Chapter 4
JOSHUA
The night air is warm as we step out of the hotel, the city humming around us.
Vegas never really sleeps, and even though it’s still fairly early, the streets are already alive with neon lights and the distant sounds of laughter.
Molly walks beside me, her heels clicking against the pavement, her presence effortless yet intoxicating.
"I know a place," she says, glancing over at me with a shy smile. "It’s not like these rip-off tourist places. It’s usually not too crowded, and not too quiet. It’s perfect for a drink or two."
I let out a low chuckle.
"Sounds like you know what you’re doing," I say. “Lead the way.”
She laughs, her eyes flashing with amusement.
"Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.,” she says. “Don’t forget Vegas is my home."
That makes sense. She belongs here in a way I never could.
This city fits her – they are both bold and bright, always moving, alive in a way that feels different to anything else.
Meanwhile, I’m just a visitor, one foot already out the door.
But tonight, I push that thought aside. Tonight, I’m going all in.
We walk a few blocks to a bar tucked away in a side street that comes off from the main strip.
It’s the kind of place you don’t just stumble into; you have to know it’s there.
Inside, the lights are dim, and the atmosphere is intimate.
Couples sit at the tables around us, although there are some free.
The low murmur of conversation fills the space, accompanied by the occasional clink of glasses, and in the background, barely audible, soft music plays.
The bartender nods at Molly in recognition as she waves at him and leads me across the room. We slide into a booth, and when the waitress comes, Molly orders us drinks without hesitation.
“Two Macallan Eighteens please, hold the rocks,” she says and the waitress nods and smiles and leaves the table.
“Good choice,” I say. “Something strong, but smooth.”
Molly smiles, seeming to enjoy my praise. When the glasses arrive, we thank the waitress, and she flits back away. I raise my glass and Molly lifts hers.
"To unexpected delays," I say.
She clinks her glass against mine, grinning.
"To fate," she replies.
The first sip burns in the best way, and for a moment, we sit in comfortable silence. Then, Molly tilts her head, studying me.
"So, what’s your deal, Joshua? You’ve been here for a weekend, living it up like it’s your last chance. What’s next for you?" she says.
I exhale, rolling the glass between my fingers.
"This is my last big blowout before I have to start acting like an actual grown up," I say.
Molly goes pale.
“Oh shit. Was it your stag party? Are you the one getting married?” she says.
“God no,” I say laughing. “It was very much Mark’s stag party, and I am very much single.”
Molly recovers herself, looking down into her glass and then smiling up at me. I take it as a good sign that she reacted that way to the thought of me being engaged. It means that she feels this thing I do and hopefully it means that she too wants to act on the feeling.
She raises an eyebrow.
"Well, that’s a relief,” she says. “So, if it’s not marriage, what does acting like a grown up mean for you?"
"I’m going to be taking on a new role as CEO of a company," I tell her. The words taste heavy, even now. "It’s my father’s company, actually.
I’ve been groomed for it for years, but once I step into that role officially, everything changes.
There will be no more last-minute trips, no more waking up in the afternoon after a night out.
Just responsibilities, board meetings, and expectations.
At least for the first few years until I make my mark on the place. "
Molly makes a face.
"That sounds awful," she says.
I laugh and shrug my shoulders.
"I mean, it’s not all bad. It’s a huge opportunity for me, and the salary makes some sacrifices worthwhile. But it does mean that this …" I gesture around us "… won’t really be an option anymore."
She takes another sip of her drink, considering.
"If that’s what being a grown up is, I don’t think I ever want to be one," she says, and I swear she actually shudders, and I can’t help but smile.
"Oh yeah? So, I take it that means you have no plans to move into something more corporate?" I ask.
She shakes her head.
"God no. It’s funny because I went to business school with every intention of doing the corporate thing, but then I came here to waitress for a season after college and I fell in love with Vegas.
I mean how could I not? I love the freedom, the energy, the atmosphere.
Every day here feels like a possibility, like anything could happen.
Why would I give that up for board meetings and nine to fives? "
She has a good point, but still, a part of me wishes she felt differently.
The thought came out of nowhere, but I find myself wishing that she wanted something more than this city, something that might pull her closer to where I’ll be, that maybe I could even offer her a job.
But that’s ridiculous. We met a week ago.
I don’t even know what I want yet, let alone what I want from her.
I don’t even know her surname for fucks’ sake.
So, I don’t say anything of what I’m thinking. Instead, I lift my glass again.
"To never growing up," I say.
She clinks hers against mine again, laughing.
"Now that’s a toast I can get behind," she says before repeating my words back to me.
The night blurs in the best way. We drink, we talk, and mostly, we laugh.
She’s easy to be around. She’s quick witted, sharp, and somehow, she has a way of making even the simplest moments feel like an adventure.
As the drinks keep coming, everything feels lighter.
The weight of the future, the pressure of my father’s expectations, all of it fades into the background.
At some point, she reaches across the table and playfully pokes my arm.
"You’re not so bad for a soon to be corporate suit, you know,” she says.
I smirk.
"Good to know. And you’re not so bad for a professional Vegas troublemaker."
She gasps in mock offense.
"I prefer the term hospitality specialist," she tells me with a glint in her eye that definitely says trouble.
I laugh, shaking my head.
"Fine. Hospitality specialist it is then. But I bet you do have a knack for finding trouble."
She leans in slightly, that mischievous glint still in her eyes.
"Maybe. Or maybe trouble just has a way of finding me."
I don’t doubt that for a second. And right now, I don’t mind being part of the trouble. In fact, I welcome it.
The night stretches on, the drinks disappearing faster than I realize.
Time feels fluid, slipping past in a haze of laughter and easy conversation.
I don’t want it to end. But eventually, the bartender gives us a knowing look and mimes drinking from a glass, the universal sign that we should probably drink up.
Molly sighs, stretching her arms above her head.
"I guess we should call it a night," she says, but she sounds disappointed about it.
I glance at her, at the way the dim lighting casts a soft glow on her skin, and I have to fight the impulse to say something reckless. Instead, I smile.
"Probably," I say, leaving it open to her to see that I don’t want that either.
We down the last of our drinks, say goodnight to the bartender, and step out onto the street. The cool air is sobering but not unpleasant. Molly tugs her coat tighter around herself, looking up at the skyline.
"Well, that was fun," she says.
"It was," I agree. "Maybe too much fun."
She grins.
"There’s no such thing as too much fun in this town,” she says.
I watch her for a second, debating whether to say what’s on my mind - that I don’t really want this night to be over.