HERE IT IS! I’ve been hyping this book up all year and I finally am ready to share the first chapter with you. Enjoy!

Vegas Budtender Diaries

A Cannabis Romance Series

Chapter 1

WEED BE SO GOOD TOGETHER…

Another day working in an industry of cannabis connoisseurs for companies that hate cannabis connoisseurs, but damn it, I love weed and I fucking love this city.

        Sophie thinks to herself driving down Hacienda Blvd. The symmetrically lined palm trees planted along newly paved sidewalks perfectly frame a mesmerizing view of the Luxor pyramid, absorbing the reflection of the Nevada sun. A welcomed warmth during these cooler fall mornings. Working at a legal Las Vegas cannabis dispensary is something Sophie never imagined possible back in her days as an underground grower. She imagined at age twenty-six her and her friends would still be holding up ‘Legalize It’ picket signs on the steps of the federal buildings and the courthouse downtown.

        While Sophie can tally up more moments of happiness than worries, most days seem like she's dwelling in a monochromatic world. However, Tuesdays bring a burst of polychromatic vibrancy. It has been without a single doubt her favorite day to work for the last several months. Typically requesting to work a double shift in hopes that she will be at the shop when her favorite customer strolls through the door.

        Her cell phone buzzes on her lap. She checks it as she approaches a red light. Deflating an audible sigh, she drops her head back and phone back down.

       Read a room. That date was enough to keep me single. I mean, you go on a date to find a decent guy and then he asks if you are down for a threesome with his wife.

        She turns the radio up louder and welcomes in the crisp breeze flowing through the driver’s side window fighting for space with the heat blasting through the vents. Her long chestnut brown curls wildly dance in and out of the dual air streams. The morning sun softly bounces off her windows creating a glimmer in her dark green eyes, highlighting her high cheek boned heart-shaped face. She passes a billboard as she approaches an intersection, an advertisement for a local law firm, and she blows two soft kisses to the cross-armed lawyers in the ad.

        Pulling into the parking lot of the dispensary, she’s instantly forced to slam on her brakes. A homeless man is running away from her aggressively obnoxious and irritating co-worker, John Schnitt, who is angrily wielding an aluminum baseball bat in the air. His dirty blonde hair glistening in the sun as if the grease hadn’t been washed out in days. His oversized belly falling out of his button-up shirt, beads of sweat pouring down his chubby beet red face.

 “Don’t let me see your junkie ass back here again or I’ll call the cops,” John bellows.

Standing defiantly in front of Sophie’s car, the man turns around to face John. His face covered in dirt. Clothes tattered. He stomps his feet angrily on the ground repeatedly as he shouts, “You’ll regret how you’re talkin’ to me, asshole! I’ll piss on your door every day. EVERY DAY!”

He brandishes both his middle fingers up in the sky before furiously darting off to a nearby gas station.

Well. Leave it up to John to provoke the local homeless.            

Offering a peace sign and soft empathetic smile as a kind gesture to the homeless man, she pulls forward to park her car near the back alley that he was just chased out of. Nestled in an unassuming beige building that seamlessly blends with the surrounding businesses in an off-the-Strip shopping plaza, the shop distinguishes itself with a prominent neon green dispensary sign. She walks to the rear entrance of the dispensary and is immediately bombarded at the door. With John’s body odor, you can smell it when he is near. John offers up a smug and meaningless apology. His right hand wiping away beads of sweat dripping from his hairline. His bold spot glistening under the fluorescent light. A bit young to look this old. Sophie jokes with her other co-workers that his anger and rage issues rapidly ages him.

“Oops, didn’t mean for anyone to come into work and see that. That bum was back here sleeping behind the dumpster. Probably shooting up all night.” John says, throwing a sweat drenched paper towel in a trash bin.

“So, you decided to wake him up by yelling and swinging a baseball bat?” Sophie retorted. “Listen John, I understand you’re somewhat new to the West Coast, but we don’t treat any local that way.”

Sophie looks around for a manager. She sees coffee on the desks but no bodies.

They must have walked to the gas station for snacks.

John puts the baseball bat in the back office and walks over towards the Break Room and pours himself some coffee, “Yeah sure, but scum like him can do their drugs elsewhere. Go die on someone else’s property.”

“Yeah okay, John,” she mutters in annoyance. “Choosing violence with a man who has nothing but time on his hands to mess with your car or your business, not smart. These street dudes all know that one call to Las Vegas Metro Police Department won’t hurt them at all. They’ll just be sent back on the street the next day and now we are on their radar. If he messes with the shop, that’s on you to clean up,” she says sternly before making her way to the intake desk.

“Be right out,” John bellows down the hallway as Sophie walks away, “I’m bidding on an online auction now, I’ll get to it soon.”

Her vision goes dark for a momentary eye roll.

And he’s not even working right now? Getting paid to fuck around on the company’s dime. Man, we need some new hires.

      Music streams out of the ceiling speakers filling up the hollow echoes of the empty store as she presses play on a playlist.  The store’s divvy screens turn on and display a digital menu along with sexy photos of live resin, rosin, shatter, edibles, and cannabis buds. A few large painted canvases grace the walls with images of Tommy Chong, J-Dilla, Wu-Tang, Bob Marely and Willie Nelson. She walks to the lobby and gently pulls down the cold, metal-beaded string on the green neon open sign and unlocks the double glass doors. There are two sets of doors to walk through to get to the dispensary sales floor and Intake desk. Sophie uses her electronic key fob on a black box on the walls placed next to both doors to get back to her desk. She settles comfortably into her chair at the Intake reception area eagerly awaiting the first flow of medical patients as the rest of her co-workers file into the backdoor. Sophie’s been ready to work in a higher position within the dispensary, she does her best to make the best of her entry level role until she gets promoted to Budtender. Most days she finds herself working at the intake desk alone as most of the new hires often call off until eventually, they quit. Working in cannabis isn’t the exhilarating adventure people often think it is. It boils down to the essential routine of retail or wholesale operations, introspective to the product. Sophie spends her days welcoming patients in with a warm smile, juggling phone calls and online orders, navigating the fast-paced rhythm of frenzied chaos. Amidst the stream of visitors, some get turned away due to inadequate credentials. She kindly redirects them to her wonderful former boss down the street at Getting Legal – a hub that assists patients in obtaining their state approved medical marijuana cards. Most take the advice and return once they are properly certified. Others, fueled by frustration, hurl obscenities Sophie’s way. She handles it gracefully, abiding by the legal guidelines she is bound to, but most days she wants to yell right back at them and walk out with their weed like a bully taking a wimp’s lunch money in a 1990’s afterschool tv show. Occasionally, disgruntled workers from neighboring businesses storm in to voice their grievances about the limited parking situation. Today, it’s a delivery driver from the neighboring pizza shop, threatening to dampen Sophie’s day. Although she spots the uniform and pizza logos, she greets them with the same kindness she would offer any customer.

“Welcome in! May I please see your identification and medical card?”

The delivery driver lets out a frustrated and high-pitched yell, their face contorted in annoyance. Stringy brown hair in a loose bun hanging out of a baseball cap.

“Every spot? I can’t park my delivery car because every spot is taken up by your drugged-out crack heads.”

Oh no. Not a derogatory comment about harmless stoners when there are legit junkies in the back of our shared alley!

She raises up a finger as if to ask for one moment. She stands up and walks out to the lobby to address the situation before a customer walks in. Her co-workers stand on guard as they watch her walk out to the main lobby and keep their own customer consolations rolling smoothly.

“I’ll call security for back up in case it gets messy,” the other Intake worker, Lydia says as she gets up and heads to the back. Her long and stringy blonde hair sheds on to the black fabric of the chair as she stands up.

Sophie opens the locked door to the lobby and allows the door to close behind her. She looks down at the name tag on their shirt – Dana.

“One, we all buy from your shop weekly, so I’m going to need you to calm down and respect us as a fellow business,” she asserts herself. Dana attempts to interject. Sophie raises her tone slightly, “TWO. The patients you are referring to all have every legal right to purchase their medicine without judgement from you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am!?” Dana retorts, fuming, “I’m a MAN!”

Sophie can hear her fellow co-workers and a few customers stifling laughter in the background as the echoes of the lobby find their way through the teller card slot in the bullet proof partition.

“Man or woman,” Sophie says, “the next time you come in, it better be to buy weed or just simply to say good morning. Dana.”

Dana huffs and storms out of the lobby before another customer walks in. A tall, buff security guard opens the door for Sophie as she walks back to the front desk.

“You good, homegirl?” The security guard asks in a confident tone indicating he knows she can handle herself.

“Yeah, I guess we need a new lunch spot,” Sophie says with a shrug of her shoulders as her co-workers laugh.

“Bitch fooled us all,” one of the Budtenders, Cody Miller jokes, “I definitely thought it was an old woman. Bitch could pass for drag without even trying. Tell him to come out to the gay bars with me later, level his sassy little attitude out with some rainbows and glitter.” He snaps his green and white painted nails and turns back to grab his patient’s quarter of Sour Diesel.

 The front door opens again. Sophie quickly heads to the desk to greet the next stream of patients that stroll through.

        10:58 p.m. Two minutes until closing time. He’ll show up. He always shows up on Tuesday nights.

Restless, she stirs her mouse across the desk to click out of her opened programs. The State of Nevada’s dispensary Patient Portal remains open on her desktop in hopes of him showing up. Luckily for the last-minute trickle in of customers, Sophie’s Regional Manager has a solid rule on not locking the doors before closing time. Even if that meant thirty seconds before closing. The strict regulations in the legal cannabis industry are the biggest downside. Once the push for further legalization happens, perhaps the shops could stay open as long as the bars in town. Most of the industry is hoping the state will allow for twenty-four-hour shifts as well as drive-through windows.

The front desk phone rings. “Thank you for calling…” Sophie is interrupted by a man on the other line. 

Oh gosh, him again. Seventh time today. Trust issues or what?

Sophie responds, “Yes, she’s here. Hold please.” She motions to a co-worker who is stickering labels on gummy packages. “Hey Lydia, it’s your husband. Again.”

“Jeez, sorry Soph. I don’t know why he won’t just call my cellphone,” a frail and young married mom of two, Lydia Greer, says nervously.

He could also just check your location. He’s obviously the jealous type. Maybe that’s why she has the nerves of a frazzled chihuahua on July 4th. Not my business. I’m starting to think my Mr. Last Minute isn’t showing up tonight. I should have just let Lydia close alone for a change.

Bright headlights shine through the glass double doors in the lobby. Her heart races. Her breath shortens into small rapid huffs as she makes out the shape of round Jeep headlights. She perks herself up, adjusting her Boston Bruins tank top and fixing the collar on her jean jacket. She rolls her chair closer to the stretched white desk attached to the bank teller-like partition. She reaches for her computer’s mouse, pretending to be busy to hide that she had been counting down the minutes until Mr. Last Minute came in. That’s what the Budtenders all call him. Mr. Last Minute, notorious for arriving minutes before closing time. If you saw him, though, you wouldn’t mind having to go through the entire procedure of closing a retail store down a second time in an evening or worrying about state regulatory sales times.

His driver’s license says he’s six foot two. Twenty-eight years old. Tall enough to make you feel petite. Tan enough to make you wonder if he lived on a beach in Malibu and just visited Vegas to buy weed. His light black hair, short and sleek with a boyish swoop in the front. His smile as white and straight as a freshly painted white picket fence. He obviously comes in after working out. His watercolor tattoos glisten in fresh sweat. His arms and legs, toned like an athletic Greek God. Sophie imagines what his abs must look like as she awaits his entrance.

One of the glass doors swings open. A pair of clean matte black low-top Converse step into the lobby. She looks up and down taking in his entire body and notices that they are both wearing hockey shirts.

“Welcome back!” She says with a wide smile. “Just in time before we lock up for the night.”

He smiles back at her. That perfectly sexy, crooked smirked smile, reminiscent of Freddie Prinze Jr in early 2000s chick flicks. His dark brown eyes looking directly into hers, one eyebrow slightly raised as if it were apologizing on its own.

“You always make me feel less awful for dropping in before closing,” he says sweetly. “The construction lately is next level.”

They both laugh at the thought of the constant construction in the city. Sophie laughs a little louder than Mr. Last Minute out of nervousness, not knowing what to say next.

“Always with the hockey shirts, nice!” He says to keep the conversation going, “Go B’s! Hear they had a gnarly shut out tonight with a hat trick.”

“Yeah? Can’t wait to watch the highlights. Exciting we are getting our own Vegas team, right?” she says thanking herself in her head for being smoother than usual.

“Oh absolutely! But, then again, it does add to the traffic we hate so much. Again, sorry, I know you guys are probably ready to go home,” he says as he opens his wallet and pushes his driver’s license through the tiny slot.

“You can come anywhere. ANY TIME! You can come any time. I mean. Not like jizz... I mean,” Sophie foolishly stammers.

“Oh, is that right?” he replies somewhat seductively with a bashful chuckle.

Realizing her phrasing, she quickly hits the button underneath the lengthy white desk to allow Mr. Last Minute into the Med Room. The door to the side of the room automatically cracks open audibly, highlighting the awkward silence Sophie had just created.

“Um. Sorry, you can go on in now. Please don’t remember anything I just said,” she begs.

He’s smiling as he takes back his identification, slightly chuckling in admiration of how noticeably shy and tongue-tied Sophie gets when they talk. He’s been shopping here for several months and of all the dispensaries he could drive to in the valley, he seems to enjoy his visits to the shop as much as Sophie.

Checking identification is standard procedure at Intake, but when he gives or takes his card back through the slot between the bulletproof glass window and countertop, he does it a little slower, and always brushes his fingers against Sophie’s. Every other customer takes it from the opposite corner, never touching her hand, but not him. She would be lying if she said it wasn’t a highlight of her interactions with him.

“Well… goodnight, Sophie,” he says as he fades off past the door and disappears into the Medical Marijuana sales floor.

The door loudly shuts behind him. A sound she audibly hears but physically feels in the depths of her heart when he is the one who walked through that door. She sinks back down into her chair for a moment of semi self-hatred in reflection of all the things she wishes she would have said instead. Working at the front desk as an Intake Receptionist means you stay at Intake. Once the customer walks into the Medical Marijuana Room, where all the marijuana products are displayed in glass cases and crafted wooden shelves, they are greeted by their Budtender; much like a Bartender but for weed. Sophie longs to greet MLM as a Budtender one day. The interactions between a customer and an Intake worker are minimal, basically ending when the customer walks into the Med Room. In truth they are shorter than the interactions with MLM, but Sophie gets the sense that he stretches the time out as much as she does. If she were a Budtender, she could talk to him standing up, face to face. Rather than through a bank teller hole in a bulletproof glass window.

She shuts down her computer and walks around the Intake area to the lobby and locks the front door. She pulls down the metal beaded string on the neon open sign to turn it off.

Damn it, I never say the right things. He’s probably laughing at me because I’m all cringe and zero game.

As she gets caught up in her negative thinking her best friend and coworker, Beck Mills, walks in to shake her out of it.

“Girl! It’s Tuesday night, Mr. Last Minute is in the building!” Beck whispers with enthusiasm, “What kind of weird shit slipped out of your mouth this time?”

Or maybe walked in just to make her feel worse. Beck releases her hair from its tightly pinned bun, allowing her wavy cinnamon-brown locks to cascade freely. She takes a moment to unbind her hair from her pierced ears and snaps the hair tie onto her wrist.

Sophie jokingly starts sweeping the broom in Beck’s direction as if to sweep her out of the lobby as she admits her shame, “The word jizz may have slipped out.” She clenches her broom closer to her chest, closing her eyes in fear of anticipation of Beck’s sarcastic response.

Beck is at a loss this time. She enjoys teasing Sophie about her awkward moments with MLM, but this time she has no response to what Sophie said. Beck stares blankly at her friend as if to show compassion for Sophie’s lack of flirtatious social skills this deep into her twenties. Sophie opens her eyes to see why the room is silent and sees Beck’s face.

“You mean Jazz, right? Please tell me you said Jazz and not jizz girl,” Beck says in a very serious tone.

“Totally said jizz. I know, Beck, I’m a mess,” Sophie sighs.

They admire his physique as they look over. A thick neck with powerful broad shoulders, bursting out of his snuggly fit hockey tank top. His well-defined, firmly sculpted arms and bubble butt, begging to be touched.

Beck gently nudges Sophie, “I get it. He’s a fucking dreamboat. Go on, have another chat with him. But aim for something less cringe-worthy this time. Maybe suggest something from the menu! Look who else is there,” Beck points to the cash registers.

Sophie’s gaze follows Beck’s subtle gesture and lands on none other than their Regional Manager, Michael Rome, finalizing the register next to MLM. Rome, a seasoned cannabis veteran, had known Sophie’s parents during his earlier days of activism for cannabis legalization. His military-like demeanor paired with his modern era stoner vibe makes him everyone’s favorite manager. His glasses change up weekly, each look sleek and cool. A wave of nostalgia and respect always washes over Sophie when she sees his neatly bearded face.

Taking the broom out of Sophie’s grasp, Beck replaces it with a sticky note. “I have to give this message to Rome. Give it to him and suggest MLM try the new strains that just landed. It’ll give you a chance to also show Rome that you’re ready to Budtend.”

Nervously, Sophie hesitates at the doorway, her eyes darting back to her friend. “I’m not sure what to say,” her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Without a moment to dwell on her anxiety, Rome calls out to her, “Sophie, is everything secured out front?”

The Med Room is like an adult's candy store, enticing the senses. It’s a symphony of sights and sensations; a grand display counter, a crystal-clear showcase boasting a plethora of cannabis delights, from buds and concentrates to tantalizing edibles, drinks, and vapes. The art that lines the green, black, and white walls expresses and represents the cannabis culture from multiple generations, spanning from the illicit days of prohibition to modern day masterpieces. Directly behind the counter, a treasure trove of glassware, bongs, rigs, and unique pieces, all meticulously arranged on handcrafted wooden shelves. It’s an organized wonderland of weed, an ode to the joy of indulgence.

“Yes, all locked up. Just cleaning with Beck. This message is for you," Sophie’s voice is a gentle caress as she extends her arm across the display counter, presenting the message.

Rome accepts the note and turns his attention back to counting the day’s earnings. Her peripheral vision catches a glimpse of MLM’s gaze, fixated on the side of her face, studying her as his big hands rest firmly on the countertop displaying the muscular cuts in his arms and shoulders. She summons the courage to pivot in his direction, overcoming the lingering awkwardness from their earlier encounter at Intake.

“Tough to narrow down choices with so many excellent options, right?” Sophie remarks. Her demeanor calmer and more confident. A serene smile curled the ends of her lips. She moves a loose springy strand of hair from her face.

“Oh, for sure. A lot to choose from. What do you usually buy?” MLM inquires, genuine interest coloring his words. Sophie motions towards the concentrates in the display box.

“I’m a dab girl,” she exclaims with a cheerful tone, her spirit undeniably vibrant, “but Nature’s Chemistry has some incredible flower; I’ve been loving their Ghost Train Haze lately. I just prefer the convenience of dabbing, so I usually buy wax, shatter, or crumbles, but the cartridges are perfect for on-the-go smoking.”

Sophie’s response oozes with confidence. She hopes Rome appreciates her answer, stealing a glance in his direction. The subtle nods of approval she detects gives her a slight rush of pride. Encouraged by Beck’s advice, she offers a suggestion, “I love the new Cherry Pie we got in from Super Dope Extracts, or the Grand Daddy Purple cartridge from Bud Bros is perfect for an end-of-the-night smoke.”

MLM turns his gaze to Kimmy Roberts, his Budtender, whose icy glares are impossible to ignore. Kimmy frustratingly fighting for attention, messes with her short black bob, twirling a small strand of hair around one finger. Her cleavage busts out of her V-neck as she adjusts her shirt lower, begging for attention on her wobbly bits. A simmering tension hangs in the air, but Sophie remains unfazed. She has worked at this shop long enough to know Kimmy has a problem with every female that works in the cannabis industry and hits on any man in her path.

Paying no attention to Kimmy’s obvious discomfort, MLM taps on the display glass, his eyes unable to disconnect from Sophie’s. “I’ll take both of those.” He taps on the display glass. “The Cherry Pie and the GDP cart, and an eighth of Ghost Train Haze from Nature’s Chem,” he declares, relieving Sophie and himself from Kimmy’s displeased expressions. He shifts his body, leaning casually on the glass counter, his focus now on Sophie, who is lost in the hint of cologne and sweat that wafts her way.

Oh wow, he smells incredible.

“You’re not going to make me smoke by myself, right?” He asks, his words carrying a hint of playful invitation.

Sophie holds her breath in disbelief. Could he be asking her to hang out? The tantalizing possibility dances in the air, and for a brief moment, Mr. Last Minute detects the pause and swiftly backpedals.

“You… probably have a boyfriend,” he says.

“No. Nope,” she interjects, “no boyfriend.”

 “I apologize for putting you on the spot like that. I mean, it’s literally the first official time I’ve ever really seen you without a partition between us.”

Sophie’s heart flutters at the fact that he also took notice of this first-time interaction. She replies, “Yes! I mean, no. No, I won’t make you smoke alone. Yes, I would love to hang out. If that’s what you were asking?”

They both break the nervous energy with their smiles and chuckling sighs of relief.

“I was, I’d love to get to know you outside of this building,” he says. His fingers grazing the edges of his wallet as he grabs his card along with his cash to pay for his items. He hands his cash to Kimmy, whose annoyance is palpable, nearly emitting cartoonish steam from her ears. Sophie is distracted by the thoughts of riding him reverse cowgirl while he pulls her hair tightly around his tattooed hands. She feels herself biting her bottom lip. He notices. A sharp unexpected breath escapes him as his eyes are pinned on her bottom lip. He fumbles for his business card and hands it to Sophie.

“You probably already have my number on file, but here. Let me know when you have a night off?”

Sophie bashfully nods her head as his hand touches hers. She looks down as she takes the business card.

Darren Spencer. Graphic Designer. I love creative guys.

MLM grabs his bag of purchased items from the counter, “I hope to hear from you. Call me, okay? Don’t let these strains oxidize.”

The Budtenders all laugh and say a collective goodnight as he makes his way to the exit.

“Oxidize?” Lydia asks.

“He purchased concentrates. As they age, they change to a darker color, it’s a chemical reaction called Oxidization,” Rome informs her.

“You’d know these things if you’d bother to show up to work more often,” Cody Miller quietly jokes.

The staff watches in unison as Mr. Last Minute makes his way out the second exit door leading to the side parking lot. Echoes of camaraderie fill the room as they harmonize a teasing “Ooo,” leaving Sophie giddy and beaming, her face hidden behind her hands. Even Rome joins the silliness, and laughter fills the air, everyone reveling in the light-hearted moment – everyone except Kimmy.

Dissatisfied with the topic of conversation, Kimmy can’t help but blurt out, “We can’t date customers.”

The staff exchanges knowing looks, noting the constant negativity that seems to ooze from her. They disperse to continue their nightly closing routine.

Rome chimes in, “Nothing in the employee handbook about that. It’s not our business what you do outside of here.” Kimmy abruptly grabs her cash drawer and retreats to the back office without another word.

Beck and Sophie laugh it off and lock up.

“Don’t listen to her, Soph. She’s just bitter because no one gives that kind of special attention to a koala faced looking bitch like Kimmy.”

“Oh man, don’t diss koalas like that,” Myles pleads from across the room. “They are fucking adorable. Kimmy is not.”

Shaking his head, Rome grabs the last cash drawer and heads toward the rear office door. “Let’s try to walk out of here without a fight, okay guys? Sophie, impressive upsell, nice work!”

“Yes sir, you too,” Sophie stammers. “I mean, thank you.”

Sophie and Beck share a celebratory look and finish tidying the Med Room before flicking off the lights. They head back to join the rest of the staff in the employee Break Room.

        They finish their closing duties at 11:25 p.m. The front of the shop is officially locked up. Sophie waits for Beck to finish up with the rest of the Budtenders in the Break Room. Partly to wait for her friend, so they can both head across the street to one of their favorite Las Vegas Strip sports bars to catch up on hockey highlights from the games they missed while working. Mostly, though, she waits to see how the Budtenders break down at the end of the night. She knows that every employee starts at Intake, a crucial part of understanding how the business operates from the ground up. She respects the process but has been working Intake for over five months now, hoping for a promotion. Unfortunately, just like in hockey, a spot needs to become available. That requires someone quitting, getting fired, or being promoted to another position within the company. Beck has a brilliant plan to get herself promoted to Store Manager, allowing Sophie to take her place as Budtender. But with Beck’s sassy mouth, that management position might remain elusive.

The Budtenders and Rome meticulously conclude their duties for the night. The bright glow of the dispensary’s Break Room lights dances across their faces as they sit at a large round table and ensure every register is reset to zero and the day’s cash aligns with the day’s sales. The inventory is safely stowed away. All registers closed and the vault securely locked.

Amidst the tidy surroundings and the sense of daily sales quota accomplishments, the Budtenders can’t help but savor the moment they’ve all been eagerly awaiting – the unveiling of their hard-earned tip treasure. A jovial hush spreads through the room as they each reveal their wad of cash, a mix of pride and camaraderie in the air. Some boast about their substantial earnings, while others opt for a more modest approach. Kimmy, in particular, remains discreet, her reserved nature keeping her earnings a mystery to her colleagues. Everyone agrees it’s because she makes less than the rest of them.

Myles Nelson, one of the Budtenders, swiftly completes his count and prepares to bid farewell for the night. “I’ve got a show to catch, folks. Fingers crossed I make it in time to catch my favorite band’s set,” he exclaims, fixing his spikey gelled up dark hair in the mirror and ripping off his collared shirt exposing his band’s logo. He adds a little black eye liner to the bottom of his lids before exchanging high-fives with his fellow Budtenders as he heads towards the exit.

“Yes. Love the eyeliner boo,” Cody compliments.

“Thanks my dude!” Myles says reaching down to fist bump Cody. “Later.”

“Okay. Later, my dude.” Cody chuckles, “Oh good Lord, someone call my dad in South Carolina. Tell him I just had a genuine hetero bro moment.”

“Not a bad day. We had some weirdos today, didn’t we?” Beck says.

“How about the guy that swings in weekly for his birthday joint? Like we don’t see his birth date in our systems or remember his face,” Cody vents. He shakes out his shaggy blonde wavy hair before putting his hat back on.

Beck chuckles, “Oh, and how about the guy with the service dog that is as wild as a rabid wolf? Yo, if that dog jumped up on the counter one more time, I was going to punch its owner. We are a medical facility,” Beck rants.

“The highlight of my day,” Rome chimes in, “was smelling that Green Life Productions pound being broken down. Ooo wee.”

“GLP kills it every time,” Beck says, “I don’t think anyone else in the state grows in no-till soil. And the fact that the owner was a UFC fighter sells in a city like Vegas.”

Turning their attention to Sophie, Cody inquires further, seeking to involve her in their close-knit circle. “And you, Sophie? Any memorable encounters, besides the obvious hot Zaddy sighting?”

Sophie ponders for a moment, “Korzey Cane. He always touches my heart.”

“The Morgan Freeman looking guy you always escort to his car? That’s sweet of you. How’d he end up losing his leg?” Cody asks, genuine curiosity etched on his face.

“Blood clot,” Sophie responds somberly. “We actually just talked about it today. He asked if there was a particular cannabinoid that could help thin his blood. His doctor found another in his other leg. Hinted he may lose his other leg if they can’t find a way to thin it out.”

Cody shakes his head, “That’s rough, bless his heart. Makes you appreciate things we may take for granted. I hope he gets to keep his leg. I never even considered that there are so many potential medicinal benefits to cannabis.”

Beck chimes in, empathetic and eager to assist, “There could very well be cannabinoids in the plant that aid in thinning blood. I’ll help you research more about it.”

They wrap up their cash count, gathering their belongings as they prepare to leave for the night. Sophie’s anticipation thrums beneath her skin as she imagines being in their positions. She stopped pestering Rome with the same question and is playing the long game now. She pulls out the lone business card burning a hole in her pocket and clutches it tightly.

She decides to input the number into her phone. M, R, period, L, A. She halts, reminding herself that Mr. Last Minute has a real name. With purpose, she types in Darren Spencer and presses save.

“Brews and highlights. Let’s go!” Beck grips Sophie’s arm and pulls her out of her seat towards the rear exit door. Kimmy diverts her attention, focused on her phone while the women say goodbye to the room.

“Really? Saying goodbye to you is the highlight of my workday!” Beck snickers at Kimmy.

Sophie and Beck exchange high-fives with Rome on their way out, though he shoots her a look as if to remind Beck to behave.

“I’ve clocked out, so it doesn’t count,” Beck retorts.

Rome smiles and shrugs, “Goodnight, ladies. Be safe.”

Stepping out of the dispensary through the rear exit, they ensure the door is securely closed.

“Oh, good God. Every time,” Sophie mutters, the sight down the back alley promoting a mix of resignation and disgust. Beck looks to see two heroin addicts concealed behind the shop’s dumpster. One of them injects a needle into his arm.

“That’s what my mom thinks cannabis use looks like,” Beck remarks.

“Your mom’s medicine cabinet is the same lethal combo,” Sophie adds.

“Very perilous. I’ve tried to talk to her about her pill popping but she trusts the doctors in her life rather than listen to her own daughter. I saw her and my older sister trading pills one time. Like trading cards,” Beck recounts. “Any way, I heard what happened when you drove in today. John is a psycho.”

Sophie laughs, “All I know is if that man does anything to that property John can be the one to clean it up. EVERY DAY!” Sophie laughs imitating the homeless man’s antics.

The cold chill of the September evening hits the two and they both scurry to the trunks of their cars grabbing for thicker jackets. They lock their doors and start walking towards the Las Vegas Strip arm in arm to share some warmth.

“So, when are you going to call Mr. Last Minute?” Beck asks as she pushes the button on the streetlight pole to cross the street. The Las Vegas Strip lit up ahead of them.

“You mean Darren Spencer?” Sophie corrects her.

“Oh, excuse me?” Beck says with a hint of skepticism in her laughter, “Are we using his real name from now on? You haven’t even slept with him. Don’t rush to memorize his whole name.”

“Good to know you don’t learn a man’s name until after sex, Beck.”

“Brad is another story, it’s only four letters so his name was easy to remember. And you introduced us. I had to remember his name to not offend my bestie.”

Bradford Mills and Beck have been happily married for three years. They are one of the sexiest looking couples in the Nevada cannabis industry.

“That’s cool that Brad’s moved on over to the cultivation side. He’s always grown the best weed,” Sophie says in her attempt to change the subject.

“Yeah, he’s been very happy there. And Kimmy doesn’t give us crap about working together anymore.”

The girls continue talking as they cross the street along with a small local crowd. They make their way down to the sports bar park, outside of the future Vegas Golden Knights hockey Arena where their personal beloved team, the Boston Bruins, just beat a Canadian team in a 4-0 shutout.

“Who says you can’t play hockey in the desert?” Sophie proudly asks looking up at the arena. The ladies find a clear table close to one of the big screens outside of the bar. They order their drinks and appetizers.

“Cheers babes!” Beck says raising her beer.

They lightly hit the neck of their bottles together and take their first sips.

“I never understood that awkward eye contact thing people do when they toast,” Sophie says as she scans around the park people watching.

Beck laughs as she pulls her drink down and away from her lips, “Maybe that’s why you haven’t had any good sex.”

Sophie picks up her napkin, balls it up and throws it at her friend, “I don’t have bad sex. I just haven’t had any sex lately,” Sophie jokes back.

“We’ll just hold the most solid eye contact from now on to see what happens,” says Beck. “So, I’m guessing the last first date you had didn’t get a second?”

“Gosh, don’t make me relive that night. I didn’t bring it up on purpose. Is it possible to meet a normal man in this city? We weren’t even at the cantina for ten minutes before he started showing me photos of his ex and asking if I would be down for a threesome.”

“Fucking yikes! Thank God I’m married. Dating sounds stressful,” Beck laughs.

They talk as they watch ESPN hockey highlights and finish their food before walking back to their cars at the dispensary’s parking lot.

        Sophie pushes a big silver button on a street light post to cross. She asks her friend, “Why do you hate Kimmy so much? She’s always been catty to me, and I know some things she’s said and done to you and Brad, but you throw more shade her way than anyone.”

“When Kimmy first started working at the shop, she was too flirty with Bradford, but that didn’t bother me. I’m not a jealous person. It’s all the little things that she did. Like, Bradford wrote the first Budtender exams, and he was fair about not showing me or anyone the answers. I scored 100% and Kimmy, in front of every new hire said that the only reason I passed was because I was fucking the guy that wrote the test.”

Sophie’s eyes widened in shock. “Wow. Not the guy you are married to, the guy you are fucking?”

Beck shakes her head yes, “Kimmy likes to overly sexualize everything.”

Beck continues with a story of another incident, “When Brad and I first helped open the stores, she got hired months later but kept making it seem like she was above me. I mean, I have the cannabis background and she has been fired from every bartending job she’s ever had. Apparently, she has stepped on too many toes in the night life industry, so she’s slithered her way into cannabis.”

Sophie adds, “You can’t take anything that comes out of her mouth seriously. I find that the best  way to deal with Kimmy is with punishing sarcasm. Like, if she says one plus one is three, I say yep sure is, have fun with that, and go on about my life.”

The two share a laugh just before their moment is abruptly interrupted by a homeless heroin addict running down the alley directly towards them.

“Just stay still, he won’t see you if you stay still,” Beck whispers to Sophie.

Sophie nods, “Yep. That’s why I call him T-Rex,” she says. The two quietly laugh as they stand perfectly still.

T-Rex runs closer in their direction.

“We pitch our deck in five minutes. We need to close this deal, or they’ll never make us partners Gary!” he yells running past the two girls. His voice trailing off in the distance.

“Who is Gary?” Sophie and Beck ask one another simultaneously.

They roar into gut busting laughter as they make their way to their cars.

Beck finishes her reasons for hating Kimmy. “But yeah, Kimmy is just a woman hater. Anyone that dresses, acts, looks, breathes in a way she deems inappropriate we all shut down the building to have a meeting on how not to hurt her feelings. She says the most sexist, demeaning things to her fellow females, and no one says anything to her. Sometimes I feel my anger is misplaced. I should be mad at the managers that don’t reprimand her,” Beck says in frustration. Sophie pulls her friend in for a hug before they separate to enter their own vehicles.

“You better call him,” Beck encourages her friend.

“I’m off for the next days. I’ll hit him up as soon as I figure out what to say.”

“Good night love, off to binge some Bravo until I pass out,” Beck says. “Brad secretly loves those shows.”

“He told me once he was watching sports, but I heard the Vanderpump Rules theme song blasting in the background,” Sophie laughs.

“Who’s he kidding?” Beck laughs loudly, “His sports knowledge stops at hockey and beer pong.”

Beck advises Sophie not to over think it before she gets in her car and closes the door. The girls back out of their parking spots, each waving as they drive past one another.

Sophie sings along loudly to her favorite songs on her ride home. She has a playlist for every routine including this one. Most songs remind her of her parents. Sophie used to cry when thinking about her parents, now she tries to remember the good times and chooses to feel like they are in the car with her as if they were on one of their Minx family road trips. It has been eleven years since they’ve passed away, but Sophie keeps their memory alive in many ways. One of those ways is by singing as loudly as she can to songs her parents used to sing with her on their road trips. She senses a warm feeling come over her shoulders like a hug or warm blanket.

Sophie talks out loud as if her parents are with her, “Hey, Mom and Dad. Today was another good day. You guys remember this song from that country music festival when I was seven?”

She sings along as she drives down the 215 towards the suburbs of Summerlin. It’s the last place her and her parents moved to before they passed away. On one road trip Sophie’s mother wanted to pass through Las Vegas to visit her childhood best friend who lived in Summerlin. Her parents loved that it was just ten minutes away from the city but closer to the mountains. Their first full day spent in Summerlin was enough to convince Sophie’s parents that Las Vegas was where their child should be raised. That winter they left the cooler regions of Connecticut for the dryer and warmer west coast.

She drives up to the gate of her condo, pressing the button on the gate’s remote. Her parents were always planners. Sophie sometimes wonders if they knew they would die young because they set her up nicely in their will. Perhaps law school created that sense of preparation within them. It’s a part of her world she avoids sharing. Especially on first dates.

An Original Cannabis Romance Series

4/20/24 RELEASE

ORDER ON AMAZON OR BARNES & NOBLE