Page 50 of Before Now

I unlock my screen but never make it to my camera. I smile. Remi beat me, sending a video twenty minutes ago.

With no one else around, I hit play and slouch deeper into the cushions. I squint at the screen, unsure what the hell I’m seeing. The shot is dim, random shapes and harsh shadows. An eerie scream plays in the background followed by the sound of chains clanking together.

It starts to come together once I catch the curve of shimmery black fabric and a slice of bare skin toward the bottom. Two things I excel at noticing—a skirt and legs. Another part of the screen shows the same but from a different angle. She must move then because it all shifts. Once it settles, the smooth line of her arm fractures across the screen, tilted in different directions.

Mirrors.

She’s in a room of mirrors.

As if she’d timed how long I would take to figure it out, the shot pulls back, more of Remi visible until I have multiple reflections of her from the waist down. I have to piece them together for the full picture. Her fingers wrap around the back of a sparkly blue phone case, maroon nails to match the origination of my foot fetish. An upside-down fragment gives me the curves beneath a tight black dress. An angled view of the short skirt flares over her hips with the glimmer of iridescence in the fabric. Gorgeous legs disappear into boots with way too many straps.

“I want to try something,” she says, and I sigh at her voice.

I might be slightly drunk now, but I am just as caught up in her sober. She wouldn’t scrape. Not a chance in hell.

Everything morphs on my screen until only a close-up reflection of her shoulder and a thin black strap remain. I hear her exhale, and the mirror fogs over. A few seconds later, it starts dissipating. Then Remi’s silhouette begins to fade in. More than a sexy curve or a flash of skin. All of her. Every fucking part.

“Remi,” I mumble, a place inside me settling.

The video cuts off right before the mirror fully clears, and I groan, already typing out the message.

Why do you hurt me like this?

I blow out a breath and stand, bringing up my camera. The skyline glides across the screen while I turn a 360 to record. Not nearly as artistic, but she’ll get what she gets after that bullshit.

“You can’t be fucking serious.”

Chase’s annoyance announces him before I reach him in my rotation. I flick my eyes over to him. The colored lights from the rooftop rave swirl behind him, eye patch abandoned and his arms at his sides, lifeguardless.

Something below the surface has felt off with him all night. I’ve done my best to ignore it, chalking it up to drunk Chase. But now he’s serving me more of a scowl than I did to him earlier. Like I’m the one being an asshole. The look alone has all the irritation returning. Mix it with the contempt in his tone, and I have no more patience for him at all.

“I don’t know, Chase.” I pocket my phone and face him. “After you trying to shove my dick down a chick’s throat for the past hour, I’m not very giggly.”

“One night,” he says. “I thought I might get onefuckingnight with my best friend.”

“You were getting it until you decided to ignore what I said about not wanting to screw anyone.”

“Because you’ve wanted to screw anything lately? Or hell, even do anything at all?”

“It’s been a few days,” I remind him.

“Fuck off, Foster. It’s been longer, and we both know the reason.”

Running a hand over the bandana, I slide it off, scanning over the skyline before I come back to him. Outside of giving me shit, he’s never had an issue with the tours or Remi. But since the tours help pay for him, I doubt the resentment is aimed at them.

“What’s your point?”

“My point?” he asks, the words harsh. “We’re supposed to be having the time of our lives on this trip. Wewerehaving the time of our lives.” He shakes his head, stepping closer. “Now you ditch me to record the sky for some bitch you’ve never even met.”

My head shakes, too, and I step. “Call her that again and see what happens.”

Abysmal lighting aside, I catch his eye roll. “What are you going to do?” Step. “Kick my ass over pussy you won’t ever touch?”

“You’re fucking pushing it,” I grind out.

“And you’re fucking pathetic if you think anything between you two is real.”

He strikes an exposed nerve with that one, and we both step, less than a foot between us.

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