Serious Moonlight(33)

“Ever?”

“Movie theaters make me drowsy,” I explained. “At home it’s different. I can move around. And it’s not dark.”

“Huh. I’ve never fallen asleep in a theater.”

He was making me feel self-conscious. It didn’t help that his face was a few inches from mine and I could smell his minty, tea-tree oil shampoo on a tendril of hair that fell against his shoulder, having slipped from where he’d tied it up in a knot at the base of his neck. “Sleep and I have unresolved issues,” I mumbled.

“Are you too tired to do this, or—”

“I’m fine,” I said irritably, shooing the air with my hand to encourage him to move. “If you don’t mind . . .”

He stood up, eyes darting to the floor. “Must have been this riveting read of yours that’s to blame.”

“Holy crap,” I muttered, scooping my open book off the floor. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to be out here. Employees weren’t allowed to linger in the hotel’s public spaces during their off-time. “Did anyone notice?”

“No, but I almost took a photo.” When he saw the look on my face, he said, “That was a joke, jeez. Now, are we going on this stakeout, or what? I’ve had an intense amount of caffeine tonight in preparation, so don’t make me waste perfectly good jitters.”

“Glad one of us is alert.” I shoved the paperback in my purse and glanced at my phone. We still had forty-five minutes or more until dawn, so I walked outside with him and tried to shake off my fatigue.

Daniel had parked his car in the loading area. Seeing it again made me cringe, but I didn’t want him to know this, so when he chivalrously opened the door for me, I quickly slid into the passenger seat. It smelled the same as I remembered, like the ubiquitous pine-tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, synthetic and sweet. Daniel jogged to the driver’s side and started the engine.

“I was sort of worried you wouldn’t get in my car ever again,” he said, briefly flicking a teasing look in my direction.

“The back seat, no. But the front is neutral.”

“So neutral,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “As long as you keep your hands to yourself—”

“Me?”

“We both know who suggested going back there in the first place.”

I started to protest, but he was right. It had been my idea. We’d left the diner, intending to go see a movie. Our clothes were wet from the rain, and I was shivering as we hiked up the parking garage stairwell. When we got to his car, Daniel offered me his coat, but it was damper than mine, and we both started laughing. And he kissed me. And I kissed him. And kissed . . . And when he pulled away and said we should cool off, I suggested we skip the movie. He made a joke about his back seat being big, and the next thing I knew, we were in it.

I guess we both got carried away.

I may have been a virgin, but it wasn’t the first time I’d kissed a boy. That honor went to Will Collins, who used to live in a town house on the way between my grandparents’ house and Aunt Mona’s theater. I was sort of friends with his sister, Tracy. He used to play basketball in the parking lot, and sometimes I stopped to watch. Last summer, when Tracy was at swimming practice, he kissed me by the fence. Then again, two days later, for much longer. Secret basketball make-out sessions became a regular thing for a few weeks. Then one day I saw him and Tracy helping their dad load a rental moving truck, and that was the end of my first and only summer romance. And that was my last attempt at pursuing new relationships in general, for friendship or otherwise.

Until Daniel.

Daniel gestured to his pants with a sweeping hand. “I know how irresistible these black chinos are. Every lady loves a man in uniform, and mine radiates subservience and minimum wage. Don’t be tempted.”

I huffed out a laugh.

“Now, I’m not shirking my part in our past entanglements. I mean, clearly I have no willpower around pretty lady detectives. Which is why it’s best you don’t cross this line,” he said, drawing an invisible boundary over the parking brake.

“Maybe you should put the armrest down.”

“Can’t. It’s broken. You’ll have to pretend there’s a wall here.”

“What did you say?” I shouted, cupping my hand around my mouth. “I can’t hear you over this wall.”

He mouthed something back to me and did a mime-trapped-in-box routine, which made me laugh. Then he laughed, and we were smiling at each other a little too hard, and for a moment it felt like that first afternoon in the rain. Breaking the spell, I looked away and hoped he couldn’t read my feelings on my face. Calm down, Birdie, I told myself. This wasn’t a date, for the love of Pete.

After a moment of awkward silence, he whipped out his phone. “All right, so, anyway. Let me just get some car music going, and then we can leave.” Soft light beamed up at his face as he scrolled through songs. “I’m on a major David Bowie kick right now. Like, full-blown crush.”

“Oh?”

“He was so brilliant and revolutionary, a shape-shifter of music. You want pop? Avant-garde? Rock? Soul? Gender-bending alien glam? He did it all. Right now I’m mostly listening to his earlier stuff. Hunky Dory, Aladdin Sane, the Berlin trilogy. Also, the last album he made before he died, Blackstar. He knew he was dying of cancer when he made it, so it’s a swan song. And the whole thing is trippy and depressing and defiant all at the same time. Like me.”