Page 39 of Meet Me at Midnight

A text notification pops up on the screen yet again, and I switch back over to Henry’s badgering.

Henry: Hello? Is this thing on? Get your old ass off your couch and come to Allure.

When I don’t respond, a few more messages from my group of buddies populate on the screen.

Mav: Remember Alyssa? The chick in the red dress? She’s here, and she’s asking for you.

Henry: Let’s be real…she was asking for me first, but I gallantly deferred her attention to you.

Me: Let’s actually be real…I’ve never needed you to defer attention to me.

Ronnie: Fucking sizxzle and burnnn. SHeeet that’s a dig, henro

Clearly, Ronnie’s more than a few drinks deep. But that’s Ronnie. The guy has two speeds—sleeping or full throttle. There’s never any in-between.

Me: Have a few more drinks for me, Ron. I’m gonna skip this one.

Mav: Hate to miss ya, but…more pussy for me!

I don’t bother with a response, knowing full well it’ll just be more of the same. Explaining anything about what I’m doing tonight to the three drunk amigos would make me even stupider than I already am.

And fuck me, I amstupid.

Back to the Midnight app, I type out a message, my whole body tensed over the niggling notion that Bethany Williams could be fucking with me all over again. I swear I’ll lose my mind.

Still, coming out with guns blazing isn’t going to get me any real answers, so I’ve got to play it cool.

ElizaBethisn’t in the chat yet, but I fire off a message anyway. Maybe when she gets the notification that I sent it, it’ll force her to join.

ThunderStruck: I have a question for you. But I want a real answer this time.

I wait and wait and wait. My skin crawls with anticipation, so much so, I start to feel like I need another shower. I’m about ten seconds away from giving up entirely whenElizaBeth has reentered the chatappears below my message.

ElizaBeth: A real answer, huh? That sounds dangerously vulnerable, tbh, but I’ll give it my best shot.

ThunderStruck: I’m serious. I get being vague, but at some point, it goes too far. I want a direct answer to this one question, and I want your promise that it’ll be truthful.

ElizaBeth: DANG. Okay. We mean business. I get it. I promise a truthful, concise answer to this one question (as long as it’s not “What’s your name?” because that’d be very cheat-ish to the whole anonymous thing).

Clearly, I want to know her fucking name. But baby steps.

ThunderStruck: I don’t need your name. Not yet. For now, all I need to know is if I’ve dated you before.

I don’t like how long it takes to get a response, but eventually, I do.

ElizaBeth: Have you dated me before? Is that the question? Because if so, the answer is no.

ThunderStruck: Why’d it take so long to answer? And are you trying to be funny? Because from where I sit, shit is starting to feel a little fucking shady.

ElizaBeth: I’m not trying to be shady or funny. When I try to be funny, people laugh. What happened? Seriously? What’s going on? Because I thought we had something going here. Sure, it started as intel because I wanted to make sure you didn’t get screwed over, but I don’t know. I thought…I thought we were enjoying each other.

ThunderStruck: Do you actually work at Banks & McKenzie?

ElizaBeth: Yes.

ThunderStruck: And you fucking swear we’ve never dated before?

ElizaBeth: Yes. I swear. We’ve never dated.

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