Chapter 47 Not Tonight
“It won’t take long, I promise.” He lifted one hand off the wheel— palm up, placating. “Just one more stop. That’s all.”
Maggie studied his profile: the easy set of his jaw, the small crinkle at the corner of his eye that only appeared when he was pleased with himself. She exhaled through her nose— long, dramatic— then sank back into the seat, folding her arms.
“Alright,” she said at last, her voice laced with mock resignation. “But if I fall asleep in Wilfred’s class tomorrow and he embarrasses me, I’m coming after you.”
Tyler laughed— low, teasing, the sound filling the cabin. “Deal. I love it when trouble comes after me.”
She shot him a side-eye. “I feel like you’re not taking this seriously. I mean it.”
“I know.” Without looking, he reached over, found her hand on the console, and laced their fingers together. His thumb traced slow circles over her knuckles.
“You’re still on probation, you know,” she reminded him, though she didn’t pull away.
“I know.” He squeezed once— gentle, certain. “I’m just happy it's like old times again.”
Maggie stared at their joined hands for a long moment. The city lights streaked across her face in shifting patterns— gold, red, white. Her expression softened, just a fraction, the hard line of her mouth easing.
“Don’t get used to it,” she murmured.
“Well, that's the plan.” Tyler’s voice was quiet now, almost reverent.
The BMW purred through another intersection. Street signs flashed past— Pennsylvania Avenue, then a narrower side street lined with brick row houses and bare-branched trees. Music shifted to something slower, sadder— Frank Ocean’s voice curling around the edges of the speakers.
Maggie leaned her head back again, eyes half-closed, watching the city lights slide across the windshield like falling stars.
“Where are we even going?” she asked, softer this time.
“You’ll see.” Tyler’s thumb kept moving— slow, steady circles. “Trust me for ten more minutes.”
She huffed a small laugh. “Alright I hear, you.”
The car turned again— left this time— onto a quieter street where the buildings fell away and the Potomac glimmered dark and silver in the distance.
Maggie’s fingers tightened around his— just once, brief, almost involuntary.
Neither of them spoke for the next block.
The city kept moving around them— headlights, taillights, the soft hiss of tires on wet pavement— but inside the X5, time felt suspended: two people, one handclasp, ten promised minutes stretching toward something neither was quite ready to name.
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'MOMENTS LATER'
The blue 2016 BMW X5 eased off the main drag and swung into the crowded parking lot of Eclipse Nightclub at 9:22 p.m., tires crunching over loose gravel. Neon spilled across the asphalt in electric pink and violet streaks— Eclipse’s signature sign pulsing above the entrance like a heartbeat. Bass thumped through the closed windows, vibrating the seats. Tyler killed the engine with a twist of the key; silence rushed in, broken only by the muffled beat and distant shouts from the line snaking around the side of the building.
Maggie sat rigid in the passenger seat, arms folded tight across her cream sweater, ponytail slightly askew from the movie theater headrest. Her eyes narrowed at the glowing sign.
“You brought me to a club?” The words came out flat, incredulous.
Tyler cut the headlights, leaving only the dashboard glow to light his face. A faint, hopeful smile curved his lips. “Yes.”
Maggie’s head snapped toward him. “You must be kidding me.” She gestured sharply at the neon. “You know I hate clubs. The smell of alcohol, the sweat, the shouting. Is this some kind of prank? Because it’s working— it’s getting me riled up.”
“Baby, calm down.” Tyler raised both palms, voice low and soothing. “It’s just a club. I’m here to chill with some friends.”
“You’re saying it as if because you’re coming here to chill with some friends makes it better.” Her tone climbed half an octave. “Despite knowing I don’t really do clubbing. And plus I have an early morning class tomorrow— 7:45 a.m. You could have just dropped me home and come here after that.”
Tyler shifted in his seat, leather creaking. He leaned toward her, elbows on the center console, voice dropping to a near-whisper so she had to tilt her head to hear over the bass leaking from the building. “How else will I get you to meet my friends, huh? Every time I’ve tried, you find an excuse. When they texted me at the movies that they were here, I knew— this was my shot. To make them meet you, and you meet them. The boys I’ve been dying to meet you.”
Maggie laughed— short, humorless, the sound sharp enough to cut. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you and them. Not tonight. You’re taking me back home.”