Page 66 of After Midnight

Her shoulders rise in a small shrug. “Like . . . they’ll come into this little bubble we’ve made and just . . . pop it. People ruin everything.”

Now I lift my other hand, cupping both her cheeks. Her blue eyes open, glittering with unshed tears in the dying light.

“It doesn’t change anything,” I say. “Not one bit. Let the outside world talk; they don’t get to come into this world. This world is just for us. I won’t let anyone ruin that.”

Her lower lip trembles. “You promise?”

I pull her in and press a kiss to her lips. Her mouth stops trembling, and as I pull away, I lean my forehead against hers and whisper, “I promise. And I’m sorry they invaded your privacy like that.”

She takes what sounds like a steadying breath, and her eyes aren’t watering anymore as she says, “It’s okay. I’ll set my profile to private. Then no one will be able to tag me or see my stuff.” Her lips lift into a small smile on one side. “I should’ve had it on private anyway. That’s on me.”

I still feel like this is my fault, like I’m bringing more trouble into Remi’s life than I’m worth. But she shakes it off quickly, then pushes up from her place in my lap. Hands on her hips, she looks down at me.

“How about a shower, then that massage?”

I’m up and off the couch so quick that it makes her laugh. Before she can guide me down the hall to the bathroom, I tug her in for a hug, my arms looping around her, her head pressing to my chest.

And I’m determined not to break the promise I just made. No matter what, this is our world—no one gets to ruin this for us.

chapter 28

Remi

WHEN I EASE THE JEEP up to the drop-off lane, my stomach and throat tighten up, and I immediately try to push the feelings down. It’s late afternoon on Wednesday, and I have a shift at the club tonight, which means this little fantasy I’ve been living in for the past couple days has to come to an end—so I can step back into the other fantasy, the one I create with sequins and false lashes and glittering stilettos.

The one that used to feel like home. But now, dangerously and stupidly, it feels like home is about to slide out of my passenger’s seat and fly back to California.

Do not cry, I tell myself.

I’ve done way too much crying the past couple days, and I don’t like it. I’ve never been a crier. But I’ve also never been down bad for a rock star who likes pedicures before either, so I guess there’s a first time for everything.

Sebastian looks up at the doors leading into Harry Reid International Airport, and his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. But a second later, he puts on a smile, then reaches over to squeeze my leg and says, “Help me with my bags?”

I arch a brow. He only has one bag and a carry-on, and he definitely doesn’t need my help with them. But I don’t turn down his invitation.

We both climb out of the Jeep, and I stand on the sidewalk while Sebastian grabs his stuff from the back. The heat is stifling, and even standing in the shade of the building leaves me feeling sweaty in under a minute.

People bustle around us, cars coasting into and out of the drop-off area, wheeled suitcases clattering along the cement. I can’t help but wonder if there are any eyes on us right now, any phone cameras pointed in our direction without me realizing it.

That Tribe photo is still on my mind, no matter how much I’ve tried to push it down since I saw it last night. I can’t shake the uneasiness it gave me. Even now, it clings, refusing to let me go.

Sebastian closes the Jeep’s trunk, then joins me on the sidewalk. He’s wearing a hoodie and a ballcap, and even though I know he must be melting in this heat, he doesn’t rush our goodbye. Instead, he puts his bags down on the sidewalk, then pulls me in, lifting me into a hug that has my tiptoes leaving the ground.

I wrap my arms around him, squeezing my eyes shut as I hug him back. For just a split second, I think of asking him if I can go too, if he’ll take me back to Cali with him so this moment between us can last just a little while longer.

But that’s me trying to live in the fantasy again, and I know better than most where the illusion ends and real life begins.

So, as he sets me back on my feet, I smile up at him and say, “Will you text me when you land?”

“I’ll call you as soon as I’m through security.” His lips curve up.

I smirk and give him an eye roll. “That’s a bit much, drummer boy.”

His smile turns into a grin. “Yeah, but you love it.”

He’s right. I really do. I love that he’s not playing games with me, isn’t trying to make me grovel and chase after him. It feels like he’s here, and it’s intoxicating.

So, instead of bantering back, I find myself rising onto my tiptoes, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him into a kiss. His fingers wrap gently around the back of my head, and he deepens the kiss, as if trying to tell me everything his lips aren’t saying.