Page 25 of After Midnight

I like boring. And groceries. I’m terrible at groceries. x

Rolling onto my back, I respond quickly.

How do you stay alive if you’re terrible at groceries?

The next text that comes through makes my heart catch—because it’s accompanied by a picture.

It’s not Sebastian, but somehow, it makes me feel closer to him, like he’s inviting me into his world. It’s a picture of an open pizza box, half of the pizza already gone, with a hand holding up a greasy slice.

Like this. z

The picture makes my stomach growl. That bowl of cereal earlier didn’t last me long, which reminds me that I need to meal prep for the week. Making food when I get home from the club never happens, so I prep all my meals on Mondays and Tuesdays so I have something simple to eat on work nights.

Pushing to my feet, I pad into the kitchen while texting back.

Looks good.

My phone pings before I can even open my refrigerator.

I’d share if you were here.

The message makes me pause, and I go still, standing frozen in the kitchen. Over my shoulder, a detective is saying something on TV, but I ignore it.

I . . . kind of wish I were there. In LA. Eating pizza. With him.

But I know that’s not real life. This is just a stupid little flirty thing, and it’ll be over in a week or so. That’s how it always goes. Guys come into my life for a while, and then it ultimately doesn’t work, because I can’t—or won’t—give them what they want. And this won’t work either; I need to keep reminding myself of that—especially every time my heart squeezes like it’s doing now, as my thumbs move rapidly across the screen.

If you were here, I’d make you suffer through salad. It’s good for you.

Sebastian texts back a moment later.

I’d eat raw lettuce if it meant I got to have dinner with you.

My heart squeezes again.

Who the hell is this guy? And how is he wriggling under my defenses so easily? I’m not usually like this.

Staring at his message, I lift a thumb to my lips, as if to chew on it, then remember I have my nails done and can’t go chewing them off; half-chewed nails do not look good wrapped around a pole. My nail tech would be pissed at me.

Prove it.

My heart thumps hard after I send the message. Thirty seconds pass, then a minute. Finally, those three little dots appear. And his next message has me catching my breath.

Okay. When can I see you again?

chapter 11

Sebastian

MY MESSAGE WAS PROBABLY TOO much. It was definitely too much. She barely gave me her name, and I just went and asked when I can see her again.

Fuck.

I’m serious though. I do want to see her again, so bad it makes my insides hurt. Or maybe that’s just the three-quarters of the pizza I just inhaled after getting home from the studio.

I’m lying on my couch now, in a partial food coma, and it feels amazing to be home. But kind of lonely too. I really wish Nora would bring Margot over. I’ve always liked cats, and I’m pretty sure they like me. We could have playdates, like parents do with kids.

I’ll definitely ask her about that the next time I see her.