Night Owl(12)

And I want to project more than my *ry onto you.

(I was decent last night. All bets are off now.)

Call me when you get a chance. I'm bored.

Matt

* * *

I sent the message and roamed my apartment like a zombie.

I stared at the forty plus Tupperwares crammed into the freezer, each labeled with a sticky note. Yes, my girlfriend had not only cooked and frozen about two months' worth of meals for me, but she planned the order in which I should eat them.

I picked out a frosty noodly looking thing dated for the middle of July. I hit it in the microwave for two minutes. Mystery dinner: beef stroganoff.

I was still poking at my food when Hannah texted.

9900 Sienna St. in Aurora. We have an open door policy. Except for tonight, an old high school friend is taking me out. I'll have my phone. So excited to be home!

I called her immediately.

"Hey!" she answered. I could hear a dog barking in the background and people talking over one another. "God, I'm s—"

"What the f*ck is wrong you," I growled. "I cannot... believe you texted me your address. Are you insane?"

"Oh don't start. I refuse your bad attitude tonight. I'm freaking stoked to be home and you are not going to do your Mr. Frostypants routine on my parade. Come on."

"Hannah." My voice trembled with anger. "You don't even know me."

"Yes, you've pointed that out more than once. It's not for lack of trying."

"It doesn't matter. I could be anyone. You can't go around giving your address to strangers from the internet, please. That kind of behavior is a terrible accident waiting to happen. Do you have any idea how much this troubles me?"

"I'm starting to get an idea." She yawned in my ear. Oh, that little devil.

"Fortunately for you I am not a psychopath, but I c—"

"Yes, okay Matt. Point taken. I solemnly swear never to give my address to internet randos in the future, etcetera etcetera. But this is my life, my life I'm risking or whatever. And I didn't give my address to some random weirdo, okay? I gave it to you. I want to meet you."

I had meandered into the living room and was gazing at my sketch of Hannah. Every time she said my name, contentment spread through me.

God, Matt... I can feel it, how wet I am.

Compared to the eyes I remembered from Hannah's photo, the eyes in my sketch were lifeless. I could meet her. I could meet those dark, mischievous eyes.

I glanced at a framed photo on the wall—Bethany's face and mine squished side by side, both of us smiling broadly against a backdrop of Miami Beach.

Bethany. My girlfriend.

"You want to meet me," I repeated, testing the incredible weight of the words.

I had never felt such longing in my life. My whole body responded to the idea of Hannah near me. My shower fantasy flickered through my mind.

"Yes," Hannah said, "I want to meet you. The thought makes me nervous as hell, but I want to meet you."

"But not tonight."

"Um, unfortunately no. Not unless you want to meet my friend from high school."

"A guy friend?"

"Yes, Matt. A guy friend. A friend who is a guy. Don't get any ideas."

"I don't have any ideas," I muttered, "but he might. Where is he taking you?"

"I don't know. Some bar. I'm dirt poor so he's buying."

"Great." My mood was souring fast. Hannah was going to a bar with some skeezy old high school friend. Given what she'd told me about her adolescence, I knew her high school pals weren't exactly young scholars. Mostly gamers and dropouts.

"Try to sound a little happier for me."

I made some kind of noise. Hannah giggled. Fuck, that sound. Why did she have to be going out with some dickbag tonight? Why couldn't she pant and moan on the phone with me until I came? I needed to come—with her. God, I needed it.

"You're cute, you know," she said.

"I prefer handsome. And yes, I know."

"Ha! Such a snob, too."

Someone in the background was repeatedly calling Hannah's name.

"I also know that. You're being summoned."

"Ugh, I know. Apparently the way to solicit attention in this house is to go full five-year-old. Anyway. Um." Hannah moved away from the background noise and lowered her voice. "I'll... I'll text you when I get home, okay? We can chat if you're still up."

"Mm."

"And I'm... wearing a baby blue satin thong," she whispered.

I exhaled and closed my eyes. My world slowed.

"Good," I said, and I hung up.

CHAPTER 6

Hannah

AFTER MY BRIEF conversation with Matt, the last place I wanted to be was at Lot 49 with Evan Rexer.

Don't get me wrong, the Lot was a hip little bar and I loved the Pynchon reference, but after Evan got one beer in him it became apparent that Matt had been right—Evan had ideas.

He kept draping his freckled arm around my shoulders, squeezing my side, and "inadvertently" brushing against my breasts. Gross. I wouldn't have enjoyed it even if Evan were good looking, which he wasn't. He was overweight and had a scruffy beard that reminded me all too much of Mick's body hair.