Page 53 of After Midnight

“I wish I enjoyed it,” I say, washing my tacos down with another swig of Corona.

“You did just fine helping me.” She tips her head at me.

“Yeah, well, that’s because I got to be with you.” Quieter, I say, “I’d cook every night if I got to do it with you.”

Her lips curve into a smile, and she finishes off her beer, then pushes up from her chair and says, “Help me with these?”

Immediately, I gather up our empty plates, then follow Remi back into the air-conditioned condo. While I put the plates in the kitchen, she grabs her phone to turn on some music.

“Any requests?” she asks.

“What vibe are we going for?”

She thinks for a second, then says, “Something chill.”

“Then I vote alt-J.”

A furrow crosses her brow, like she’s never heard of them. But she types something in on her phone, and a second later, “Tessellate” starts playing over her speaker system.

“Love this song,” I say.

Remi listens for about thirty seconds, then gives me an affirming nod. “I like this. It’s good.” She sets her phone down before joining me in the kitchen. “All right, I’ll wash, you dry. Deal?”

I nod. “Deal.”

While the music plays low from her speakers, we clean and dry the dishes, side by side at Remi’s kitchen skin. I bump her with my hip a few times, making her giggle. In return, she flicks water at me, and a droplet runs down the bridge of my nose before dripping onto the plate I’m drying.

“One last dish,” she says, gesturing over her shoulder with her chin at the empty guacamole bowl.

I put the dishtowel down, then reach across the kitchen to grab the bowl. But instead of handing it to Remi, I ease up behind her, making her draw a small breath as I curve my body around hers and reach around her to rinse the bowl.

She’s so tiny, her head barely comes up to my collarbones. And she’s warm against me, like she carries the desert inside her veins.

“What are you doing?” she asks, voice lower now as the song changes to “Intro” by The xx.

I shrug. “We’re doing the dishes, remember?” I have to lean forward to grab the sponge, pressing my body more firmly against her back. Along the edge of the sink, her fingers curl, going tight. “You okay?” I ask as I scrub. “You seem a little tense.”

She says nothing as I finish rinsing the bowl, then shift to set it onto the towel beside the sink. Slowly, Remi turns around, so she’s facing me, head tipped back as she leans against the edge of the sink.

“Why did you want to come see me?” she asks.

My eyes narrow. “Why?”

She nods, worrying at her lip again as she waits for my answer.

I turn it over in my head, trying to find the truth. Then, even though it’s kind of messy and ridiculous, I say, “Because that pizza date with you was the best date I’ve ever been on. And because you tried to teach me how to not be shit at board tricks.”

As I speak, the firm line of her lips starts to soften.

“And,” I continue, pressing myself closer to her as I reach up to trail my fingertips along her cheek, “because I missed you. Like, a lot.”

Her lips part, and she whispers, “Not just for the sex?”

I really love hearing that word on her lips, but that’s not why I’m here—not even close. And I sure as hell don’t want her thinking that.

“Definitely not.” I shake my head. Then my lips curl up, and I ask, “Wait . . . Is that why you want me here?”

She rolls her eyes. But then she whispers, “Maybe. A little.”