Page 14 of After Midnight

She nods. “Yeah. With edamame and miso soup and warm sake.”

Something in my chest warms at the image of her sipping sake and eating edamame. “Me too.”

She runs a hand through her hair, making the glossy black strands shine. “Now tell me something that you like.”

Something I like, something I like . . .

“Uh . . . Skittles.”

Now, finally, she gives me a full smile.

And I’m starting to loosen up, just a bit. “Your turn,” I continue, turning toward her and draping my arm across the back of the couch. “Something that’s not a food.”

“Not a food?” She twists her mouth into a thoughtful expression that makes me want to press my thumb to her lips, just to see if they’re as soft as they look. “Skateboarding.”

I blink. “Really?”

She arches a brow at me. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“No, I’m not.” I give a shake of my head. “It’s just, the guys and I board all the time. I’m kind of shit at it, but it’s fun.”

“I got this boarding when I was first learning.” She runs her fingertips across her hairline, stopping at a scar I didn’t notice when she was dancing for me last night. “My parents made me promise never to ride without a helmet again.”

I’ve got the urge to reach out and touch it, to trail a finger across that scar, but I don’t. “They sound like good parents.”

“They are.” She gets that smile again, then shakes her head and laughs. “And this is the first time I’ve ever talked about my parents while at work, so let’s talk about literally anything else.”

She has such a pretty smile. Her teeth are slightly uneven, like maybe she didn’t wear her retainer the way she was supposed to. Or maybe that was just me. Mom used to hound me about it relentlessly.

I’m not sure why, but before I can stop myself, I say, “My dad hates that I play music.”

Her smile dims, and a small wrinkle forms between her brows. “What?”

I realize that I never told her I play in a band. I’m pretty sure that was the last thing on my mind last night when she was dancing for me. Rubbing my calloused palms on my jeans, I say, “Yeah, I’m the drummer for LGC. Loaded God Complex. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of—”

“I’ve heard of you,” she says. “Why does your dad hate your music?”

“Oh, uh . . . Because he wanted me to do something else, I guess.”

“What did he want you to do?”

Overhead, the song changes. It’s another one I don’t recognize.

“Play college ball. Try to go pro.” I shrug. “I just wanted to play music though.” I give her a smile. “All these years later, he’s still waiting for me to grow out of it. Thinks it’s just a phase.”

Mirage narrows her blue eyes. “And is it?”

Easiest question she could’ve asked me. I shake my head. “No way. It’s my life.”

The wrinkle between her brows smooths out, and her smile returns, though it’s smaller this time. “So, what do you do when you aren’t disappointing Daddy?”

The laugh that bursts out of me is a bit surprising, but it feels good. “Skateboard. Play video games. Eat cereal straight out of the box.”

“Favorite cereal?” she asks.

“Peanut butter Cap’n Crunch. Yours?”

“Honey Bunches of Oats. And now we’re talking about food again.”