Page 17 of After Midnight

“Remi.” The word falls from my lips in a whisper, a forbidden thing that scares even me as I say it. “My name. It’s Remi.”

Slowly, his lips pull into a smile—a big one, showing his dimples and everything. It makes my stomach do a flip, like I’m a schoolgirl again and the pretty-boy jock just asked me to homecoming or something.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he says. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Despite barely knowing this guy, I believe him. But as I nod once, I still find myself hoping I didn’t just make the biggest mistake ever.

Then he says, “Good night, Remi.” And he slips out of the door and is gone, leaving me standing there alone, somehow still fully clothed. That’s a first at the end of a private session.

In my hand, the pen I hold feels like a weapon. And I wonder if I just gave him all my ammunition.

chapter 6

Sebastian

AS SOON AS I STEP out of Club Caliber, the heat hits me, dry and stifling enough to make me cough. My clothes cling to my skin, and I wonder—not for the first time this weekend—how anyone can stand to live here. I’m not a desert creature; I’m built for salt and surf and perfect summer days.

But she’s a desert creature. She looks born for the sand, like a goddess of cracked earth and scorched land.

Would she like it in California?

She. Remi.

I like her real name much more than Mirage. And when she said it, her eyes changed, just for a moment, like she was letting me peek through the curtain before she quickly drew it closed again. I’m not sure why she changed her mind, but I’m glad she did. Knowing her name makes me feel like I know her, even a little, even if I really don’t.

Standing outside the club, I look down at my palm, where ten digits are scrawled onto my skin. But I’m already getting hot, sweating in the sweltering air, and that ink isn’t going to last long.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell. A couple guys step out of the club behind me, and I curl my fingers around the ink, as if it’s a piece of paper that might flutter away in the desert breeze.

My phone lights up, and before calling my driver, I punch Remi’s number into a new contact, then double-check that I got the number right.

Then triple-check, just to be sure.

Only when I know it’s safe do I finally call my driver. Ashton was kind enough to leave me with one—though I think that’s mostly because she’s afraid I’d get lost or into some sort of trouble if she didn’t. Which, to be fair, is probably likely. I’ve got the navigational skills of a kid fresh off the spinny thing at a playground, stumbling around with no sense of up and down. I’d probably be halfway to Colorado before I even realized I was going east instead of west.

The glossy black SUV pulls up at the curb, windows tinted dark enough that I can’t see inside. I open the back door and slide in, then immediately crank up the AC.

“Where are we headed?” my driver asks.

“Hotel, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Harris.”

As the SUV pulls away from the curb, I look back one last time, as if Remi might be standing on the sidewalk waiting for me.

But she’s not. The neon-lit sidewalk is empty save for a few playing cards with naked women on them skittering across the concrete in the breeze. Somehow, I’m disappointed, even though I know I shouldn’t be.

“Actually,” I say, leaning forward to talk to the driver. “Can we get milkshakes and fries first?”

BACK AT THE HOTEL, I eat greasy fries and slurp down a vanilla milkshake while staring at Remi’s number on my phone. If the guys were here, they’d probably tell me not to text her yet, and Lucas would tell me not to be a pussy.

I collapse backward onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling.

Should I text her?

Probably not.

Do I want to?