Page 20 of After Midnight

There’s this crazy burning desire in me to know everything about her, like where she gets her groceries and what her favorite Christmas movie is.

But I’ve only just learned her name, and—

My phone buzzes. It’s from her.

Why so sleepy?

I bite the corner of my lip, trying and failing not to smile, then type the first thing that comes to mind.

Didn’t sleep much. Kept thinking about you.

There’s the whooshing sound as I send the message. Then I reread it and immediately feel like I might’ve just blown whatever small chance Remi was giving me.

I bet guys tell her shit like that all the time. But it’s true—I tossed and turned until I had to get up to leave for the airport this morning, and every scrap of sleep I got was filled with dreams of her—her bejeweled eyes, her black hair under the desert sun, her weight in my lap.

Three dots appear at the bottom of our text conversation, and my chest goes tight. Fifteen seconds later, the dots disappear, but no message comes through. Those dots are the worst. What the hell kind of developer thought that was a good idea? Talk about emotional abuse.

With a groan, I drop my head back against the headrest.

“Fuck,” I mumble.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Harris?” Luis asks, his dark gaze cutting to me in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah.” I take my ball cap off and scrub a hand over my buzzed hair, then realize I’m starving. And if I’m about to go spend my day in the studio, I’m gonna need grub to power through it. “Can we get food on the way?”

In the rearview mirror, Luis smiles. “Of course, Mr. Harris.”

He shifts lanes, and I turn to look out the window, watching the palm trees glide past on the other side of the glass. And once again, I think of her.

Remi.

The mirage I left back in the desert.

chapter 8

Remi

I PUT A LOAD OF laundry into the washing machine, add my laundry soap, and start a cycle. Then, for the tenth time in the last hour, I pull my phone out of my hoodie pocket and reread Sebastian’s text.

Didn’t sleep much. Kept thinking about you.

Even now, rereading it makes my stomach flutter, and that alone is reason enough for me to block his number and delete this guy from my life before he even has a chance to step into it. And I almost did. I almost ended it already. But then I read the text again, and something about it gave me pause.

Guys say shit like that all the time. Then they usually follow up with an unsolicited dick pic and immediately get blocked.

But Sebastian hasn’t texted again, and despite barely knowing him—or maybe not knowing him at all—I highly doubt he’s going to send a dick photo into our chat.

Though, I do wonder what his di—

Another text comes through, cutting off my train of thought. It’s from Riley.

Can you pick me up on your way to the gym? Car’s dead again.

“Fuck,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. Without her car, she’ll be taking the bus, and I hate when Riley takes the bus.

Before I can forget, I pad into my bedroom, drop to my knees on the carpet, and pull my lockbox out from under my bed. After putting in the combination and flipping it open, I count out two hundred bucks. Hopefully that’ll be enough for Riley to get a new battery installed.

Locking the box again, I slide it back under the bed, then shoot Riley a quick text.