Member-only story
AFTER MIDNIGHT
The clock strikes twelve. The city is asleep, but we are awake.
I don’t know his name. He doesn’t know mine. That’s the rule. That’s how we keep this from becoming something it shouldn’t be.
We meet in the same dimly lit bar, our eyes locking across the room like magnets pulled by an invisible force. He always gets there before me, sitting in the corner with his whiskey, watching, waiting. And me? I tell myself I won’t come tonight. I tell myself this is the last time. But my feet betray me.
Because at midnight, I am not the woman the world expects me to be. Neither is he the man he pretends to be in daylight.
I slide into the seat across from him. The air between us crackles. No greetings, no pleasantries—just silence that speaks louder than words. He lifts his glass, the ice clinking softly, and takes a slow sip. His eyes never leave mine.
“You’re late,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough.
“You were early,” I counter, playing along with this familiar dance.
A corner of his mouth lifts. It’s not quite a smile, but close enough. Close enough to make my breath catch.
The bartender knows our routine. He places my usual drink in front of me without asking. I wrap my fingers around the cool glass, but I don’t take a sip. Instead, I let myself…
