Page 24 of After Midnight

You use that line on all the girls? Gonna have to try a bit harder than that, rock star.

I try to think of something clever to say, something that’ll be different from all the other guys I’m sure are blowing her phone up right now. But I’m just drawing a blank. She said harder, so maybe I could make a dick joke.

No. Definitely not. That’s fucking stupid.

Okay, how about . . .

I stare at the message. Stare a while longer.

Fuck. Why is this so hard?

I take a deep breath, then watch out my window as Dex and Nora walk to her Civic and climb inside. They cruise out of the parking lot, and I’m still sitting there.

“Okay, just be normal,” I tell myself.

Trying not to overthink it, I type out a quick message.

I’m better with drumsticks than pickup lines.

I reread it and surprisingly don’t hate it. But I want her to actually respond to me, so I need more. Reaching for my glove box, I pop it open, then pull out my emergency Skittles; I always keep a few bags lying around. After tossing a few into my mouth, I finish the message.

I’m better with drumsticks than pickup lines. So, what are you doing today besides making fun of me?

Hopefully she doesn’t think I’m digging. But I want to get to know her.

I read the message a few more times, eat another handful of Skittles, debate whether I should send the message to Nora and ask her what she thinks, then finally try to grow a set of balls.

I send the message.

And now I’m super exhausted. So I crank up the engine, back out of my parking spot, and then finally head home.

Well, I’m gonna get food first, then home.

chapter 10

Remi

I’M STRETCHING IN THE LIVING room, sprawled out on my yoga mat with a true crime documentary on the TV, when my phone pings with a text. My stomach squeezes, heart leaping, and I rebuke myself for it.

It could be anyone—Riley, Mom, one of the girls from work.

Or maybe it’s him.

My gaze flicks to my cell where it’s lying face down on the couch, and for twenty seconds, I resist the urge to snap it up. Then, suddenly, it’s in my hand.

And it is him.

I’m better with drumsticks than pickup lines. So, what are you doing today besides making fun of me?

My lips betray me, immediately pulling into a smile, the brutal murder on my TV screen completely forgotten as I flop onto my stomach on my yoga mat and stare down at the text.

Our texts have been a few hours apart today, but now that I’m home, lounging in my cotton shorts and oversize tee, I realize I want to text him back quickly, just to see if he will as well.

So I type my message out and send it without making myself wait.

Gym, groceries, laundry. I’m actually boring when you get to know me.

After sending the text, I toss my phone onto the couch and push back into my downward-facing dog. He doesn’t respond nearly as fast as I’d hoped, and when the cell finally pings, I’ve already finished my stretching and am now sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching the documentary. I grab the phone so fast that I actually embarrass myself.