Page 39 of After Midnight

I try not to let him see how relieved I am. “Meet you at the Raptor. I’ll grab the keys.”

While Lucas heads for the garage, I walk into the kitchen, where I grab my keys off the counter. Then I lean through the open sliding glass door and tell everyone, “I’m taking Lucas home.” My gaze falls on Alisha, where she’s still sitting next to Jordan, their bare feet making ripples in the pool. “You okay getting home?”

“We’ll take you,” Jordan says, jumping in before Alisha can get a word out.

Alisha gives me a small smile, and it makes my heart hurt. She looks tired. “Thanks, Seb.”

“I’ll be back in an hour,” I say, trying to keep a light tone in my voice. “Text me if you need anything.”

I head through the house, slip my feet into an old beat-up pair of Vans, then head out to the garage, where Lucas is waiting for me. I hop into the driver’s seat, hit the garage door opener, and crank up the engine. After backing the Raptor out, I turn onto the road, and Lucas says quietly, “You really like that girl, huh? The stripper.”

My eyes cut to him, but he’s looking out the window at the bands of light and shadow as we cruise under streetlights.

And I find my chest squeezing, words lifting to my throat without me having to go searching for them. I nod. “Yeah, man. I think I really do.”

He lets out another one of those half laughs, half scoffs. It’s got an edge to it. “Try not to fuck it up.”

I swallow hard but don’t respond.

We drive the rest of the way to his place in silence.

chapter 18

Remi

IT’S FRIDAY NIGHT, AND CLUB Caliber is packed with bodies. Tonight, it’s full of men in boots and cowboy hats, so I assume there’s some country-music star in town.

I finish my set, collect my top and the bills from the stage, then head backstage. On my way, I glance through the crush of bodies to the VIP booths in the back, but I don’t see James. Not yet, at least. He’s usually here by now.

Five-inch heels clacking on the floor, I walk down the hallway and into the dancers’ dressing room. And as soon as I open the door, I’m overwhelmed by the smell of . . .

“Is that pizza?” I ask as I step into the room, still clinging to my top and dollar bills.

A few of the girls look up at me. They’ve all got paper plates of pizza held in front of them, and open pizza boxes litter every flat surface in our dressing room. There must be ten of them.

What the fuck?

“Mirage!” Fantasique calls from where she’s sitting at the table, wearing a skimpy yellow bodystocking while wiping a smudge of pizza sauce from her chin. “This is for you.” She grabs something off the table and holds it up to me, her glittery inch-long nails catching the overhead light.

Crossing the room, I tip my head at the folded paper she holds out to me. “What is it?”

Fantasique rolls her eyes, false lashes fluttering. “Just read it.” She holds it out to me, waving the note back and forth while taking another bite of pineapple pizza with the other hand.

Brow furrowing, I take the note, then carry it back to my locker. I put my money into my zipper bag, change into one of the lingerie sets James likes, then finally grab the note and unfold it. A typed message stares back at me.

I can’t stop thinking about this pizza.

Or you.

See you soon, Tiny Dancer.

—S

My breath catches in my chest.

“So, who’s S?” Shania asks, and I glance over my shoulder at her as she scoops another piece of pizza onto her plate.

“Whoever he is,” Fantasique says, dabbing her lips with a napkin, “he’s in love with her.”