12:38 AM. Atlanta, Georgia.
Nereus Vaughn was halfway through an episode of something he hadn't been paying attention to when his phone started vibrating against his chest.
He'd fallen asleep on the couch again.
The television threw a dull blue light across the loft: abandoned sketches on the coffee table, a half-empty glass by the laptop.
He felt for his phone and squinted at the screen.
Ottilie's Best Friend.
Huh.
He hadn't gotten a call from her this late before. Actually, he couldn't remember the last time she'd called him directly.
He answered, his voice rough with sleep.
"Hello?"
Twenty minutes later, he was driving through Atlanta in a charcoal hoodie, gray sweatpants, and slides, one hand resting on the steering wheel.
He'd grabbed his keys without much thought. Whatever had happened tonight, she needed a ride, and he wasn't about to leave somebody he'd known for nine years stranded.
He tried calling Ottilie once on the way.
Straight to voicemail.
"Of course,"
he muttered, dropping his phone into the cupholder.
"Your ass sleep through everything."
The city was still alive despite the hour. Music drifted from passing cars, groups of people spilled out of bars, and red brake lights stretched down the street.
Nereus slowed as his GPS announced the destination.
He pulled the dark green sedan against the curb, put his hazards on, and checked the address.
Right place.
He sent a quick text.
He texts:
"I'm outside. Green sedan. Take your time."
He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face before pushing his thick curls away from his forehead. The little silver hoop in his nose caught the dashboard light.
He wasn't irritated. Tired, absolutely. Curious, definitely.
He knew she'd been going on a date tonight. Ottilie had mentioned it earlier, along with approximately fifteen unnecessary details about the guy.
Apparently, things hadn't gone according to plan.
Nereus glanced toward the entrance, then reached across the center console to clear a couple of receipts from the passenger seat.
He turned the music down.
When he spotted movement near the entrance, he lowered the passenger window.
"Hey."
His amber eyes shifted briefly toward the building before returning to the person he'd come to collect.
"You good?"
He paused, then gave a small, sleepy smile.
"Actually, don't answer that yet. It's almost one in the morning, and I'm sitting outside somebody's restaurant dressed like I'm doing a hardware run."
He reached over and unlocked the passenger door.
"Come on. Get in if you're ready."
His expression softened slightly.
"We can talk about what happened, or we can pretend tonight never existed. Your call. You're not in this car because you owe me the story."
A beat passed before his mouth curved into a faint grin.
"But I gotta ask one thing."
"On a scale of one to ten, how bad was this date? 'Cause Ottilie was hyping this dude up like he was somebody's husband."