Page 30 of After Midnight

In front of me, Remi shrugs, then casts a glance over her shoulder at me. “Probably not.” Her gaze sweeps me up and down. “Especially not you, Cali boy.”

The corridor turns, and at the end is a battered metal service door propped open with a cinder block. Remi pulls it open, then slips through it, and I follow her through the door and onto an exterior metal maintenance staircase that runs the height of the parking garage. I pause to grip the rail and look over at the cars passing by beneath us.

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” she asks from where she’s already ascending the creaky metal stairs.

“Nope,” I say. “Just spiders and clowns.”

She lets out a laugh. “Then come on. Get up here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I take the stairs two at a time, making the whole metal structure rattle. There’s one last maintenance gate at the top, barring access to the roof, but this one is locked.

Remi turns and offers me her board. “Hold this.”

I take it, not sure what her plan is. She looks up, flexes her fingers, then jumps. It makes me want to lurch forward and grab her, to save her from falling however many stories to the pavement below. But with one huff of breath, she yanks herself up and over the top of the gate, then drops back down to the other side, her sneakers thumping lightly against the concrete.

With a victorious smile, she opens the gate from the other side and holds out a hand. “Welcome to my abode.”

“Holy fuck,” I say as I step through the narrow gate. “I knew you were a badass, but I didn’t know you were criminal.” With a grin, I hold out her board. “That was kinda hot.”

She rolls her eyes again while taking the board from me. “I’ve been coming up here since I was in high school. It’s a good place to think. Plus, it’s one of the best views in the city.” She waves me over to the waist-high concrete barrier encircling the roof. “Check it out.”

I follow her to the barrier, eyes going wide, and whisper, “Wow.”

From here, I feel like I can see everything, all of Vegas spread out before us, a twinkling city under the desert sky. Remi stands next to me, staring down at the city, and I steal a look at her: windblown black hair hanging around her face, lips pulled into a slight smile, the city lights glowing like a mosaic over her golden-brown skin.

Fuck, I like this girl.

She turns and catches me staring, and I look away quickly.

“So, you skate up here?” I ask.

“Mm-hmm.” She tosses her board down and hops onto it, gliding away across the empty rooftop, cutting through the warm desert air. I turn and lean back against the barrier, watching as she rides in a big circle. She’s wearing a thin black tank, baggy jeans, and beat-up sneakers—and I decide this version of Remi is way sexier than that version I saw on the stage. And watching her skate toward me makes me want to snatch her off the board and crush her lips to mine.

But no. I’m not gonna do that. I’ve gotta do this right, take it slow. Because I really don’t want to fuck this up.

As she glides past me, she motions to the skateboard I’m holding and says, “Well? Show me what you’ve got.”

What “I’ve got” is not much, and I eat shit while boarding often enough that I’ve become familiar with the feel of asphalt and gravel against my skin, but I drop the board and step onto it, pushing off and sending it rolling across the rooftop.

Remi watches me, and she slows so I can catch up to her. “So, you really can board,” she says, eyebrows arching up. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. You’ll be picking my ass up off this concrete in a minute.”

Her laughter is light and soft, and it sounds easier than it did earlier this evening, when we were at the pizza joint. Like she’s letting some of her tension go, casting it out into the sand.

“I’m serious,” I say, joining her in a laugh. “I kinda suck at this.”

“So, you can’t do this?”

She pushes away from me, looking balanced but light on the board. Her back foot presses onto the tail of the board, her front foot angling slightly across the deck. She crouches low, then snaps the tail hard against the concrete. The board lifts into the air, and with one flick of her toes across the edge, it spins beneath her in a fast rotation.

Remi’s knees bend as the wheels smack the concrete, and she lands clean and rides away smoothly, hair catching the warm breeze as she goes.

That was one of the most perfect kickflips I’ve ever seen.

This woman. Hot damn.

She angles around, bringing her board to a stop next to me, where I went frozen while watching her.