Night Owl (6 page)

"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.

I shot Matt a text.

I begrudgingly admit defeat... this time. Idiot friend is creeping on me.

Matt replied within seconds.

Are you alright?

Fine, just annoyed. This outing can't end soon enough. I didn't mean to worry you.

Matt's reply came a few minutes later. Reading it, I could practically hear his sarcastic voice, laced with that strange mixture of anger and amusement.

Well you did worry me. You'll have to make it up to me. Text me if you need a ride, though I make no promises to get you home.

I shivered and slipped my phone back into my purse. Powerful knowledge, that I could call my sexy stranger and he'd whisk me away from this crowded bar and pimply horn dog.

Evan pinched my side.

I twisted away.

"That kind of hurts," I grumbled. I doubt he heard me over the loud, distorted music coming from the band.

I sighed and sipped on my Long Island. The drink was hitting me hard, probably because I needed dinner. When Chrissy and I got home, after hugging my parents and brother and dog, I shuffled around the house feeling depressed.

Moving home at twenty-seven is less than triumphant. I didn't even have enough money saved to get my own place.

My mother had promised to delegate some of her transcription work and pay me under the table until I got on my feet. While I appreciated the offer and would definitely appreciate the funds, it was a blow to my pride.

Was this really my life? How could I graduate
summa cum laude
, attend grad school on a full scholarship, and end up living with my parents and typing medical records?

I recognized the song floating above the voices in the bar. The band was doing a halfway decent cover of "Jigsaw Falling Into Place."

"Perfect!" I laughed. I finished my drink with a big swallow.

"What? You want another?" Evan shouted.

"No! I'm going to dance!"

"Oh." His face fell. I almost felt sorry for him. I knew Evan would never join me on the dance floor. This was a guy who played
Dungeons & Dragons
and dressed up for opening night of the new
Star Trek
movie. "I'll finish my beer!" he shouted.

I slipped off my stool and melted into the small crowd in front of the stage.

The band guys and a few dancers eyed me hungrily, but I closed my eyes and tuned them out. God, I loved this song.

The tempo whirled higher and I began to dance. I lifted my arms into the air. I was wearing a pale tiered ruffle skirt and it rose off my thighs when I spun.

I let my mind drift back to Matt. I missed him. I'm not sure how I could miss someone I'd never met and chatted with only a few hours ago, but I did.

I wanted him to be here.

I wanted him to be dancing with me, his hands on my body and his voice in my ear.

I missed our story, too. Writing with Matt had become the high point of my days, and despite our campy storyline, it challenged me. My prose was clunky compared to his. I got hung up on diction and syntax; I agonized over every word.

Matt's prose flowed effortlessly. He grabbed words without fear, however colloquial or antique, and sacrificed every rule of grammar in the pursuit of expression. And damn, did that boy know his grammar.

Once, he scathingly brought my attention to my "chronic misuse of apostrophes."

"How about your chronic use of sentence fragments?" I shot back.

"It's deliberate," he replied, "versus what you're doing—making clumsy mistakes. I'm sure you've seen Picasso's surreal stuff, but have you seen
Science and Charity
? Art is not an assembly of accidents. You have to master the rules before you break them."

I smiled and swayed to a stop as the song ended.

We left the bar around 10:30, mostly because I lied about having cramps.

Evan was ranting about an online game. He tried to take my hand as we crossed the street. I pulled away.

"Seriously, Evan," I huffed.

I was about to unleash on Evan when something caught my eye.

A few yards down, almost directly across from the Lot, a streetlamp illuminated the figure of a tall man. He stood at a slant and held a leash. At the end of the leash was a small lump with tall ears.

Evan snickered.

"Oh my god," he said, his beery breath too close to my face. "Is that dude walking a rabbit? What a faggot."

I drifted down the sidewalk toward the man. He ignored me, even as I stepped onto the grass. Even as I ogled him shamelessly.

His hair was dirty blond, carelessly mussed, and he wore a fitted gray t-shirt and jeans. Damn, this guy knew how to wear jeans. The light wash denim clung to his lean thighs and tight ass, and I could see that the low waistline barely covered his groin. His handsome face was clean shaven. I stared up his body from his flip-flops to his hair.

Fuck, I hope Matt looks this delicious.

But this was definitely not Matt. No way. I may not have known Matt well, but I could say with near-certainty that he would never, ever, own a pet rabbit, much less take it for walks in the middle of the night on some kind of...

"Tiny harness," I blurted. I stared down at the bunny.

So. Cute.

Never mind the sexy guy and the ridiculous charm of the scene. The animal itself was adorable. It was the size of a football. Its eyes were big and round and black and its coat was patterned black and white like a tux.

The man stared off. Geez, asshole wouldn't even look at me.

The rabbit hopped toward his feet.

"Sorry, I... am I scaring him? Him, he?"

The man's jaw tightened. He gave an almost imperceptible nod. He was staring at a splash of street art like his life depended on it.

Evan hovered on the sidewalk a few feet away, obviously intimidated by the young god and his rabbit.

"He is
sooo
precious," I crooned, crouching to get closer to the bunny. "Can I pet him? Will he let me?"

The man didn't move. What was his deal? Maybe he was stoned out of his gourd.

I reached toward the rabbit and it flattened itself to the ground.

Finally, the man crouched and collected the frightened animal. He gathered it against his stomach and began to stroke its head and ears. I smiled. When I didn't move, the man's dark eyes flickered over me. He smirked.

He reached for my wrist. I let him guide my hand along the rabbit's body.

"So soft," I whispered. I stared at the man's long fingers covering mine. The alcohol must have been working on me; desire shivered up the skin of my arm. I wanted to lean in and smell his clean scent. I wanted to press my hands to his chest.

I don't know how long I stayed crouched there, the man's hand over mine and the bunny's warm body beneath my palm. The stroking motion relaxed me totally.

The young god, on the other hand, grew more and more tense until I thought he would explode. Only his hand on mine was gentle. I could see the sinewy muscle clenching on his forearm and cording along his beautiful neck.

He frightened me.

I wanted him.

Guiltily, I remembered Matt waiting for me to get home and call. I pulled back just as the man stood. We stumbled apart.

The man hurried up the street, disappearing around the corner. I watched his hot ass go. Even his stride was sexy, prowling and sweeping. Damn.

Dazed, I returned to Evan.

"How was the rabbit whisperer?" he said, throwing a fleshy arm around my waist.

"Evan, eat a dick."

I shoved Evan back and stalked away, fishing for my phone in my purse and halfheartedly trying to hail a cab. I knew I could call Matt, but suddenly the city felt huge and anonymous and the thought of meeting that demanding stranger scared me.

Besides, I was still reeling from whatever had just passed between me and the guy outside the bar. Why did that silent encounter feel so charged? Why wouldn't he speak? Why wouldn't he look at me?

A cab pulled up beside me and I climbed in gratefully.

When I got home, I saw dad had already set up my bed in a room in the basement.

So, I was going to be a genuine basement dweller now. I guess I couldn't complain. The basement was finished and would be cool all summer, not to mention private.

The room itself was bleak and impersonal at the moment.

Tomorrow I would start unpacking my books. Books can fix any room.

I flopped onto the bed and called Matt.

No answer.

I tried again after twenty minutes.

No answer.

I miss you, Matt.

I sent the text and stared at the ceiling.
There is no such thing as loneliness
, I told myself. A lump formed in my throat.

If there was no such thing as loneliness, what was I feeling?

CHAPTER 7

Matt

_____

Come over tonight. I'll pick you up. I need you.

I looked at the text I had written.

I deleted it.

I wrote it again and deleted it again.

I couldn't think.

I ranged through my apartment stripping off clothes, shoving down my jeans and boxers to free my erection.

"Hannah, god, Hannah," I whispered. I filled the rooms of my apartment with feverish pleas. I gripped my hair and stood aching in the dark kitchen. I braced my arms against the doorframe of my bedroom.

I already knew I was going to see her.

I was going to see her tonight.

And even as I paced and agonized, some part of me remained paralyzed on the lawn across from Lot 49. God only knows what I was doing out there in the dead of night with my rabbit. I thought I had hours to kill before Hannah called.