Page 18 of After Midnight

Hell yes.

I grab my phone and hold it up over my face, a blank text staring back at me.

“Remi,” I say out loud, just to myself. I like the sound of it, and I can’t remember ever meeting a Remi before.

I toss the phone down, then eat another fry.

“Am I a pussy?” I ask myself. Then I eat some more fries and wash them down with vanilla milkshake. I decide I probably am, but I don’t care. And I’m going to text her.

Pushing myself up, I grab the phone and stare down at the still-empty text.

I type, Hey, it’s me, Sebastian. Then I stare at it. I delete it and start over. It’s Sebastian. Here’s my number. I delete that one too, then eat another fry. I should’ve gotten a third bag at the drive-thru.

Why is this so hard?

Narrowing my eyes, I type a third message, and this time, I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

Hey, Remi. It’s Sebastian.

My phone makes that little whooshing sound, and the message is officially out of my control. And as soon as it’s gone and I’m sitting in the silent hotel room, doubt starts to creep in.

Was that even the right number? Is Remi even her name? Maybe she was just trying to get me out of there. But I didn’t ask for her number, so why give me a fake one?

Maybe she just felt bad for me, the dude whose dad is deeply disappointed in him and thinks his career is a fucking joke. I didn’t mean to make myself sound pitiful when I told her that stuff about him though.

I look down at my phone again. No reply yet.

She’s probably still working, idiot, I tell myself. I’m not sure what time she gets off, but it’s probably late. Or early?

I reach for another fry, but the bag’s empty.

With a sigh, I crumple up the greasy paper bag and lob it across the room. It lands in the trash with a satisfying crinkle. I wish one of the guys were here to see my perfect shot.

After finishing my milkshake, I hop into the shower, and when I get out, I check my phone again. Still nothing. And I have to be up in three hours for the driver to take me to the airport to fly home.

I flop into bed, turn off the lights, and try to fall asleep. But I keep thinking of her, keep replaying our conversation in the private room, keep feeling her weight in my lap. I definitely should’ve jerked off in the shower; the release might’ve helped me sleep. But now I’m clean and don’t want to get dirty again.

With a grumble, I turn onto my other side, then back again, reaching for my cell on the nightstand.

No texts. Now I have to be up in two hours to leave for the airport.

But I get the feeling this is going to be a shitty sleepless night.

chapter 7

Sebastian

I’M A ZOMBIE THE NEXT day, and I’m extremely glad Ashton didn’t trust me to get myself to the airport. My driver puts a to-go coffee in my hand when I crawl into the SUV, and he gets me where I need to go while I try to keep my eyes open. I somehow stumble through security and make it into the main part of the airport, where I immediately find a coffee shop. The one cup barely woke me up.

“Large coffee. Oat milk. One pump vanilla,” I tell the barista.

She looks at me a bit more closely, tipping her head to the side.

“You look familiar,” she says as she rings me up. “That’ll be $15.50.”

Fifteen dollars for a coffee? Vegas is such a fucking rip-off.

I hand her a twenty-dollar bill.