Page 131 of The Night Shift

Cami: boo…whatever. swing by the bar once you’re done cutting into people. it’s really slow tonight

Holly: Promise I’ll try.

Cami: nuh-uh. i don’t want you trying. i want you HERE

Holly: Cami, I’m at work.

I slide my phone into my jeans pocket. It’s not the lie that’s the issue. It’s thewhyof it all.

Whyam I lying to Cami about being stuck at the hospital instead of telling her I’m with Theo in his car? WhyamIwith Theo in his car? Why haven’t I tucked and rolled yet?

Music blasts through his stupid Prius, filling the stupid air that smells like him. Citrus and mint. Clean and crisp.

I sit cross-legged, arms folded tight and stare out the window like I’ve been kidnapped (I have).

Theo, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. He’s acting like we’re in a 2000s romcom montage, drumming his long fingers on the steering wheel, singing every word of the song (which according to the stereo display is called “She’s Not Afraid” by One Direction).

He keeps glancing at me every other second, waiting for me to join in.

A hippopotamus birthing a unicorn is more likely.

Despite the heat blasting from the vents, goosebumps rise on my arms. I keep my eyes on the window. It’s a Sunday night so everything is closed or in the process of shuttering down. A few bundled-up people walk the sidewalks, traffic hums quietly, and it takes a total of four seconds for my mind to drift back to the one thing it’s been stuck on for the past nineteen hours.

You’re so wet, Holly.

So fucking wet and slick.

Does that feel good? Do you like that? Do you like when I touch you there?

Heat coils in my stomach, sharp and immediate. I squeeze my thighs together and tear my eyes away, pressing my nails into my palm hard enough to sting.

Look, objectively speaking, it doesn’t have to be such a big deal. It’s only a big deal, if I make it a big deal, and I’m obviously not going to do that, just like it’s obviously never going to happen again. We got caught up in the moment (happens to the best of us), ripped each other’s clothes off (totally normal), and then fucked in the presence of a dead body (I mean, whohasn’t?).

It doesn’t change things between us. His existence still irks me. I still despise everything about him — his constant sarcasm, his passion for getting on my last nerve, his stupid mouth that feels so good pressed against my throat, his obnoxiously skillful hands and his long, slender fingers that were moving over every inch of me, inside me, then weaving through my hair, twisting and tugging until I was gasping and begging for more —

“What was that?” Theo asks, casting me a sideways glance.

My gaze flicks from his fingers to his face. “Hm?”

“I thought you said something.”

My face is burning. The song on the stereo changes. I purse my lips. “I’m surprised you can hear your own thoughts over this noise, let alone the murderous ones in my head.”

Theo stares at me like I’ve just asked him to join a kitten-murdering cult. “Hate me all you want, but there’s no need to call pure musical perfection noise.” He leans back and turns the wheel with one hand. I simply scoff and turn the other way, trying to ignore the persistent buzz beneath my skin.

Twelve minutes and two red lights later, we finally pull up to our destination. Before I can reach for the handle, I hear the soft click of the child lock engaging.

Theo pulls off his gloves and steps out, strolling around to my side. He opens my door and extends his hand. “M’lady?”

There’s a pause.

I spit into his palm and slap it away before stepping out on my own. The cold wind bites into me immediately, pressing my jeans against my leg, making the gash on my thigh sting sharply.

A red-brick building with a sign that readsBrighton Electricsstands in front of me. A few shoddy apartment buildings line the block, their windows dark and lifeless.

I imagine one of those windows belonging to Nate and immediately feel sick to the stomach.

I glance back at Theo, who’s busy licking his hand in one slow sweep, his eyes never leaving mine.