Page 7 of Meet Me at Midnight

“What’s the matter?” Beau asks, his mouth kicking up at the corners and settling the tiniest of dimples in his cheek. It’s the size of a pinpoint, really—an insignificant feature to anyone else. But I, on the other hand, spent nearly a month of my lifeduring eighth grade studying the characteristic every chance I got. “Scared no one will hear your voice if it’s not the only one in the room, Seth?”

“No,” Seth counters through a hard jaw. “But you should be, with your track record.”

“Enough,” Chris commands. “I want full pitches with all the bells and whistles from both of you by New Year’s Eve. You’ll run through the pitches with us, and then you’ll present directly to Marcus Hughes, and he’ll decide. Sound good, Neil?”

Neil purses his lips in thought, his eyes briefly flitting over to Beau. As a father, this has to be about the shittiest situation he’s ever created for his son, and knowing Neil, he’s feeling conflicted. But to my surprise, he nods. “Yeah. I think that sounds perfect.”

Avery nudges me with her elbow, but I don’t dare look away. I need to know everything that Beau is feeling and thinking right now, and I need to know the cheat codes for how to fix it.

“So, we’re competing against each other?” Seth asks for confirmation, a sneaky smile flashing across his lips.

“Yeah.” Chris nods. “Friendly competition, of course. Banks & McKenzie is the only thing we truly need to win.”

“Of course,” Beau agrees, his jaw a firm mask over his normal good nature.

Is it just me, or has someone sucked all the air out of the room?

“Oh boy,” Avery mutters toward me. “This sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. Maybe I should AirDrop my therapist’s number to Beau when we leave here.”

Chris smiles big, and a giant cloud of anticipation and bad juju fills the air. I war with myself, wondering if watching Beau go through this is going to help my crush or fan the flames.

Either way, I guess we’re about to find out.

Let the games begin.

Neon is packed like a damn can of sardines. Music vibrates from the massive speakers that sit throughout the warehouse-style nightclub, and the dance floor is filled with writhing bodies.

And I, Juniper Perry, am right in the middle of it, even though I said I wouldn’t be. But it’s not that big of a surprise. When it comes to Avery, I have a painfully low streak of resistance.

“Aren’t you so happy you decided to come out tonight?” Avery questions, a vodka cranberry in one hand as she wraps her arm around my shoulder.

“Do you want me to tell you the real answer or the answer you want to hear?”

“The answer I want to hear,” she responds unabashedly, her red lips curving up into a smile.

“I’m having the time of my life,” I say, voice monotone but eyes dancing with sarcasm.

Avery laughs at that and spins me around to face the dancing crowd that sits below our feet.

Six bartenders work the big glass bar in the center for the commonfolk, but we sit tight as waitresses deliver us bottle service. Avery’s hookup buddy David reserved the VIP section in the hope of landing a quick bang, and Avery has been full-on flirtatious with him in return. She doesn’t need men to pay for her drinks—her trust fund and obscene monthly allowance ensure that—but she loves the thrill of the chase as men fight to keep her attention.

And trust me, she’s a master at the game. A twenty-three-year-old certified man-eater who has no plans of settling down anytime soon. Oddly enough, I admire her audacity. Admire her confidence and ability to put herself first in all situations. Admire her ability to go after what she wants, no matter what other people think of it.

If I were more like Avery, I probably wouldn’t give a shit about how absent my parents have been for most of my life or the fact that my father would rather buy my affection with expensive gifts and cash than show up. I probably wouldn’t be scared to show Beau how I truly feel about him.

The wealthy lifestyle is a privilege I don’t take lightly, but for a few simple things, I’d trade it all in a heartbeat.

“I think we need to dance,” Avery announces, and her boy toy David might as well be a puppy on a leash. His tail is practically wagging as he sidles up beside my best friend, raring to go.

“Then let’s go dance,” he says and wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her closer to his side and removing her arm from my shoulder in the process. It’s only then that I sort of get why Avery thinks he’s hot. His blue eyes have something alluring about them, and his willingness to jump at her every whim is unmatched.

“You want to dance with me?” Avery questions, fluttering her eyelashes.

“You haven’t ever seen moves like mine, baby,” David says, and I cringe. He’s hot, but he should say a lot less—maybe even nothing. He should just smile more, you know? Like people love to tell women.

“Hold that thought for, like, fifteen minutes, ’kay?” Avery says and kisses the tip of her index finger before pressing it to the corner of David’s mouth. “I need a little best-friend time with June. Be back.”

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, baby. My dick’s already a fucking bat,” David says, and I fight the urge to vomit in my mouth. All thebabyusage and dirty talk is unsettling my stomach. I don’t know if I’m broken or something, but to me, all men but Beau Banks are creepy as fuck.

---