Page 23 of After Midnight

I put my drumsticks down, thumbs posed over the cell screen, ready to type.

“Sebastian.” Naomi sounds annoyed. Granted, she usually sounds like that when she works with us. Can’t blame her though—I know we’re gigantic pains in the ass. “Can we focus, please?”

I look up, and everyone is staring at me.

“Who’re you texting?” Dex asks. “You must’ve looked at that phone a hundred times since you stepped in here.”

Lucas narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Don’t tell me it’s that stripper.”

“A stripper?” Dex asks, his pierced lip tugging up into a smirk.

I blink, then smile at Lucas. “Okay. I won’t tell you.”

All three of them—and Naomi—groan.

“Dude,” Lucas says with a shake of his head, his mop of blond hair flopping. “Strippers are bad fucking news. I thought we learned this, like, ten years ago.”

Yeah, we did. But something about her feels different—though I’m not going to tell them that. They’d just make fun of me some more. So I lift one shoulder in a shrug and say, “I think she’s nice.”

Another round of groans.

Lucas scoffs and mumbles, “You don’t even know her.”

He’s right: I don’t. But I really want to.

“Give her a chance,” Michael says. He’s got his dad voice on. “Maybe she’ll surprise us.”

“Guys, let’s focus,” Naomi says. “I’ve got a reservation at Nobu, and I’m not missing it. Sebastian, text her later. Lucas, don’t miss that measure again. Let’s take it from the top.”

Not texting her back right now is killing me, but I slip my phone into my pocket, pick up my drumsticks, and focus. Because the faster we get out of here, the faster I can get back to Remi.

When we step out of the recording studio, the first person I see is Nora.

“Nora!” I push past Dex, ignoring his pissed-off grumble, and sweep Nora into a hug, twirling her around as she laughs. Her long hair is soft on my cheek, and when I set her down, she’s smiling up at me, flushed red from the heat outside. “Have you been here long?”

She straightens out her Legend of Volthorn T-shirt, then shakes her head. “No, I just got here. We have a cake-tasting appointment tonight.”

I widen my eyes, then take Nora by the shoulders. “Dex has no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t even like cake. You should take me instead. I—”

Dex elbows me in the ribs, making me hiss as he jostles me out of the way, then wraps a tattooed hand around the back of Nora’s neck and stoops low to kiss her. She immediately softens into him, and I get that jealous heat in my stomach that flares up every time I see the two of them together—not because I want Nora for myself, but because seeing them reminds me of what I don’t have: someone who wants me just for me and not for the money in my pocket or the fancy events I get invited to.

We met Nora a year ago, when she was brought on to play violin for one of our singles, “Ghost.” And I would’ve had to be completely blind to not see the way she and Dex looked at each other. I’m still not quite sure how he landed a woman like her, but I’m glad it’s given her a reason to stick around. She’s fun, and her cat, Margot, is super awesome. I tried to talk her into giving Margot to me, but I failed spectacularly. Doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying.

Dex straightens, then slings an arm around Nora’s shoulders. “You can’t go,” he says. As I start to pout, he adds, “You’ve got that stripper to text.”

Beside him, Nora widens her eyes and stares at me.

Holy fuck. He’s right. When I saw Nora, my brain just overloaded. But now, my phone feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket.

“Stripper?” Nora asks as I lean down and pull her into another hug.

“I’ll tell you later,” I say, then give each of the guys a fist bump. “Naomi, enjoy Nobu!” I call out.

“I will,” she says from her seat in front of the mixing deck.

Then I’m walking out of the studio, already pulling my cell from my pocket. I walk by the front desk, where Morgan is, but she ignores me, as usual. We went on a few dates early last year, but after I accidentally scratched her beloved BMW while trying to parallel park it one night, she stopped answering my texts. I paid to have it fixed, of course, but she still alternates between being outright hostile to me or pretending I don’t exist.

Outside, I head straight for my Bronco Raptor, which Ashton had brought over for me, fling myself into the front seat, and stare down at her message.