Chapter 5
MOLLY
The city hums around us, electric and alive, as we stand just outside of the bar, neither of us making a move to leave.
The air is thick with the scent of used pavements and lingering cigarette smoke, and the neon glow of the sign overhead casts shifting colors across Joshua’s face.
He looks at me, his eyes slightly glassy from the drinks but still sharp, still watching me like I’m the most interesting thing in the street.
"I don’t want this night to be over yet," he admits, his voice low and rough, like he’s confessing something he shouldn’t be.
A slow smile spreads across my lips.
"Me neither," I admit.
We stand there for a moment, the city buzzing around us, and I can feel the pulse of possibility in the air. Vegas is good for that - making you believe that anything can happen. That the night will stretch on forever if you let it.
"Then let’s do something stupid," I say, the idea forming before I even know where it’s going. “Something that’s so Vegas.”
He raises an eyebrow.
"Define stupid," he says.
I laugh, grabbing his hand and pulling him along the sidewalk.
"You’ll see," I tell him. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t involve any little white chapels.”
As we make our way back onto the main strip, the streets are still packed, tourists stumbling from casino to casino, laughter and music spilling out from open doors.
We weave through the crowds, our fingers still loosely linked.
It feels natural. Too natural. But I don’t let myself think about that now.
Just like I don’t let myself think about the way electric tingles spread out from where our hands touch, or the way he squeezed my hand slightly when I mentioned the little white chapels.
I lead us towards a tattoo parlor I know.
It’s tucked between a souvenir shop and a dive bar, and it’s the kind of place that stays open all night for people exactly like us -half drunk and chasing the thrill of bad decisions.
The neon Tattoos and Piercings sign flickers in the window, and I turn to Joshua with a grin.
"This is your idea of something that’s only a little bit stupid?" he asks, eyeing the building.
"Come on, it’s not that bad," I tease him. "It’s just a little needle. And it’ll be something to remember the night by. Unless you’re scared of course."
He scoffs.
"I’m about to run a billion-dollar company. If I’m not scared to do that, then I’m definitely not scared of getting a tattoo."
I smirk.
"Prove it."
“Really? You’re daring me to do it?”
I nod my head, waiting for him to back out, but he gestures for me to go inside, and he doesn’t hesitate as I push open the door. The place is quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. A guy with stretched earlobes and a full sleeve of tattoos looks up from behind the counter.
"Walk-ins?" he asks.
"Yep," I say. "We want matching tattoos."
Joshua raises an eyebrow at me.
"Matching?" he queries.
I shrug.
"Yeah, why not? Just something small. It’s not like I’m asking you to get my name on your forehead."
He laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender.
"Alright, alright, you win. What are we getting?"
I tap my chin, thinking, then glance over at the wall of flash designs.
"Something simple. A symbol, maybe. Something that means tonight was out of this world, something worth remembering."
He walks over to the wall beside me, scanning the designs. Then he points to a small, simple star.
"A star?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Why not?" he counters. "Vegas is all lights and stars, right? And you said it yourself – it’s something to remember that the night was out of this world.” I smile, coming around to the idea. He goes on. “And it’s kind of understated. Classic. Like it’s not the sort of thing you look at with regret when you’re sober. ”
I nod my head, still smiling. He’s convinced me.
"Alright, a star it is. But I get to pick where mine goes."
"Naturally," Joshua says.
We go back over to the counter.
"Alright, who’s first?" the tattoo artist asks.
Joshua looks at me.
"You dragged me here. You go first," he says.
I roll my eyes, but I show the tattoo artist the star we’ve chosen and then I hop onto the chair, lifting my shirt slightly so the tattoo artist can place the stencil low on my back, just beside my left hip.
He draws on the outline and checks in with me and I nod for him to go ahead.
The buzz of the tattoo gun starts, and the sting follows right after, sharp and persistent.
I grip the edge of the chair, but I don’t flinch.
I’ve never done this before but I kind of like the stinging feeling.
Joshua watches, leaning forward slightly, his eyes locked on me.
"Does it hurt?" he asks me.
I smirk through the pain.
"A little bit. But that’s part of the fun."
He shakes his head, amused.
"You have a strange idea of fun."
I just wink at him.
The process is quick, and soon the artist wipes away the ink and blood, holding up a mirror so I can see.
The small black star sits perfectly on my skin, a tiny but permanent reminder of tonight.
I nod my head and tell the tattoo artist it’s great and he sticks some cling film over the tattoo, and I grin, hopping off the chair.
"Your turn, CEO," I say.
Joshua exhales and rolls up the sleeve of his t-shirt, exposing the solid muscle of his upper arm. I try not to stare as he settles into the chair. He’s relaxed, but I can see the tension in his jaw as the needle starts. He doesn’t make a sound, though, just watches as the ink sinks into his skin.
"See? Not so bad," I say.
He smirks.
"You were right, although really, I should have known it wasn’t so bad from this," he says, and he grins and lifts his shirt and turns around, showing me a full back piece.
“Oh, you bastard,” I say with a laugh. “You really had me thinking we were both tattoo virgins.”
“It’s my first matching one,” he says, and we smile at each other.
The artist finishes, and Joshua inspects his tattoo in the mirror. The same small black star, etched into his skin just below his shoulder. He flexes his arm slightly, then glances at me.
"Now we match," he says.
“Now we match," I repeat, grinning at him as the tattoo artist wraps his arm in cling film. I take my card from my purse, but Joshua beats me to it, insisting this is his gift to me to thank me for showing him Vegas life for a non-tourist.
When we’ve finished getting after care advice from the tattoo artist, we step back out into the night, the warmth of the city wrapping around us like a promise once more. Joshua looks again at the tattoo on his arm, then he looks at me, and there’s something unreadable in his expression.
"So, what now?" he asks.
I bite my lip, considering.
"Now, we see where the night takes us."