Night Owl(15)

Everything else disappeared.

The world was me and Hannah and the electricity between us. I saw when she felt it, her brow knitting in confusion. It took all of my strength not to speak her name—and not to pull her against me as she leaned in.

God, what was happening to me?

I was wound tight enough to punch a hole through the drywall. Instead, I smoked a cigarette and studied the picture of myself and Bethany in Miami Beach. I made myself stare at it. I made no excuses.

After all, I could tell myself whatever I wanted about Bethany—that she was suffocating, that she was like a second mother, that she harassed me about my writing more than ten Pams put together—and it would never make what I was going to do okay.

I had wanted Bethany once. I wanted her enough to move her into my apartment and live with her for two years. But I wanted Hannah more, and there was nothing else to say.

I showered slowly, suffering through a hellacious case of blue balls. I didn't put on any cologne. I brushed my teeth, toweled my hair semi-dry, and took my time dressing, choosing a dark pair of jeans and a black V-neck t-shirt.

At every opportunity, I met my eyes in the mirror.

You are doing this. You want her. You're taking her.

I paced to calm my nerves.

More than anything, I wanted to be that calm, confident man Hannah had met on the phone, back when this was a silly game. Yeah, back one day ago. Fuck. How did things escalate so quickly?

By the time I drove out of the parking garage, an hour and a half had passed. Hannah had called twice and texted once.

I miss you, Matt.

I couldn't find a damn song I wanted to listen to. I drove in silence, killing another half hour on Denver's familiar streets. Maybe I was giving myself time to change my mind. If I did this, I didn't want it to be a mistake.

I didn't want Hannah to be a mistake.

At half past midnight, I put Hannah's address in my GPS and drove out of the city. I was sorry to leave it behind. Denver's chill vibe might have been all that was keeping my emotions from spinning out of control.

Desire.

Anger.

Confusion.

Fear.

I found the house easily. The street was dark. From what I could make out, the house was old and sprawling, set far back on a big lawn and surrounded by trees. I killed the ignition.

God, now I felt super creepy, parked uninvited outside Hannah's house.

But she wanted to meet me. And she missed me. And she did say they have an open door policy, which hopefully didn't expire after midnight.

Only then did it occur to me that Hannah might be asleep. The house was dark. So were most of the other homes on the street. Plus, she'd had a long day.

I thought about Hannah in her bed. Hannah stretched out on her back, sleeping in a cami and thong, her beautiful breasts heaving slowly and her legs crooked apart. Or Hannah on her stomach, her heart-shaped rump in the air.

I could climb over her, wake her with a kiss. Brush my body along hers.

I felt a throb between my legs. I glared down at my cock.

"Hold your f*cking horses," I muttered.

God, f*ck... was this seriously my life? Stalking a girl I'd met online, parked outside her house at midnight, speaking to my dick?

I flipped down the visor and checked myself in the mirror. I laughed at what I saw.

Though I was freaking out on the inside, on the outside I looked typical: bored, annoyed, and severely impatient. And one hundred percent *.

I smirked at my reflection.

"Right," I said. "Got it."

I pulled out my phone and sent Hannah a text.

CHAPTER 8

Hannah

I COULDN'T SLEEP.

I was tired and wired.

How does that work?

I got up at the butt-crack of dawn, took out Wyoming in a marathon drive, and capped the night with a super strong Long Island Iced Tea. I should have been asleep before my head hit the pillow.

But Matt wasn't answering my calls. And then there was the weird encounter outside of the bar. Call me crazy, but as I tossed and turned in bed I began to feel like I had broken my Matt spell with that intense jolt of attraction.

Like I said, call me crazy.

Still, it kept bothering me. There were plenty of good-looking guys at the bar, some of them eyeing me, and I wanted nothing to do with them. I wanted to dance and think about Matt. Matt watching me, Matt touching me, Matt whispering in my ear.

Fuck.

No one ever made me shiver with desire the way Matt did with his voice alone—until a stranger outside a bar made me feel the exact same thing.

So it wasn't something special about Matt. It wasn't Matt and I together, insane chemistry. It was just me being horny. God, I couldn't stand to cheapen that feeling... that feeling I got when Matt's voice faltered with need...

I have to. I can't help it. Hannah... god, do it. Come with me.

I sat up in bed and checked my email. Nothing. I opened Safari. What was that weird phrase Matt said on the phone? Optima... something. He said it was Latin.

I Googled "optima latin phrases."

There it was. Optima dies. Optima dies, prima fugit. The best days are the first to flee.

My eyes began to sting.

Why would he say that? Was it some kind of hint? Had he intended all along to drop me like a bad habit when I reached Colorado? The best days... the first to flee.

Matt said he was scared to have me close. He told me not to make plans. Suddenly, I knew it was over. Whatever it was—our silly flirtation—was over.