Chapter 5
FIVE
MINDY
If there’s a more ridiculous sight in Las Vegas than a woman dressed for a spin class walking into a casino with a man in leather and a cowboy hat, I haven’t seen it yet.
Heads turn as soon as we step inside.
The lights flash. The air smells faintly of perfume, carpet cleaner, and optimism. Slot machines chime and trill like mechanical birds. Cocktail waitresses weave through the crowd with trays balanced effortlessly.
And everywhere we go, people stare.
I glance down at my fitted top and cycling shorts. Then at Jesse’s boots and leather jacket and hat.
“Oh my God,” I mutter. “We look like we planned this.”
He grins. “Two kinds of biker walk into a casino…”
“Stop.”
A man at a blackjack table actually claps as we pass. “Love the commitment!” he calls.
Jesse lifts his hand in acknowledgment like we’re minor celebrities.
“You don’t seem embarrassed,” I say.
“Why would I be?” he replies easily. “I’m with the best-looking woman in the room.”
My heart stutters.
“That was smooth.”
“I own a bar,” he says. “It’s a survival skill.”
We stop at a craps table, and suddenly I realize I have no idea what’s happening.
Dice. Chips. People shouting. Hands in the air.
“This,” Jesse says, stepping in beside me, “is where the fun happens.”
“I don’t know the rules.”
“That’s okay.” He slides closer, his arm brushing mine as he leans in. “I’ll teach you.”
The proximity does not help my concentration.
“Okay,” he says, pointing. “The shooter rolls the dice. You can bet with them or against them. We’re optimistic people, so we’re betting with them.”
“We are?”
“We are tonight.”
He explains the pass line. The odds. The rhythm of the game. His voice is calm and steady, and I’m struck again by how patient he is.
“You’re good at this,” I say.
He shrugs. “My dad was a pit boss.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Yeah. I grew up around tables like this. Learned early how to read a room. And when to walk away.”
“That explains a lot.”
“Like what?”
“You don’t seem intimidated by chaos.”
He considers that. “You grew up around fertilizer, didn’t you?”
I laugh. “My dad sold fertilizer, yes.”
“And your mom was a teacher?”
“Fourth grade.” I smile at the memory. “She still corrects my grammar.”
“Good woman.”
“She is.”
I rest my elbows lightly against the rail of the table.
“My brother used to tell people Dad sold shit,” I add.
Jesse snorts.
“He wasn’t wrong.”
“No. But Dad worked hard. My parents both did. They built something steady.”
“Steady’s underrated,” Jesse says quietly.
“It is.” I swallow. “I want that someday.”
He looks at me then. Not teasing. Not amused.
Just listening.
“You will,” he says.
The shooter rolls.
Cheers erupt.
Someone bumps my shoulder.
“You’ve got lucky energy,” Jesse says, handing me chips. “You should play.”
I hesitate.
“What if I lose it all?”
“Then we eat ramen.”
“That’s not very glamorous.”
He leans closer.
“I’m not here for glamorous.”
The warmth in his voice makes my stomach flip.
I place my bet.
The dice roll.
Win.
The table erupts.
“You see?” he says. “Winner’s look.”
We play for a while. The energy builds. We win more than we lose. Every time the dice tumble, my heart pounds.
Before one big roll, I turn to him.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“For luck.”
He raises a brow.
“A kiss,” I say.
His smile goes slow and wicked.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t rush it.
His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek as he leans in.
This kiss is different again.
Deeper.
Heat flickering beneath it.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against mine.
“Now roll,” he murmurs.
The dice tumble.
We win.
The table explodes with cheers.
I laugh, half delirious.
“Okay,” I say. “You might be magic.”
“No,” he says softly. “That’s you.”
With our modest but respectable winnings, we duck into a connected restaurant.
The hostess gives us a once-over.
“You two coordinated,” she says.
“Completely unintentional,” I assure her.
Jesse grins. “We’re trendsetters.”
We slide into a booth, still buzzing.
“Still want to play Never Have I Ever?” he asks.
“Obviously.”
The waiter approaches.
I glance at Jesse.
“Never have I ever ordered the most expensive thing on the menu.”
He laughs. “Bold.”
“So?”
He scans the menu. “I haven’t.”
“Then you should.”
“You first.”
We both order something slightly indulgent, laughing like conspirators.
When the waiter leaves, Jesse leans back.
“My turn.”
I nod.
“Never have I ever broken a bone.”
“Neither have I,” I say.
“Never have I ever been suspended.”
“Nope.”
“Detention?”
I grin. “Once. Talking.”
“Shocking.”
We move through childhood stories. Awkward middle school phases. Bad haircuts. College mistakes.
Then his tone shifts.
“Never have I ever been married.”
“Neither have I,” I say.
He nods.
“Never have I ever been engaged.”
My stomach tightens.
I hesitate.
He notices immediately.
“You have?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t flinch.
“About a year ago,” I say quietly. “We called it off.”
“Why?”
I trace the condensation on my water glass.
“We weren’t aligned anymore. Maybe we never were. We’d been together for years. It was comfortable. Predictable.”
“And?”
“And I realized I was building a life I didn’t want.”
He watches me carefully.
“It wasn’t dramatic,” I continue. “No betrayal. No explosion. Just… slow drifting.”
“That can hurt worse.”
“It did.” I exhale. “But honestly? The relationship had been over long before the engagement was.”
“So you moved.”
“Yes.” I meet his eyes. “I wanted a place where no one knew me as half of a former couple. I wanted another chance to fall in love.”
The words hang between us.
I swallow.
“That was a lot,” I say quickly. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly.
I panic just a little at the vulnerability and pivot.
“Never have I ever had a private tour from a bar owner.”
His eyes darken slightly.
“Well,” he says, leaning forward, voice warm and steady. “I can help you with that.”
My pulse jumps.
“Oh?”
“Oh.”
The air between us shifts again.
This doesn’t feel like a one-night Vegas fantasy anymore.
It feels like something unfolding.
And for the first time since I left Kansas, I don’t feel like I’m running.
I feel like I’m arriving.