Page 29 of After Midnight

As we walk back down the album-lined hallway to the elevator that’ll take us to the ground level, where my Jeep is parked, I glance up at Sebastian and say, “Maybe we can have a rematch sometime.”

My words cause him to flick his gaze to mine, and his brows arch up a bit, like I just said something surprising.

And I guess I did. Because a rematch insinuates I’ll be seeing him again.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have let that slip out.

“Challenge accepted,” he says, grinning at me, then gestures for me to walk into the elevator.

We step inside. The elevator is all glass with a purple hue that shines down over us as I hit the button to take us down to the bottom floor. And as we start to slowly move down, I realize that I don’t want the night to end yet. Usually, my dates include a nice dinner, fucking at a hotel, then going home to take a shower and forget the night ever happened.

But I don’t want to forget this night. I don’t want to forget him.

The butterflies are swirling through my stomach again, unfamiliar and uncomfortable, like I’m back in high school and figuring out this whole boy thing for the first time.

We reach the bottom floor and step out of the elevator. Then, before I can stop myself or think better of it, I look up at Sebastian and say, “I know a place where we can go.”

He widens his eyes at me, looking startled, and I laugh.

“Not like that.”

Even though the idea of that is a pretty delicious idea.

I bump him as he walks beside me, and his arm is warm against mine. More heat builds in my stomach at the light contact. “Are you in?”

It barely takes him a second to respond. He nods. “Hell yeah I’m in. Take me wherever you wanna go.”

chapter 13

Sebastian

REMI IS FUCKING GORGEOUS. I keep glancing at her as she drives, one hand on the steering wheel, the other dangling out the driver’s side window. All the windows are down, letting in the still-warm Vegas air, and it tosses her hair around her face as night falls over the desert. She keeps pushing it out of her eyes, and I have to work really hard to keep my hands in my lap and not reach out to touch her hair and tuck it behind her ear.

“So, where are you taking me?” I ask as she maneuvers the Grand Cherokee flawlessly through Vegas’s bustling traffic. It’s almost like LA, with cars and trucks and taxis zipping all over the place, cutting people off as they change lanes, horns honking. She stays chill though, not at all bothered by the chaos.

Without taking her blue eyes off the road, she quirks her lips up on one side and says, “You’ll see.”

I settle back into my seat. She could be driving out to drop me in Death Valley, and I’d still just sit here like a lovestruck fool.

She takes lefts and rights, then guides the vehicle into a parking garage. We go up and up and up, to the very top level, where the fewest cars are. And the whole time, I just sit with the mystery, waiting for her to surprise me.

She parks the Jeep, then motions for me to climb out. Even as I follow her around to the back, I have no idea where we’re going. She opens the trunk, and I arch a brow when she pulls two skateboards out of the back.

Then she turns to face me, her black hair gleaming under the parking garage’s lights. “You said you skate, right?”

I look down at the board—it has a scuffed sticker on it that says Vegas Nights—then give her a sideways smile. “You must be pretty into me if you remember a detail like that.”

She rolls her eyes, and her cheeks get a slight pink tinge, like she was out in the sun too long. “Just shut up and take it.” She forces it into my arms, then grumbles, “And I’m just a good listener, okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” A laugh rumbles up from me as I tuck the board under one arm. “Whatever you say.”

Cheeks still pink, she waves for me to follow. “Come on.”

I trail after her, thinking she’s leading us to the padlocked door at the far end of the parking garage, and I realize I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she can pick locks—and she’d probably do it with a smile and a flick of her glossy black hair. But when she sees me looking at it, she arches a brow and says, “That’s to keep the tourists out.”

Instead, she leads me to a narrow concrete service hallway along the outer edge of the upper parking level; if she hadn’t led me this way, I never would’ve noticed it here. The fluorescent lights overhead are dim, and a few flicker as we pass beneath them.

As I follow behind her, I ask, “Are we allowed back here?” It feels like a place where we’re definitely not supposed to be. And Ashton would be pissed if she had to bail me out of jail.