Trying to sleep when your brain won't shut up SUCKS. Have you ever been on the verge of falling into a beautiful, peaceful night of sleep when suddenly your brain betrays you by shouting "HEY, REMEMBER EVERYTHING YOU'VE EVER DONE THAT EMBARRASSED YOU?!?" Yeah, that was my brain at three AM, playing my conversation with Aiden like a freaking broken merry-go-round of shame.

After staring at the ceiling, trying to fight back the mental video of my blush-worthy shame show, I did what I did every time I couldn't sleep. I got up, shuffled to my laptop, picked it up from my dresser, crawled back in bed, burrowed under the covers like a bear ready to hibernate, and waited with blurry eyes for the laptop to boot up.

I put on my glasses, falling into "writer mode" as the computer screen came into clear view, and pulled up the newest book I was working on. It was a brand new series about the vampire mafia who had an ancient rivalry with the siren territory, who continued to lure away the vampire's prey. But when a vampire saves a siren's life, the lines are blurred between the two groups and things go from black and white to very complicated.

There is something beautiful about writing in the middle of the night. The world is silent, you miss nothing and the long shadows free your mind from doubt and fear, setting your mind free to write with passion and zero ability to second guess yourself. You are too tired to wonder with more than a passing thought if your story is crap. That is a problem for the version of you that will read it in the morning. The night version of writing is far more relaxing and is basically a glorified angst release. Allowing a place for you to have a 'dear diary' writing sprint with an "I am working" filter thrown on. Ah, writing bliss.

After angry writing for two hours, I felt much better and was now too wired to go back to sleep. So I took a shower, attempting not to think about how I was getting ready to start my day at five am for the second day in a row, changed into a sweatshirt, and a pair of shorts before heading to the door.

Pulling on my converse, I opened the door and was half relieved and half disappointed that Aiden wasn't hovering outside. Taking advantage of my sudden luck, I locked the door and headed down to my car parked on the street. As I reached my car, a black car pulled up next to me. "Laliana?" a voice called from the car.

Slipping my car keys in between my fingers to use as a weapon, I tried to decide if I should run back to my apartment or make a run to my car. HOW DOES EVERYONE KNOW WHERE I AM?!?

The window of the black car rolled down to reveal a young man with dark brown hair and green eyes. He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place him. "Umm... can I help you?" I asked making sure my car was between me and this boy with a bright smile, far too bright considering it was five-thirty in the morning.

"Yeah, I'm Tate," he replied with a genuinely charming smile that nearly made me smile back. He waited for me to connect the dots, but when I pushed my glasses up out of my way and rubbed my eyes in response, he laughed. "I'm the bodyguard on the nightshift."

I raised a brow. "What?"

He laughed. "You know, the non-grumpy Aiden?" When I didn't reply, he continued with a snort. "Of course Aiden didn't tell you. He let me look all creepy rolling up next to you." He swore and shook his head, amused. "Here, I'll prove it."

He held up his phone and punched in several numbers. A moment later my phone rang with the caller name being... . I looked from my phone to Random Number guy and smiled. "Okay, this makes more sense now."

He leaned over and looked at my phone screen. "Wow, Random Number..." he smiled with a shrug. "Not the worst thing I've been called, I'll take it."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Sorry, I didn't—"

He leaned his arm on the car window sill. "Not your fault. Aiden should have told you. He's normally good about that." I pushed down a large wave of guilt. It was probably my fault that he hadn't told me. I had pissed him off so much that he left two numbers, and no connection on who they belonged to.

"So, what brings you out at the crack of dawn?" Tate asked with a yawn. "I was told I had the easy shift."

I yawned. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd go to the grocery store."

Tate smiled, trying not to laugh. "At five-thirty?"

"Like I said, I couldn't sleep. And apparently I need more than hot chocolate and Pop-Tarts to survive."

Tate gave me an understanding warm smile. "Fair enough. We all have our ways of coping. Want a ride?"

I shook my head. "I'd prefer to drive."

Before I could respond, Tate parked the car and climbed out. "Great, I get shotgun then."

As we climbed into my mini cooper, it clicked. Tate looked like Aiden. He was younger, his face was thinner and his hair and eyes were a different shade, like they had gone through an Instagram filter, but overall, they looked a lot alike.

"Are you and Aiden related?" I asked, past another yawn as we made our way down the dark streets, watching as the world around us began to stir awake.

"Good eye!" he said stretching out in his seat. "Yep. Cousins." He began to hum along to the radio station that my car was permanently turned to, getting the words wrong when he burst into the chorus of "Watermelon Sugar" by Harry Styles.

"Watermelon something hi!!!!

Watermelon something hi!!!

Watermelon something hi!!!

Watermelon something hi!!!

Watermelon something!!!"

I laughed loudly, shooting him an amused expression. Tate was one of those people who you instantly liked upon meeting. Like an immediate best friend you didn't realize was out there. His unashamed true to himself way of being was healing and made you smile even if you tried not to.

"You are nothing like Aiden," I said with an amused grin as I pictured them growing up together.

Tate stopped singing and placed his hand over his heart with dramatic flair. "That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

...

We walked through the grocery store, Tate carrying a large load of mac and cheese, Hawaiian fruit punch, and hot Cheetos in his arms to buy for himself. "Are you sure you don't want a cart?" I asked, watching all of the precariously stacked items in his arms with caution.

"Nah. There is a sense of pride in getting in and out of the store while holding everything you are gonna buy." He shifted his arm, and I caught a bag of hot Cheetos and added it back to the top of the pile. "Besides, this way I won't buy more than I need. Shopping hungry is dangerous to my wallet."

"Good to know," I said with a grin as I added three cans of pasta sauce to my cart.

After several more aisles, several more questionable food decisions on Tate's part, and three more bags of Cheetos hitting the ground, we arrived at the coffee and tea aisle. I stopped in front of the tea. How many types of leaf water are there?!?

"You okay?" Tate asked past the pile of junk food in his arms.

"Yeah, just trying to decide what kind of tea to get." Turning, I looked at Tate. "Do you drink tea?"

He shook his head, tightening his hold on a bottle of Hawaiian punch as it made a break for it. "Nah, I'm all about that coffee life. If you drink enough of it, your heart stops beating and just hums with uncontrollable power."

"Okay... maybe don't drink that much coffee." I paused, trying to ask the next question as casually as possible. "What about Aiden, what kind of tea does he drink?"

Tate smiled mischievously, "trying to get on his good side?"

"Trying to make amends. You were right when you said you have the easy shift."

Tate snorted. "I didn't mean that you were difficult. I mean that watching a sleeping apartment complex is boring as all get out." He poked me in the ribs with his elbow. "You hardly seem like a difficult person."

I smiled feeling slightly relieved. "Thanks... but I don't think Aiden would agree."

Tate rolled his eyes, "yeah well... he's got baggage."

I waited for him to continue but he shook his head wildly. "Oh no, if you want to hear all about his past, you have to hear it from him. I don't feel like dying today, thank you very much."

I threw up my hands. "Fine. But can you at least tell me what kind of tea he likes?"

Tate sighed, "depends... he's kinda particular depending on the circumstances." He paused thinking. "When he's working, he likes earl grey because of the higher caffeine levels. When he's relaxing, he actually is a huge sucker for spiced chai even though it's crazy sweet."

I suddenly felt unfairly judged. "Seriously? Mr. Anti Pop-Tart loves spiced chai?" I threw the two boxes of tea into my cart. "Stupid judger," I muttered.

Tate laughed. "Yeah, he's weird. You'll get used to it."

We walked towards checkout. "Any advice on how to get the non-grumpy version of Aiden?"

Tate offered me an encouraging smile as he dumped his pile of junk food on the conveyer belt. "He's been grumpy since he got back to Los Angles six months ago, so if you figure out how to get back the non-grumpy version of Aiden, let me know."

---

An instant friendship is always so special! Have you ever met someone and immediately liked them?