Midnight Muse

I’m unable to hold back my laughter this time, and it comes out in a shocking burst that has a few students glancing my way. I duck down, still giggling as I lean over my chair to pack away the rest of my supplies. Rory’s all ready to go, her bag slung over her shoulder and her face buried in her phone as her fingers fly across the keyboard.

“You know, if you remove yourself from what you’re looking at, this is all just lines and circles too,” I answer Reid when I finally catch my breath.

He slings his satchel over his shoulder, staring down at me with those mesmerizing eyes. “Would you want to explain that further sometime, Quinn? Over coffee, perhaps?”

I’m a little stunned by his bluntness, but I grin and nod nonetheless, sliding my phone from my pocket to snag his number. “I’d like that.”

CHAPTER 6

KNOX

“So, you think you’re free to do as you please, when you please?” My neighbor’s grating voice startles me from where I’m elbow deep trying to change the oil of my motorcycle. The drain plug slips from my fingers and I wince as it falls into the oil-filled pan below.

I’d noticed that my bike needed servicing and this is nothing I can’t take care of myself, though Slate was supposed to meet up with me after the only class I had today and he hasn’t shown yet. He’s pretty handy when he wants to be, has to be with that old beat-up Bronco of his. He offered his help when I texted him what I was doing after class, or to at least sit outside the apartment building with me and pester me, whichever he felt like participating in when he arrived.

Apparently, he isn’t feeling much like showing up at all, which is fine because I know what I’m doing and I was enjoying listening to the sounds of the world while I worked: the birds chirping as they chase each other from tree to tree, the students and citizens of the city happily chatting as they walk down the streets, and the occasional rumble of cars driving up the block. It’s easy to focus on something so simple, and I’m feeling a lot looser than I have as of late, but it seems like it isn’t meant to last very long at all.

I wish Slate was here to be a buffer right now.

What I don’t understand is what she’s doing here. Obviously, I know very well that she lives in the same building as I do, but after the harsh few meetings we’ve shared, I’m not entirely sure why she’s approaching me, of all people.

Grimacing, I reach my glove-covered hand into the dark oil pan, feeling through the slick liquid for the plug I dropped. I need it and I didn’t have any intention to get this dirty while working, but at least I have boxes and boxes of gloves to use at my disposal—it’s not like I’ve been giving too many tattoos these days anyway.

I squint against the sun, eyeing her. Her bright blonde hair lies across her shoulders, curling up at the ends. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her hip is popped like she’s going to scold me. With the scowl she’s wearing, she just might.

Her face looks exactly how it had when we ran into each other almost a week ago. A frown tugs the corners of those pretty pink lips and this time she’s glaring down at me with those hazel eyes instead of up at me.

Actively avoiding her has only lasted a handful of days, it seems. It’s inevitable that we would run into each other again, with us living next door to each other and all, but I was hoping she would at least try and keep away from me like I am her.

I even kept my music at a lower volume than I’d normally like. Okay, so, it’s only one click lower, and it hasn’t exactly stopped her from pounding on the walls late at night, but I’ve been trying to be nicer about it. I’ve actually listened to at least one of those knocks, I think, turning the music off completely to shove my headphones over my ears instead.

Seems like nothing can make this one happy.

“Am I disturbing your afternoon, all the way out here, Princess?” I ask, tacking on the little nickname I know she despises.

Her foot taps against the asphalt, showing her annoyance just like I knew it would, and I smirk. The rhythm reminds me of the bass line to one of my favorite songs, and as I glance at her feet, I realize that she’s not wearing any shoes. My brows furrow as my gaze slings back up to hers, enjoying the purse of her perfect lips. I want to touch them, see if they’re as soft as they look, but I duck my head instead in case my face betrays those thoughts, watching the oil slowly drip into the pan.

“I told you not to call me that,” she growls and I blink at how cute she sounds, flicking a glance upwards because there’s no way I can’t not look at her when she sounds like this. Her nose is scrunched with distaste, crinkles accompanying the move. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing this in front of the building.”

“That’s funny,” I snipe, because why can’t she just leave me alone? “I didn’t ask you.”

Her cheeks glow. I brush it off, grabbing a few paper towels off the roll I brought out and wiping the oil plug clean. Now she’s on my nerves, and all I wanted to do was to fix this one little thing before hiding away in my apartment for the rest of the night.

I’m meticulous with my work, ignoring the glare I feel like a dagger in the side of my head. Maybe, if I ignore her for long enough, she’ll leave me the fuck alone.

Once I’m sure all of the threads are clean, I set the piece aside to wipe off my gloves. I snatch a new filter from the box and remove the packaging, patiently awaiting her to decide if she’s going to stalk off or bite back.

I tense as she sighs, even more so when she plants her ass on the curb. What the fuck does she think she’s doing?

My unspoken question is answered a moment later. “Look, I locked myself out of my apartment and my phone is inside. Can you maybe text Slate and have him let Rory know the situation? He has her number.”

I cut her a glance but promptly remove it from her now softened features. I don’t need to see what she looks like when she isn’t irritated. Since when does Slate have either of their numbers? Since when did he even start talking to her?

I remind myself to ask him about it later, and my mouth betrays me when I blurt, “He should be here in a little while. You can ask him then.”

What the fuck are you doing, Knox?

Surprised by myself, I carefully return my attention to the task at hand. Removing the old filter, I toss it into the pan with the used oil and clean up my hands once again before reaching out for the new filter to replace. It slides in easily and I cap the drain.