Page 42 of After Midnight

But he doesn’t explain further, and I don’t press.

For the rest of our time together, I stay focused, not allowing my mind to drift. I speak to James when I can tell he wants to talk and stay silent when he just wants to watch me dance. And when our two hours are up and he leaves after putting two hundred dollars in my hand, I let out a tight sigh, partially relieved and partially frustrated.

I make good money off of my private dances, and if any of my clients start to feel like I’m distracted and not totally engaged with them, they’re likely to hire someone else. And I can’t let that happen—not with Riley’s tuition, and my bills, and my retirement account, and—

Stop. Everything’s fine.

I draw in a steadying breath, trying to calm myself.

I’ve had a weird week, that’s all. This happens sometimes. Next week, when James comes back in, I’ll make sure not to give him any reason to doubt my attention.

Things are slowing down in the club, and my shift is over. So I return to the dressing room backstage, and by some miracle, there’s still some pizza left. I grab myself two slices, get my cell from my locker, and then sink into a chair at the table just as my stomach growls.

I haven’t texted Sebastian back since earlier today, when we were debating the worst horror-movie clichés, and I decide to snap a quick selfie: my hair a bit of a mess, mascara smudged again, and a slice of pizza held up to my lips.

Without overthinking it, I send it to him, along with a text.

Thanks for thinking of me. Really needed this tonight.

It’s more vulnerable than I’m used to, but I think I’m too tired to care. And as I sit back and take my first bite of lukewarm pizza, my phone rings.

When I look down, it’s a FaceTime call. And it’s from him.

chapter 19

Remi

A BRIEF MOMENT OF PANIC goes through me. I can’t answer a video call in here; girls are still coming and going, half naked, talking about all the stupid things the customers did tonight. But I don’t want to miss his call. I realize that I actually really want to see him; for some reason, I feel like I want to be comforted right now, even if he’s the reason for my discomfort in the first place.

Fuck, I’m a mess.

Hurriedly, I reject the call, then send him a quick text.

One sec. Still in the dressing room.

Then I shove my two pieces of pizza into an empty box, throw my hoodie and sweatpants on over my lingerie set, and get the fuck out of the club as quickly as I can.

Once I’m sitting comfortably in my Jeep, I snap my cell into the phone holder on the dash, steady myself with a deep breath, and then call him back.

He answers on the second ring. At first, the screen is a blur of black and warm yellow, and it’s muffled, like he’s got his hand over the speaker. Then the image on the screen comes into view: Sebastian sitting in what looks to be a music room, wearing a faded gray T-shirt, a single lamp illuminating him in a pool of warm yellow light.

He grins at me, and I find myself grinning back.

“Hey,” he says.

Hearing his voice makes a tingle go through me.

“Hi.” My voice comes out a little higher pitched than usual.

Why the hell am I so nervous?

“You just get off work?”

The way he asks it gives me pause. His tone isn’t jealous or controlling or just sharp enough to cut; instead, he sounds completely casual, like maybe I work in an office or in retail and just clocked out for the day. It helps some of my muscles relax, and I settle back into my driver’s seat and grab a slice of pizza from the box.

“Yeah.” I take a bite, then arch a brow at him while I chew. “It’s four in the morning. Why are you still awake?”

He watches me eat my pizza, a little smile on his face, and shrugs. “I’m all amped up from recording today. Had too many energy drinks—now I can’t sleep.”