: Chapter 11

The time on my phone switches from 8:59 to 9:00 p.m., and I pull open Midnight. My heart races with excitement as I put in the Dream Code and open the chat, ElizaBeth has reentered the chat appearing in the little box.

My knee bounces against the surface of my bed, ruffling my comforter and making my headboard shake just slightly. For literally every other venture in life, Beau is early, but for our chats, he’s always late.

Which is a universal joke meant to torture me, I assume.

“What are you doing?” Avery asks, entering my room so dramatically the door slams into the wall and makes my teeth chatter.

I bobble my phone in my hands, dropping it onto my comforter before snatching it right back up to keep it safe. “My God, Avery. Knock much?”

Avery’s brows draw together. “Like I’ve ever knocked on your door in my life.” She chuffs. “Anyway, I just came in to see what time you want to leave.”

It’s then that I realize she is dressed to the nines in a sparkly silver top I’m almost positive is Chanel Couture, leather Givenchy pants, and yet another pair of Louboutin heels she runs through like water.

She’s the rich Miami girl personified, and unlike me, she lives for it.

“Leave for what?”

She rolls her eyes. “For Oceanview, duh. You promised we could go tonight.”

Oceanview is Avery’s favorite club in downtown Miami and one we’ve frequented on more than a hundred occasions. Back in college, I was a lot easier to drag along, and Avery talked her way to a C in every class enough to keep her dad off her back, so we were considered regulars in every way you can imagine.

We did have a conversation earlier today in which I promised to go to Oceanview on Saturday, but seeing as today is still Thursday, this is Avery’s version of trying to pull a fast one.

“I promised we would go Saturday night. Today is Thursday.”

“Are you sure today isn’t Saturday?”

I roll my eyes. “Pretty sure, considering we had work today and the calendar says Thursday.”

“Okay, but, like, I’m ready now, so why don’t we just go?”

I shake my head and laugh. “No way, José. I’m already ready for bed.”

“For bed? Please, June, you’re just making my argument stronger. I mean, really, this is a cry for help.”

“I’m not going out tonight.” My phone vibrates in my hand, and ThunderStruck has reentered the chat populates on the screen.

Holy shit. He’s back.

Immediately, I can feel my pulse thrumming at the base of my neck. It takes everything I have not to stare at the phone while Avery is still in the room, and I’m nowhere near strong enough to resist a glance or two.

When he still hasn’t said anything fifteen seconds later, I start to wonder if I should be the one to break the ice since I am the one who left the note to meet me here.

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Avery asks frustratedly, yanking my attention back to my door.

“Yeah.”

“Then what did I just say?” Her stance is defiant and challenging, and I search my mind for any remnant of her words. When I can’t find any, guilt niggles. I’m completely ignoring my best friend in favor of my secret boner for her brother—if this isn’t the whole reason for every tête-à-tête for this particular trope, I don’t know what is.

Still, I don’t want to go out, and I really need her to leave. I try to nudge her in that direction as gently as possible.

“I’m really sorry I wasn’t listening, Ave. Really. I’m just tired and distracted and seriously not in the mood to go out. But we’ll catch up soon. A whole convo, margs, club crawl, and pajamas and takeout at five a.m. kind of night, I promise. Okay?”

“God, June,” she huffs, even stomping her stiletto-covered foot. “We’re young. We’re supposed to be going out, living life, getting guys to cover our tabs, and dancing our assess off. What we shouldn’t be doing is sitting home on a Thursday night like some kind of single mom who works two jobs.”

“Does she love her kids? Does she never stop?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Just Reba.

Avery narrows her eyes and charges toward me, plopping down onto my bed and making my heart rate soar right past fat-burning mode and straight to max capacity. At the same time, my phone vibrates in my hands, and I clutch it as tight to my lap as I can manage without drawing her attention.

I don’t know what the message says, but now, thanks to my bedmate, I’m going to have to wait.

“C’mon, June.” She reaches out to pat my sweatpants-covered thigh. “Just get up, get dressed, and come out with me.”

“Sorry, Avery, but I’m staying in tonight.”

She flashes her famous sad eyes at me, the same desperate eyes she gives her dad whenever she wants him to add an increase to her already-large monthly allowance. “Please?”

I shake my head.

“June!” she cries again, snatching my phone from my claws and waving it in the air. My lungs seize and my heart drops, my wide eyes bouncing back and forth as she waves my phone dramatically. “What are you even doing, by the way? Spending all night on your phone?” She shakes her head. “You know, I read a study about how bad it is to be addicted to technology. You should really do something about it.”

“A study?” I question harshly, reaching for my phone and jerking it out of her grasp.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. A TikTok. Same difference. I mean, look at you. You’re practically salivating.”

The phone vibrates in my hand again, and I clench my jaw. I cannot look. Will not look. Not until she’s gone.

“I’m just…” I search for an explanation quickly, worry building over how long Beau will stay in the chat if I don’t respond soon. The first thing that comes to mind is work, and I run with it. Thanks to her hands-off office disposition, she won’t know what I’m talking about anyway. “I’m just looking through some spreadsheets your dad’s assistant wanted me to double-check.”

“Spreadsheets for what?”

Of all the fucking times for Avery to give a single shit about the work we both should be doing but I always end up doing alone… You’ve got to be kidding me!

“Spreadsheets for…” I rack my brain for a fruit salad of words that will give her a headache. “Quantum physics campaigns that showcase how the age of digital marketing has shown significant advancements over the course of the past decade and how the steady—”

“Oh my God, shut up,” she cuts me off and hops off my bed. “Whatever you just said sounds contagious, and I don’t have time to come down with the nerd gene.”

“Have fun,” I tell her, my fingers already hovering over the screen of my phone, ready to respond to Beau the instant she steps out of my room.

“I’d tell you the same, but I think we both know that’s impossible with your plans,” she calls over her shoulder at my door. “Text me if you shape-shift into someone fun!” A minute later, I hear her grab her keys and purse, and the door closes on a click.

Thank everything! My sigh of relief is audible as I unclutch the phone from my chest and finally read the messages that are waiting for me.

ThunderStruck: Hello, Mystery Woman.

ThunderStruck: You there?

I put my fingers to the screen and respond as fast as I can.

ElizaBeth: I’m here.

His response comes ten seconds later.

ThunderStruck: I thought maybe you weren’t going to show.

ElizaBeth: Sorry about that. I was a little preoccupied, but yeah…I’m here.

ThunderStruck: Anything interesting doing the preoccupying?

ElizaBeth: If I told you, I’d no longer be the Mystery Woman.

ThunderStruck: Then who would you be?

ElizaBeth: I see what you did there. Nice try.

ThunderStruck: I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m a pretty determined kind of guy. When I want something, I usually don’t stop until I get it.

I don’t think his words are meant to be sexual, but man, do they spur some fantasies inside my head. What would it be like if Beau Banks wanted me?

ElizaBeth: I’m fully aware of what kind of guy you are, Beau.

ThunderStruck: Oh yeah?

ElizaBeth: Yeah.

ThunderStruck: How?

ElizaBeth: I have my ways.

Ways. I nearly snort. I’ve been watching Beau Banks like a creeper for more than half my life. I know everything there is to know about him that doesn’t happen behind closed doors or inside the zipper of his pants.

I am, of course, eager to fill in the gaps in my education posthaste.

ThunderStruck: Are you trying to tease me, ElizaBeth?

ElizaBeth: Is it making you mad?

ThunderStruck: Honestly? I’m not sure what it’s making me other than hard.

I sit up so quickly, I choke on saliva. It’s a Herculean effort, but somehow, I manage to almost die silently.

ThunderStruck: Sorry. That was unbelievably inappropriate. But this is the third time you’ve convinced me to come into this chat, and if that’s not a sign that I’m thinking with my dick, I don’t know what is.

ElizaBeth: Technically, I’ve only convinced you twice. One of those times, you convinced me.

ThunderStruck: I guess you got me there.

Through the wall, I hear footsteps. They move closer and closer before ending right at the wall. Best guess? Beau is now in bed.

Good grief, this is all so insane. And so wrong for a million different reasons.

But I can’t stop. Don’t want to stop.

ThunderStruck: How old are you, Mystery Woman?

I don’t know why, but having Beau Banks call me Mystery Woman instead of Mystery Girl makes me feel some kind of way. It’s the dream, really. Being seen as grown-ass June instead of Avery’s little best friend Juniper.

ElizaBeth: How old do you think I am?

ThunderStruck: Does it matter what I say if I know you’re not going to confirm it?

ElizaBeth: How can I be a Mystery Woman if I confirm things? That wouldn’t be very demure or cutesy of me.

ThunderStruck: Well, sure. Being secretive is very demure AND cutesy. But it’s also incredibly difficult to read.

ElizaBeth: Ah, the beauty of Midnight…

ThunderStruck: Marcus Hughes would certainly love the plug.

ElizaBeth: Well, we are in his app after all.

ThunderStruck: Is there a reason you wanted me to come on here tonight?

ElizaBeth: I have some new intel.

Not to mention how disappointing it was to go two whole days without hearing from him. I have a feeling I’d have come up with a reason to make this happen tonight whether I’d overheard Seth and Madeline or not.

ThunderStruck: About Beth with an S?

ElizaBeth: Uh-huh.

ThunderStruck: I’ll be honest, I’m not even sure if I want to hear it.

ElizaBeth: Oh. Really? Because I think you do.

ThunderStruck: I just don’t know that it’s gaining me more than it’s costing me.

ElizaBeth: What’s it costing you exactly?

ThunderStruck: My morals, I guess.

ElizaBeth: You could give me something in return if that’s your concern.

Your lips on mine. Your hands on my skin. Your body on mine. You inside me. Over and over again. My cheeks heat with embarrassment when I realize how rogue my thoughts have just gone. I have no shame. I have no control. I am an animal.

ThunderStruck: I was thinking more in terms of the behind-the-back thing, but I guess I should give you something too, to make it a fair exchange. What do you want?

ElizaBeth: I’m not sure… What are my options?

ThunderStruck: You want multiple choice?

ElizaBeth: It’s always the easiest part of the test.

ThunderStruck: All right. A. I take you out to dinner. B. I take you out to dinner. C. I take you out to dinner.

ElizaBeth: D. None of the above.

ThunderStruck: A nice dinner.

ElizaBeth: You and I both know I need to keep my spy status on the DL. Dinner would mean showing my face.

ThunderStruck: But what if I want to see your face?

ElizaBeth: Sorry, Beau, but that’s not an option.

ThunderStruck: I think it should be. I want to meet my Midnight Mystery Woman.

His Midnight Mystery Woman. Sigh.

If only he knew who I was and this were real.

It’s a sad thought and one that spurs me to tell him what I know instead of prolonging this conversation that’s twisting my heart up into a hundred tiny knots.

It’s making me feel hopeful this could be more than an exchange of work intel, and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.

ElizaBeth: Seth convinced Madeline to have a late lunch with him this afternoon after a lot of sweet talking. It was the same ol’ song and dance routine he used with Laura, but this time, it worked. I don’t know if he got anywhere at lunch, as they did not invite me to attend a meal, as you so graciously just did.

ThunderStruck: The gracious offer is still there.

ElizaBeth: And I wish I could take it. But I can’t. Goodnight, Beau.

ThunderStruck: Wait… That’s it?

ElizaBeth: Yep. That’s it. I need to get to bed. You know, to work in the morning.

ThunderStruck: You think we should accidentally meet in the break room? Say around 9:30 a.m.?

ElizaBeth: LOL. No, I do not.

ThunderStruck: Still worried about your whistleblower status?

More like, worried about you realizing that your Mystery Woman isn’t a mystery at all. And downright terrified over what your reaction would be if you found out.

ElizaBeth: Something like that. Night, Beau.

ThunderStruck: Sleep well, Mystery Woman.

In my dreams, Mystery Woman is replaced by June, and Beau doesn’t just tell me to sleep well tonight, but every night.

Too bad my dreams have never been much of a glimpse into the future. If they had, Beau and I would have been together a long time ago.