Page 71 of Meet Me at the Metro

“You want to have a sleepover?”

“I do,” he smirks. “And I think you do, too.”

“What about Evie and Harvey? They’ll be expecting me to be here in the morning.”

“They’ll be okay with me borrowing you for one night. Just leave them a pretty little note or something. It’ll be fine.”

“I just don’t know,” I sigh, feigning contemplation. I squeal as his mouth presses against my neck, and his teeth nip my skin. “I’m definitely not, now!”

He licks the tender spot in a considerate apology before politely begging, “Please?”

“You think you’re so smooth, don’t you?”

“No. I just think that deep down, you want me as bad as I want you right now.”

Shit.

There was no question; I’m staying at Theo’s place tonight.

Theo and I waste no time hurrying back to his place. He orders Chinese takeout for us on the way home and it’s waiting for us outside the front door when we arrive. We carry the bags and boxes of food up to his loft, throwing a picnic across his bed asHozierplays on his record player.

I loved listening to the way the music sounded as the needle scratched along the rotating vinyl—loved the subtle clicks and rumbles you could hear in the background of the songs.

“I love how this sounds,” I confess, mouth full of Kung Po chicken and rice.

Theo chuckles. “Bloody hell.What did you say?”

I giggle and swallow the rest of the bite before attempting to repeat myself. This time, I speak with an empty mouth. “I said, I love how this sounds.”

“What, you chewing?” He pinches a fingerful of rice and flicks it my way.

“Bite me!”

“Already did that,” he smiles smugly.

“I mean the music. I love the way it sounds on the record player.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I grin, feeling a veil of nostalgia sweep over me. “It reminds me of my childhood. When I was little, my parents would take me to this second-hand bookstore every Sunday. I remember thinking it felt like a maze when I was a kid. There was just row after row of CDs, DVDs, books—they had everything there. We’d spend hours just losing ourselves in the aisles.”

It feels good to recall the memories—ones I may have even forgotten were there if it wasn’t for this moment with Theo.

“It had this quaint little corner in the back, too, with a record player and the most ridiculous amount of vinyl. Mom would always let me choose a record and put it on for me. We’d just sit with all the books we picked from the shelves, reading and soaking in the sound of the music until it was time for us to leave.”

“I’m willing to bet you had show tunes playing every time, didn’t you?”

I blush. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.”

“No need, I already know you were,” he laughs, “but that still sounds fucking sublime.”

“It was! Oh my God, but there was this one visit that wasn’t—” I stop myself for a moment, suddenly embarrassed by my loud yapping, but there’s a light in Theo’s eyes that eliminates every ounce of humility in me.

“I’m waiting,” he says impatiently.

“Okay, so picture this: we went in one Sunday, and my Dad was having a hard time reaching one of the books from the shelves, so he threw me up on his shoulders and had me try to grab it for him.”

“Ugh, oh.”

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