Page 13 of After Midnight

Her blue eyes are rimmed in dark eyeliner and mascara, and there’s a gem at the outside corner of each. Staring into her eyes, I get the feeling she could probably hypnotize me with her gaze.

“I . . . couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

There’s a flicker of something across her face, but it’s there and gone before I can place it. And besides, I’ve never been very good at reading women’s expressions. Maybe it’s one of the reasons I get dumped so often.

I’m so fucking lame, and I’m certain she knows it.

“If that’s the case . . .” She eases off her barstool and holds out a hand. “How about we go back to our room?”

Our room. Probably another thing she says to all her regulars. But it works, because I’m sliding off my stool before I can stop myself, taking her hand, and following her back down that same hallway as last night.

As she walks ahead of me, I notice just how small she is. Even in those crazy heels she’s got on, she’s still shorter than me. Without the heels, she must be a tiny little thing.

Tiny enough for me to wrap in my arms. For me to—

“After you.” Mirage waves me through the open door and into the same room as last night.

This time, though, after she closes the door and goes to the little glowing panel on the wall to select her music, I say, “Can we just . . . talk?”

Her finger goes still on the panel.

Before she can walk out, I quickly say, “I’ll still pay. I just . . .” I reach up and adjust my ball cap, feeling more pathetic by the second. “I don’t know. I’m an idiot. I just wanted to get to know you, I guess.”

She still hasn’t turned to face me. Maybe she’s completely creeped out by this right now. I probably would be if I were in her position.

Without saying anything, she selects a song, and as it starts to bleed through the speakers, she turns to face me. Her lips are pressed together, blue eyes slightly narrowed. But she doesn’t look afraid of me, or like she’s going to call those two big security guards I saw near the main stage to throw me out.

Instead, she crosses the room and eases onto the couch next to me.

Overhead, the song is a Nirvana cover, one I’ve never heard before.

“What song is this?” I ask.

Mirage tips her head. “WITCHZ. ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’ ”

For a minute, I listen to it, tapping my fingers on my knee, following along with the rhythm. “Dark shit,” I say, then meet her eyes. “It’s really fucking good.”

Her lips tug up at the corners again. “I like it too.”

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “What else do you like?”

The smile fades slowly.

Did I really fuck this up that quickly?

Fuck.

Now she narrows her eyes at me, the gemstones at each corner winking in the dim red light. “Is that really why you’re here? To talk to me?”

I could lie or make a shitty joke. But I don’t want to. I’ve never really liked lying. So I just shrug and say, “Yeah. I guess.”

She keeps staring. She stares for long enough that I clear my throat and glance away.

“I mean,” I say, reaching up to scratch the back of my neck, “I get it if you’re not into this. I could go—”

“Sushi.”

My gaze flicks to hers. She’s not giving me such a suspicious look anymore. “Sushi?”