Page 65 of After Midnight

We’re smiling, and Remi appears to be laughing at something I said. It’s . . . kinda cute, actually.

Until my gaze slides to the comments under the photo. My stomach drops.

As usual, the comment section is a cesspool. People say nice things, people say shitty things—it’s best to just ignore it, I’ve learned. Then I see that someone has tagged Remi in the photo.

“How do they know that’s you?” I ask, dragging my gaze from the phone screen to Remi’s face. Her lips are still pulled down, and her arms are crossed.

She lifts her shoulders in a stiff shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe someone from the salon who knows my name.” Little tendrils of black hair brush her cheeks as she shakes her head. “I have no idea. But look.” Reaching out for the phone, she makes a few taps on the screen, pulling up her profile.

And all of her photos are getting bombarded with comments and insults and questions about me. It’s overwhelming and disgusting and way too much.

This reminds me of what happened when that photo of Dex and Nora went out. People were so shitty to Nora after that; I felt so bad for her. And now it’s happening to Remi.

Because of me. This is my fault.

“Fuck,” I mumble, reaching up to rub the back of my neck. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been more careful. Usually, people don’t give a damn when I’m out alone. Guess I’m more interesting when I’m with you . . .”

“It’s not your fault,” she says, then heaves a big sigh. Her gaze flicks up to mine.

In my hand, her phone chimes, and I look down, reading the text that comes through without meaning to.

I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. YOU’RE FAMOUS S

I crack a small smile, then offer her the phone. “Riley’s texting you.”

Remi takes the cell and reads it. A flicker of amusement crosses her face, but then it’s gone again, like sand blowing away in the desert wind.

“Hey,” I say softly, reaching out to take her chin between my forefinger and thumb, lifting it so she’ll meet my eyes. “Are you okay?”

Her blue eyes look troubled, and I hate that I’m the one who caused that trouble.

“Come here,” I say, dropping my hand from her chin, then intertwining our fingers and leading her to the low couch. I sink onto it, pulling her down with me so she’s seated in my lap, her knees on either side of my hips. “Talk to me, Rem. What’s going on up there?” I brush her temple with my fingertips. “Is it the comments?”

She shakes her head, then looks away, casting her gaze out into the last rays of the setting sun. Her brow furrows, and she worries at her bottom lip. For a while, neither of us says anything, and pressure builds inside my chest as I wait for her to speak.

“It . . . scares me,” she says softly, still not looking at me.

“What does? That photo?”

She nods once.

“What are you scared of?” I put my hands on her thighs, squeezing them softly, trying to ground her here in this moment with me.

Moisture gathers in her eyes, just like it did last night. The sight of it makes me want to crush her to my chest and chase all her worries away. I hate that I’m making her feel like this.

“It’s nothing,” she says quickly, reaching up to scrub the moisture away before tears can fall. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” I say. “None of your thoughts are stupid.” I put my calloused hand on her cheek, and she leans into it, letting her eyes close. “Will you please tell me?”

She remains there, eyes closed, cheek pressing into my palm. Then she whispers, “I’m scared it’ll . . . change things.”

“What things?” I trace her cheekbone with my thumb.

“Things with us.”

My chest goes warm. I don’t want her to cry, don’t want her to be scared. But she said there’s an us. She teased me about that word earlier, when I accidentally let it slip out. But now she’s saying it back to me, and it makes everything inside me tingle.

“How?” I whisper.