stomach twists, but I keep my face carefully neutral as I turn. He’s propped up on one elbow now, his hair tousled, looking only half awake. He’s watching me with those impossibly sharp eyes. The ones that see too much. The ones that make me feel seen in a different sort of a way, a way that I like.
I force a smile, trying to act like I’m not dying inside at being caught sneaking out, and also trying to act like I’m not just willing him to say the word, to ask me to stay.
"Yeah. I should go before someone sees me," I say.
He studies me for a long moment, his gaze flicking over my face like he’s trying to read something there. Then he nods, though there’s something unreadable in his expression.
"Right. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble," he replies.
There’s something in his tone that I can’t quite place, something that makes my chest feel too tight. Does he feel like I’ve somehow betrayed him? I doubt it’s anything that deep. I’m naturally an overthinker but this time, I have to let this go or I’ll drive myself crazy. I force myself not to dwell on it and then I realize I’m still standing in the doorway to Joshua’s room, watching him. I give him one last look, one last small smile, and then I slip out of the door before I can do something stupid. Like crawl back into bed with him, invited or not.
The hallway is empty when I step out, thank God. I keep my head down as I make my way toward the elevators, willing myself not to look guilty. No one knows where I’ve been. No one knows what I’ve done.
And by the time I reach my own room, I tell myself that’s the way it should be.
CHAPTER 8
MOLLY
The afternoonlight slices through the thin hotel curtains, a stark contrast to the dim, hazy warmth of last night. My head is pounding, my mouth is dry, and I’m starting to feel like having a nap was a mistake. I feel worse now than I did this morning. Seemingly, my body feels sorry for me because as well as reminding me of my hangover, as I shift beneath the sheets, the soreness in my limbs and the tenderness between my legs reminds me just how wild the night was.
I sit up too quickly, regretting it instantly when my head throbs in protest. The room is still, eerily quiet compared to the electric energy that had pulsed through Joshua’s just hours ago. I yawn and debate going back to sleep, but I have work in a few hours, and I need to shower and get myself pulled together first.
I exhale slowly and swing my legs over the side of the bed, pressing my feet to the cool floor. My clothes are hung over my chair, not like last night when they were scattered all over the floor of a room so similar to mine that I could be there again now. My stomach rolls pleasantly as I remember last night, but I ignore it, pulling on my robe and heading towards the bathroom.
I walk over to the sink and look into the mirror above it. The reflection staring back at me is a mess. My hair is all wild and tangled, and my makeup is just about gone except for a streak of black smudged down one cheek. I shake my head at how bad I look and then I reach for my toothbrush. I add toothpaste and brush my teeth and then I remove the last traces of my makeup and run a brush through my hair. I feel better just for doing that, and I think after the shower, I’ll feel even better.
I slip my robe off and as it runs over my skin on the way to the ground, I feel a stinging pain in my lower back just over my left hip. I think nothing of it – it’s just one more pain to add to my list - and I head towards the shower, but then a vague, blurry memory of last night hits me and I practically run into the bedroom to stand before the full-length mirror attached to the closet door.
I didn’t imagine it. There, on my skin where it stung, is a small black star. I debate licking my thumb and trying to rub it off, but there’s no point. Now that I’ve seen the star, I remember getting it and the memory is no longer vague. This is real. It actually happened. And it wasn’t just me who got a tattoo either. Joshua and I got matching star tattoos.
I trace the ink lightly with my fingertips. I could cover it with a different design. Or I could have it removed. It would make it easier to pretend like last night never happened.
But I won’t. If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t want to forget about last night, because for once, I let go. For once, I wasn’t just the responsible girl working long shifts in Vegas, watching other people live recklessly while I played it safe. Last night, I was part of the chaos and the fun – Joshua even described me as trouble. And even if being that free was fleeting, even if I snuck away before the morning could bring any awkward goodbyes, I have the proof that I can let go and just gowith the flow – and no one can doubt me because that proof is literally etched into my skin.
A small smile tugs at my lips. Because for one night, I was the person I always wanted to be, the person who says yes instead of no, the person who has fun and worries about the consequences later. And I’ll always have the ink to remind me that sometimes, it’s okay to be a little wild.
CHAPTER 9
JOSHUA
The airport is crowded,but I barely notice anything that’s going on around me. The hum of conversations, the clatter of suitcases rolling over the tiled floors, the distant calls of boarding announcements ring out through the large space, but to me, it all feels muted, distant, like I’m not really here. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to be here. I want to be where my mind is; still back in that hotel room, expecting to turn over and see Molly beside me, her tousled hair spread over the pillow, her lips curling into that knowing little smirk she has. In my mind, I lean over and kiss her, and she kisses me back with that frantic hunger she had last night. I get on top of her, and I’m about to penetrate her tight little pussy …
“Sir? Sir? Step forward please,” a female voice says loudly. I half hear it, but it’s not until the person behind me in the line for check-ins nudges me and tells me it’s my turn do I realize that she’s talking to me.
I hurry forward and go through the motions of checking in. I’m so distracted that when the process is complete and the check-in agent wishes me a good flight, I say you too instead ofthank you. I cringe inside at that. How on earth does Molly still have this much of an effect on me when she’s not even here?
Maybe it’s because we didn’t really get any sort of closure, because she was already sneaking out of my room when I woke up. I hadn’t really given the morning after the night before a lot of thought when the night was happening, but if pressed, I guess I would have said that yes, I would wake up beside Molly. We would hug and say our goodbyes. We might even fuck again.
But I can’t be mad at her for sneaking away, and to be honest, I shouldn’t really be so surprised. We didn’t make promises to each other, and we didn’t exchange numbers. We didn’t even pretend that it was more than what it was; a reckless, drunken night in Vegas. Yes, it was amazing, and yes, I would do it again in a heartbeat, but not everything fun has to have a deeper meaning. And I guess we didn’t have the connection I felt like we had. But we did though. I know we did. And I think that’s the hardest part of it; the one woman I have felt anything other than a fleeting attraction to in years and she’s unattainable.
I shake my head and shift my carry-on bag from one had to the other one, adjusting to the weight that suddenly feels heavier. I have got to stop thinking about this or I’m going to drive myself crazy. It’s going to be hard to forget Molly though, and that’s even without the new ink on my arm. What the hell possessed us to do that?
I guess in the moment, it felt romantic but now it just seems ridiculous in the cold morning light. It had felt like a declaration last night, something bold and impulsive, something that meant something. Now, in the sober daylight, it’s just a mistake. A remnant of a night that wasn’t supposed to matter but somehow does.
I rub a thumb over it, as if I could scrub it away. I can get it removed, and I probably will. But the problem isn’t the ink. Not really. I know I can remove that easily enough. The problem isher. Molly. She won’t be so easy to remove though, and I know that it doesn’t matter whether I have the tattoo or not, because I don’t need a tattoo to remember Molly and our one wild night together.
Let me just say that I am not crazy. I’m not some stalker type who fucks someone and thinks we should get married and have three kids. But something about Molly makes me feel that way. I know it’s not normal, but that doesn’t change the way I feel.
