Meet Me at Midnight

Chapter 17

“There’s not much to eat here, unless you count me and June,” Avery teases, looking between Beau and Henry before smacking Henry in the chest, her eyes aflutter with flirtation.

Beau leans against our kitchen counter while Henry raids our cabinets, and I stand to the side, my heart racing like freaking Seabiscuit.

They were just getting back from their five-mile run when Avery was on her way into the building, and somehow, that led to a powwow in the middle of our kitchen.

“Ah-ah,” Beau chides, wiping some excess sweat from his forehead before placing his baseball cap back on his head. “No, no, Henry. Don’t listen to her. There’s nothing to eat. Period.”

“What?” Avery feigns confusion. “I was just saying!”

“Sure, you were,” Beau mutters through a laugh. “Just like you said things to Mav last summer.”

“That was one time!” Avery disagrees.

“And Grady at Mom and Dad’s Fourth of July party.”

“Obsessed with me much?” she retorts, smacking Beau in the stomach before lifting herself up and onto the counter to sit. “How about you focus on your own life and stop cockblocking mine, Beau? I offered up June too, by the way, so it’s not like Henry doesn’t have options.”

“Whoa,” I break in, a single finger in the air. “I don’t remember putting myself on the menu. No offense, Henry.”

Henry laughs, bemused by Avery’s antics as she dances around in front of him, shaking her braless tits from her spot on the counter.

“You know you love me, Henry,” she says, and he just smirks at her.

“Always the instigator, huh?”

“I’m not instigating anything.” Avery stops dancing to put a hand to her hip. “But maybe that’s your subconscious talking.”

“And what exactly is my subconscious saying?” Henry questions, and Avery leans closer to him, basically brushing one of her boobs against his arm.

“That I’m totally your style.” She blows him a kiss, and a heavy sigh escapes Beau’s lungs.

“You know, Ave,” Beau says, “if you put as much effort into your job as you do into flirting with my friends, Dad would probably be planning on letting you take his place when he retires.”

Avery cackles. “Like I’d ever want to work a nine-to-five. Get real, Beau.”

“News flash, Ave,” I chime in. “You do work a nine-to-five.”

“Yeah, but, like, I don’t actually work those hours, you know?” She winks. “They’re flexible.”

All three of us laugh at her absurdity and gives-zero-fucks attitude, and when Beau’s brown eyes meet mine, I hate how a rush of satisfaction zips from my head all the way down to my toes. “Juniper June, it’s one of the mysteries of the world how a nice girl like you can put up with my sister.”

“Because she loves me, Beau!” Avery insists. “And you love me too, even if you’re resistant to show it. Actually, you and Henry should shower off all your sweat and come out to Beluga with us in a little bit.”

“I’m not going out,” Beau and I both say in unison, making Henry laugh and Avery shriek.

“Gah, you guys are so weird! What is with the two of you lately? I don’t even know if I can associate with you much longer if you keep this up.”

“I’ll go to Beluga,” Henry offers, to which Avery cheers and Beau groans.

My best friend’s MIA status for the evening should be a good thing. And three days ago, I would’ve been chomping at the bit to see her leave so I could log in to Midnight and chat with Beau.

But that was before he sent me the “ To meet you. And this time, I can’t take no for an answer ” message midday and without provocation. Ever since then, I’ve been a cowardly chicken, unable to bring myself to say anything back.

It’s the last message that’s occurred inside our chatbox, besides the reentered the chat notifications that pop up anytime either of us logs on.

We’ve both reentered the chat so much, it’s starting to become a thread of its own, but he hasn’t added anything and I haven’t answered either. We’re at an impasse—a true shit-or-get-off-the-pot moment—and neither of us is backing down.

Beau thinks he wants to meet me, which, in theory, is invigorating. But realistically, Beau already knows me…as his little sister’s best friend.

I can’t imagine that the buildup of everything he’s picturing doesn’t crash and burn as soon as he finds out, and I’m not ready. I want to stay in our Midnight chat bubble forever and ever. Amen.

A silent but deep sigh escapes my lungs as Henry and Avery finish making their plans to meet up, and Beau and he leave with nothing more than a chin tip and a wave. And nausea sits like a rock in my gut, reminding me that I’m at a crossroads I wish I would’ve never reached.

Avery shuts the door behind them and charges toward me, her eyes like lasers. “I’m not even going to beg you to come out tonight, June.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope.” She shakes her head and pokes her index finger into the center of my chest. “I’m done chasing your sleepy little tail.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “I get the feeling you’re expecting that to be bad news, Ave.”

“Oh, come on!” she cries, stomping her foot in time with each word. “The reverse psychology was supposed to work!”

I shake my head and sit down on one of our kitchen stools as she twerks up against me. “I’m sorry. Really.” I shove her away on a laugh. “But tonight isn’t the night. I think I’m coming down with something.”

Beau fever , to be specific.

“Well, whatever. Henry’s meeting me in two hours, and Hilly and Bella are already at SoPo House. If you’re really not going, I’ll leave now.”

I smile. “Have fun.”

She glares at me but grabs her stuff from the counter and heads for the door anyway. “You’ll regret it!” she taunts, opening the door and standing in the opening for a beat. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“Love ya, Ave. Be safe.”

“Yeah, yeah, you too.” She rolls her eyes and spins on her heels, calling over her shoulder as she actually exits the door this time, “Don’t stick any dildos anywhere I wouldn’t, okay!”

“That won’t be a problem, you weirdo,” I respond, and just like that, the door slams behind her and she’s gone.

I look down at my cell phone on the counter, mocking me, reminding me that ElizaBeth is going to have to respond to ThunderStruck soon—or all of it will have been for nothing.

I ignore it, choosing to head into my bedroom and grab some underwear and pajamas for a quick shower. Usually, I prefer to take my showers in the morning, but I’m hoping all the heat and steam will scrub the uncertainty and fear and confusion from my brain.

When I’m done and rummaging through some of the clean laundry that sits on my dresser, all of it folded but not put away, I hear the soft sounds of footsteps coming from the wall behind me.

Beau.

He’s in his bedroom.

It feels like a cruel trick from the universe that his bedroom is adjacent to mine.

I sit there, only a pair of underwear on, and my sleep shorts and tank top clutched in my hands. My ears are far too focused on whatever noise they can latch on to to finish getting dressed. I’m listening so intently that the beats of my heart and the breaths from my lungs are damn near deafening.

What is he doing? Is he thinking of how ElizaBeth hasn’t responded? Is he getting ready to shower from his run, or was he showering at the same time I was?

Ha. Now, that’s a thought. A thought that you need to stop thinking because you need to freaking message him back!

I blow out a harsh breath from my lungs, making my lips vibrate with each wave of air, and get the lady balls to pick my phone up off the bed and open our chat once again.

I need to answer him.

Even though it’s the very last thing I want to do, even though I love having Beau all to myself inside our little Midnight chat, I need to cut the cord before this leads me somewhere dangerous.

Pretty sure we can all agree the risks I’m taking aren’t calculated at all. They’re straight-up thoughtless and careless and impulsive and everything in between.

My fingers hover over the screen, ready to type out a goodbye message when a new message appears in the chatbox.

ThunderStruck: What are you afraid of?

My heart jumps to a gallop, and I clutch my pajamas even tighter against my naked chest. What am I afraid of? Finding out that my feelings for you will never be anything more than one-sided.

It’s what I wish I could tell him most, but the one thing I can’t find the courage to say at all. Instead, I greedily grip the tiny strings of opportunity, hoping to suck him back into my land of make-believe.

ElizaBeth: Strange noises in the middle of the night. The moments when I have to keep my eyes closed when I’m washing my hair in the shower. Other people’s saliva blowing into the air at, like, 90 miles per hour when they sneeze. Tofu.

I hit send and keep typing more as I plop down onto my bed.

ElizaBeth: The possibility of ankle-grabbing monsters being under my bed. Thunderstorms. Loneliness. Believing in happily ever afters but getting my heart broken. Kombucha. Worst-case scenarios. Getting stuck while driving through a tunnel. The Seven Mile Bridge.

I hold my breath and wait for him to respond, and I just about fall off my mattress when his next message humors me rather than calling me out on avoidance.

ThunderStruck: Tofu?

ElizaBeth: Is it cheese? Is it milk? Is it a weird blob of white stuff that comes from an animal’s genitals? I don’t know what it is, and that’s scary.

ThunderStruck: It’s milk. Soya milk. That’s been curdled.

ElizaBeth: Curdled milk? Ew. See? Scary! Thanks a lot, Beau.

ThunderStruck: Ha. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I guess I shouldn’t ask about the kombucha then, huh?

ElizaBeth: NO.

ThunderStruck: And what about the ankle-grabbing monsters?

ElizaBeth: Look, I can’t prove they’re real, but I CAN feel their presence. It’s an intuition thing.

ThunderStruck: Savages .

I know instantly he’s referring to the last note I left on his desk three days ago.

ElizaBeth: You figured out the movie.

ThunderStruck: Without Google.

ElizaBeth: I’m impressed.

And terrified. I let things go for so long that he actually got it, and now, he’s going to be relentless in going after his reward. Meeting me. In person.

ThunderStruck: I was hoping you would be.

ElizaBeth: You want to impress me, Beau Banks?

ThunderStruck: I want to do a lot of things with you.

My cheeks heat with the arousal that sits heavy within his words. Knowing he wants me, knowing he’s right next door…it makes me feel things.

And the June who always holds back is telling me to leave the chat, throw my phone across my bedroom, and hide under my comforter. But she’s not the one running the ship tonight. We’re too far out to sea for that.

ElizaBeth: Like what?

ThunderStruck: Meet you, for one.

ElizaBeth: And when you meet me?

ThunderStruck: Look into your eyes. I need to know what color they are.

ElizaBeth: And when you look into my eyes?

ThunderStruck: I imagine I won’t be able to stop myself from looking at your mouth. I want to see it move when you speak. Want to know if your lips are soft and plush. Want to know what they taste like.

Without even thinking, my fingers move to my lips, just barely skimming across the warm flesh.

ThunderStruck: I wouldn’t be able to resist kissing you.

Beau kissing me. It’s something I’ve dreamed and fantasized about a million and one times.

ElizaBeth: I think I’d kiss you back.

ThunderStruck: You think, or you know?

Who am I kidding?

ElizaBeth: I know.

ThunderStruck: I’d kiss you soft at first. Just a little brush of my lips against yours. But when that’s not enough, I’d kiss you deeper, slide my tongue past your lips and find out what you taste like. I’d kiss you long. Long enough to breathe in your moans.

ElizaBeth: The mere idea of that is…

ThunderStruck: Is…?

ElizaBeth: It’s a little embarrassing to admit…

ThunderStruck: Tell me.

ElizaBeth: It’s intoxicating. I have goose bumps. My nipples are hard. And I feel…a delicious throb…deep inside me…

ThunderStruck: I need you to slide your hand over your breasts and tell me if you can feel your nipples beneath your clothes.

I pause, reading his words while my face flames with fire again. But it doesn’t take long before I’m doing what he asks. Hesitantly, I lift my left hand and brush it over my breasts, feeling my soft curves.

ElizaBeth: I can feel my nipples, but there aren’t any clothes. I’m still naked from my shower. All but my panties.

ThunderStruck: Fuck.

ThunderStruck: Move your hand down your belly now and just barely slip your fingers under your panties.

I follow his command.

ThunderStruck: How do you feel now?

I don’t know what comes over me, but I take a picture, just like that, with my hand just barely inside my panties. And I send it to him. I hardly even recognize myself. The picture is so sexy.

ElizaBeth: Like I want to keep moving my hand down.

My breaths are already starting to feel uneven, my breasts moving up and down in heavy waves, and I’m waiting. Waiting to see what he says next.

And I swear, I hear the faintest “Fuck me” come through the wall behind me.

Holy hell . I don’t know why it’s so hot to think about him being right there, as close as he can possibly be without being in my bedroom. But it is. It’s the most arousing thing I’ve felt in a long time. Maybe forever.

ThunderStruck: You’re beautiful. Everything about you is so fucking beautiful, and I’ve barely seen anything at all. Just thinking about what it would feel like to replace that hand of yours with mine has my cock so hard.

ElizaBeth: I want to see it. I need to see it.

A few moments later, a new picture appears in the chat. It’s Beau’s muscular body with a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs still covering him. But it doesn’t conceal his truth. He’s hard. He’s hard and he’s big. Bigger than my brain had imagined he’d be.

Goodness.

I’m beyond aroused now, the throb between my legs becoming almost unbearable.

ElizaBeth: I don’t… I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

ThunderStruck: Slide your hand all the way down and touch yourself. Tell me if you’re wet.

My fingers inch down, and it doesn’t take long before they’re coated with my arousal.

ElizaBeth: Embarrassingly wet.

ThunderStruck: Fuck. My hand is on my cock now. Slide your finger inside yourself. Tell me how you feel.

I do as I’m told, a compliant little minx ready to do whatever he asks.

ElizaBeth: Warm. Wet. Ready for you.

ThunderStruck: Put your finger on your clit and touch yourself until you can’t hold back. Touch yourself until you come. But do it while you’re imagining my cock inside you. Do it while you’re thinking about my mouth on your pussy. Do it while you’re picturing my lips, my tongue, my fingers, my hard cock making you come.

Oh my God. My hips jerk forward at his words, and I can’t stop from touching myself again. And again. And again. My index finger circles and massages my clit until the waves of my pleasure build at the base of my spine, Beau’s face a repeat image in my mind.

I think about what it would be like to feel his mouth on mine. His hands on my skin. And his cock inside me. I imagine how full I’d feel when he’s pushed all the way to the hilt. And I fantasize about the way my breasts would move up and down as he fucks me.

I think about the way his eyes would look as he starts to go over the edge and the way his moans would sound when they leave his lungs.

And I don’t stop touching myself or thinking about Beau until my orgasm barrels through every cell in my body. I remember to keep my moans to myself, but just barely. The feel of it all is so intense I have to drop my phone and shove my face into the pillow as my climax rolls through me.

ThunderStruck: Fuck.

Only one crude word, but it says everything.

ElizaBeth: Yeah. Fuck.

ThunderStruck: I fear I’m starting to get a little too addicted to these chats.

And I fear I’ve been addicted to Beau Banks for so long there’s no recovering from it. Especially not now. Not after this.

I entered this chat tonight thinking I was going to say goodbye, but we’ve just crossed a plateau we can’t come down from.

I need more, and I need it often. And one day, I’m going to have to figure out how to work up the courage to do it in person.

Now that I know what that would be like…I can’t go back.