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Texting Simon Lewis that night was probably a bad idea, the worst Isabelle Lightwood had ever had in her entire life.
The problem was, she was drunk—at a party she hadn’t even wanted to attend— third-wheeling for her two older brothers. So she did that anyway.
A few months ago, Simon would have been there with her, and then it would’ve been three couples enjoying New York City’s nightlife, drinking and dancing. His hands would have been on her waist, and later, all over her body, and then… ugh, cut that shit.
Since when Isabelle missed Simon’s small, awkward hands?
That was actually pathetic.
Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her leather pants.
Simon: I thought u had blocked me, Isabelle.
Izzy: I had.
“Who are you texting?!” Clary asked over her shoulder. Isabelle quickly shoved her phone away.
“No one important,” she lied. “I thought you and my half-brother were too busy swallowing each other in the middle of the dance floor.”
“We were,” Jace shot back. “But then we felt sorry for your lonely bitch face.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes and took a long sip of her drink. It was strong and hot, burning its way down her throat, but Izzy didn’t so much as flinch.
“Not my fault you two picked the party with the highest concentration of idiots off all island,” she muttered. “I’d much rather be home right now.”
“It’s been six months since you two broke up, Isabelle. Time to move on,” Jace said.
“You make it sound like I haven’t gone out with anyone since then,” she grumbled. “What we know is not truth at all. Where are Magnus and Alec anyway?”
“You’ve gone out with plenty of guys, but your attitude hasn’t really changed,” Clary crossed her arms. “And don’t change the subject. Magnus and Alec are probably enjoying the party—something you should be doing.”
The girl sighed. She loved Clary, but sometimes she wanted to scream so loud at her.
First of all, none of this would’ve even happened if they hadn’t tried to play Cupid with the redhead’s best friend, making Isabelle fall for that nerdy idiot while trying to find him a girlfriend.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said, sliding off the barstool. “Are you two going to get off my back or do you want to come with me?”
The couple shook their heads, clearly disapproving of her attitude, so annoyingly in sync that Izzy felt like throwing up on them. It took her a while to push through the crowded dance floor, but once she did, she was glad to find the bathroom spacious and practically empty. She slipped into one of the stalls and sat on the closed lid of the toilet.
Pulling out her phone, she opened Simon’s reply.
Simon: So why are you texting?
Izzy: Because your stupid friend is eating my stupid brother at a stupid party and my other stupid brother vanished with his stupid fiancee and you’re the only idiot that knows the feeling.
Took almost two minutes for him to respond.
Simon: I hate when they do that.
Simon: I’m sorry I’m not there to help, though.
Izzy: Yeah, you’re not here. Stupid you.
Izzy: I hate when you do that.
Isabelle looked around. The bathroom stall was scratched up and smelled awful. She felt ridiculous.
What the fuck was she doing? This wasn’t her—feeling sorry for herself, downing drink after drink, ignoring advances from genuinely handsome men while texting her ex, waiting for any scrap of attention.
Izzy: You know what? Fuck you.
Izzy: Bye.
She was locking her phone again, proud of her last message to Simon and ready to block his number once more, but the blue bubble appeared before she could do that.
Simon: I miss you too.
Izzy: I never said I miss you.
Simon: Izzy, please
Izzy: Don’t call me that.
Izzy: Actually, don't call me at all.
She huffed in irritation and blocked Simon’s contact again. She wanted to throw the phone against the wall, or flush it down the toilet, hoping the sewage would carry it far, far away—but then she wouldn’t have the money to buy a new one.
She stepped out of the stall and noticed a small line had formed in the long minutes she’d spent inside. She gave a slight, embarrassed smile to the girls as she passed by and headed straight for the club’s exit. She’d let Jace know she’s gone later; right now, all she could think about was getting home.
Isabelle paid her tab at the counter and stepped into the night air, feeling the light drizzle dampen her hair. She hailed the first cab that passed, but the driver ignored her. Her phone rang while she waited for the next one, and she answered without even checking the caller ID.
“What?!” she muttered, signaling to another cab. Again, no luck.
“Izzy, it’s me.” She froze when she heard Simon’s voice.
Shit. Shit. A tons of shit.
“Don’t hang up!” he shouted, as if he already knew that’s exactly what she was about to do.
“What is it, Simon?” she asked, huffing.
“You’re the one who texted me first,” he replied.
“And?!” Izzy felt like punching the boy through the phone every time she heard his voice—probably because her stomach did a somersault against her will every single time. “Look, it was a bad idea! I already know that. We can go back to our lives now like nothing ever happened.”
“What if I don’t want to?” Simon’s tone was different—strange for Izzy. Much more grown-up than she was used to, with an undercurrent she hadn’t heard in months.
“Simon, it’s three in the morning. You should go back to sleep.” That was all she said.
“Are you on the street?” he asked.
“Trying to get a freaking cab,” she cursed as another one sped past her.
“You’ve always been terrible at that.” He laughed on the other end, and Isabelle wanted to crawl into the nearest storm drain just to make her body stop reacting like that. “You have to throw yourself out there if you really want them to stop. I’ll send you the address, I’ll be waiting for you.”
And he hung up.
The bastard hung up without letting her answer.
A few seconds later she saw another yellow cab approaching. This time she followed Simon’s advice and practically threw herself in front of it. Worst-case scenario, she’d get run over and suffer a concussion that would make her lose her memory (and honestly, that didn’t even sound so bad right now). The driver honked but stopped. The back seat was empty, and she climbed in, apologizing to the man.
“What’s the address?” he asked impatiently.
She sighed and looked at her phone, opened the messaging app and unlocked their last conversation. As she dictated the address, all she could think was that this was a terrible idea.
But fuck it—just one night couldn’t hurt.
For anyone who might ask her advice, Isabelle would always say that keeping any contact with an ex-boyfriend was a terrible idea.
But Simon wasn’t just her ex; he was also — and even before any of the mess that happened — Clary’s best friend. Clary, who was also her sister-in-law.
Inevitably, they’d have to reconnect someday, and that would only be possible if they truly put an end to that chapter, right?
They had broken up in a terrible way, one of those big fights with shouting and promises never to see each other again, but now Isabelle realized she had blown that one way out of proportion.
It wouldn’t be entirely bad to see him. To apologize. Maybe even go back to being friends like they were before.
Yeah. That’s the biggest lie she’s ever said.
Still sitting in the backseat of the cab, she typed a message to Jace, saying she hadn’t felt well and was going to bed. Not a complete lie—he just didn’t need to know whose sheets.
When the taxi stopped in front of a building with the number Simon had sent her in a message, Izzy handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill and stepped out. The front door of the building was open, and she climbed the concrete stairs to the second floor.
She knocked on the door of the apartment she was certain was Simon’s (who else would have a Star Wars doormat?!) and waited.
Soon, he opened the door, standing there and smiling at her as if he hadn’t doubted for a second that she’d show up.
Isabelle tried to remind herself why she was there, but her brain seemed to short-circuit the moment she took in the sight of Simon in front of her—she couldn’t form a coherent thought.
“Hi, Izzy.” He kept smiling as he stepped aside to let her into the apartment.
“Do you have coffee?” she asked after passing him, turning her back slightly.
Simon let out a nasal laugh. “That’s like asking a vampire if he has blood in the fridge. Of course I do.”
“And there I thought in six months you’d have learned to make better comparisons,” she teased.
“That takes years, actually,” he replied, heading toward what looked like the kitchen. It was tiny, but she remembered that Simon rarely ate at home, so she figured it wasn’t a problem.
The rest of the space was small too, but cozy. A studio apartment with a sofa and a TV separating what should be the bedroom from the kitchen. In its simplest form, a big rectangle with a door to the bathroom on the right wall. A typical musician’s apartment in New York.
She remembered months ago, when Simon still shared an apartment with Kyle and had only a tiny room to live in. This felt like luxury in comparison.
“So you live alone now,” Izzy remarked, accepting the coffee mug he handed her.
“Kyle and Maia were too in love for me to stay there,” he replied, and they both laughed.
She recalled when Simon’s former roommate had said that about them, and she frowned.
The coffee was strong, just the way she liked it, so she lingered with the cup in front of her face as she drank.
“So, where did the couple drag you off to today?” he asked.
“Pandemonium” She answered. “But yeah, not fun anymore.”
Isabelle didn’t want to say that she no longer liked going there because it reminded her of him; she figured it wouldn’t help anything.
“Yeah… they made me go there last week too,” Simon added. “The DJ was awful.”
“Terrible,” she agreed.
“They should bring Bat back.”
Isabelle nodded. Another slightly awkward silence.
“Look, Izzy, I—”
“Can you not call me that?!” She cut him off.
“It’s about time we talked, Isabelle,” he said, carefully weighing the tone as he pronounced her full name.
“Agreed” she replied, mimicking his stern tone. “If you want, I can start.”
Simon sighed. “Go ahead.”
Isabelle froze. She had rehearsed a thousand times everything she wanted to say to Simon if she ever saw him, screamed at the shower how much she hated him, and created endless monologues for hours before going to sleep. But right there, in front of him, she couldn’t form a single sentence that made sense. She couldn’t hear her thoughts with him looking at her like that.
“I just… I still can’t believe a guy like you thought you could fool a woman like me.” She spoke with arrogance, using that tone as armor.
“That was exactly our problem, Isabelle. It’s always a guy like me, and a woman like you.” Simon sounded genuinely hurt. “I didn’t want to fool you, I —I thought you were the one playing games the whole time.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Simon,” she replied. “This is all so ridiculous, I should just leave.”
“But you’re not going to.” He stepped in front of her, blocking the door as Isabelle reached for her bag. “I’m not letting you leave, not again.”
“So what?” Izzy crossed her arms. “Are you going to force me to stay here, listening to your lame excuses?”
“They’re not excuses!” Simon’s hair shook as he gestured with his hands. “I need you to listen to me, to at least try to believe me.”
The Lightwood sighed but didn’t move, and Simon took it as a signal to continue.
“The first time I saw you, it was like my brain melted inside my head. You probably remember how much of an idiot I made of myself. Later that day, Jace laughed at me and said you’d crush me with your heels before I could even think of making a move.” He spoke. “It turns out, that was just the first time I realized you were too much for me. It happened a million more times—some people were brave enough to actually say it, others just looked at us with that expression…”
“So you went and decided to date another girl, just to reaffirm your masculinity?” She laughed in disbelief. “You’re only making it worse, Simon.”
“No, I didn’t date Maureen to prove anything.” Simon shook his head. “I just—I couldn’t believe you were actually taking us seriously, so I thought I shouldn’t either.”
“Well, you were a huge, huge idiot.” She said. “Because I was taking it very seriously, until I found out you went out with another girl.”
“I should’ve had the courage to ask you before assuming anything, Isabelle. I know that.”
Izzy looked at the boy in front of her. Simon had always been much better than she was at expressing his feelings, but she could understand why he had done all of that and felt so apprehensive. She believed him, even though it didn’t change anything about what she had felt. She had hated her father for so many years for cheating, and just when she thought she could let herself be vulnerable with someone, she felt all that anger again.
“This doesn’t fix anything between us, Lewis.”
“I didn’t think it would.” He replied. “A chance like the one I had only comes once in a lifetime, Isabelle. I don’t expect you to give me another one, I just wanted you to forgive me.”
She saw the expression on his face, the shift from regret to relief when he realized she didn’t seem angry anymore. In that moment, he almost seemed like her Simon again, calmer, his hair slightly messy framing his face, the light fringe on his forehead, and his eyes shining as they met hers.
She felt a tight pang of longing in her chest—longing to wake up and find those eyes looking at her, longing to mess with that hair, longing to hear Simon telling her the story of some nerdy classic until they fell asleep.
“I should go now.” She said, clutching her bag under her arm.
She tried to pass by Simon, but the apartment was small and he had longer strides. By the time Isabelle reached the door, Simon was already holding the doorknob.
“Stay,” he pleaded, making Isabelle sigh as she looked at him. They were almost the same height and so close that Izzy could feel the warmth of his breath. “Please, Izzy.”
Izzy held Simon’s gaze for a few seconds, noticing how his body was working naturally, his chest rising and falling as he breathed, his eyes blinking, yet never breaking eye contact, full of expectation.
Then she had another bad idea, it was apparently a thing for tonight. Worse than sending that message, or taking a taxi and coming to Simon’s apartment.
Isabelle cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.
Simon’s lips were just as she remembered (and loved) — soft and warm, a tender, comforting kiss, yet the spark needed to ignite a fire in Isabelle’s chest and core.
Six months had passed, and nothing seemed to have changed. His hands still held her waist as they kissed, just as they had so many times before. She was still the one to take the first step to deepen the kiss, though Simon always made the most of every inch of freedom she gave him.
However, Isabelle was surprised when his hands slid down from her waist to her hips, gripping the waistband of her pants. On impulse, guided by Simon’s suddenly firm hands, she found herself in his lap, her legs wrapping around Lewis’s hips as he carried her across the tiny apartment.
They hadn’t stopped kissing when Simon laid her down on his bed and finally pull back to look into her eyes once more. Isabelle’s dark hair spread around her head, contrasting with the white sheets—a vision of countless dreams he thought he’d never live again.
“Say you still think this is a bad idea, Isabelle,” he said, catching his breath. “Say it, and I promise I’ll let you go.”
Not that she had any intention of answering, but before she could, Simon was kissing her again. First on her neck, then along her collarbone, pulling at the neckline of her top. She arched her back and didn’t hold back that moan that rose when his mouth touched her breast. Simon smiled, pressing his tongue on her hard nipple and searching for her reactions. The way he was playing with her, getting all the right spots… It was nothing like that shy delicate guy she dated before.
He helped Isabelle take her shirt off and moved to her tight leather pants, making her body shiver by the look he gave her once she was just in her underwear. For the first time since they kissed, he looked like her Simon again, glancing at her with such wonder that made her feel like the prettiest, most desirable woman in the world. It was the opportunity she needed to change positions, making Simon the one between her and the mattress, taking off that stupid shirt he was wearing.
She thought about teasing him, maybe joke about the shirt’s funny saying like she used to do in the old days, but Izzy didn’t think that would have the same effect. This Simon underneath her wouldn’t be all blushing and embarrassed, no — this new, grown version of him was so much more secure…
She felt a pang of jealousy deep in her chest at the thought that he might have been with other women—after all, he had spent all those months single—but hadn’t she done pretty much the same thing? Izzy swallowed her own hypocrisy and let her gaze travel down Simon’s toned abdomen, stopping just below the hips where she was positioned.
It was clear that, no matter how long they had been apart, he still burned for her. Isabelle slowly moved her hips, watching Simon’s face twist with longing, and smiled. She knew what he wanted, remembered what he liked, and how he liked it—and she was willing to give it to him, if only for this one last time.
She took off his sweatpants and his boxers at the same time, taking his gasp as her slender fingers wrapped around his member like music to her ears. She continued with the stimulation, soon replacing her hands with her warm mouth, making Simon feel his own body about to burst into flames.
He had to beg her to stop before it ended too soon, and he kissed her devotedly when they were face to face again. Simon didn't break his lips for more than a second as his hand spread Izzy's thighs and soon found her lace panties, not even bothering to remove them. He simply pushed the fabric aside and slipped his fingers through Isabelle folds, making her moan against his lips.
That was enough to shatter Simon's mental; the sheets slipped on the bed as he turned them again, his body now on top of hers. He watched, shamelessly, as Isabelle writhed and called out his name as he touched her. He didn't even need to think to be sure that Isabelle Lightwood was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, and she was asking for him. For more of his touch. To go faster, harder, deeper.
She saw him reaching the nightstand without even losing him rhythm on her core, she was so fucking close, but at the same time she felt so empty. She needed him inside her, all in, right now. When Simon found the condom, Izzy took it off his hands and opened it with the corner of her teeth.
At last, he was finally inside her, stretching his way through her cunt with slow movements. It felt so fucking good to be with Isabelle once more, like coming home, and Simon put some effort on making it last. He had waited so long, craved that so bad, he didn't want that to end. So he pushed every other thought away, no matter what, they could figure it out later. He could find a way to make her stay.
Isabelle, thought, didn’t seemed any like making it easy for Simon, her hips coordinated with his moves with such ease, making no effort on holding any sigh or moan from coming out of her precious nasty mouth. Quite the opposite, Izzy seemed perfectly satisfied noticing how much she was driving Simon crazy, getting with him on that journey. Simon felt Isabelle's long nails scratching his back at the same time he came, no longer able to hold himself back.
He let his body fall beside Isabelle on the double bed, trying to catch his own breath. He couldn’t hide his look of surprise when he felt Isabelle snuggle against his skinny frame, making her glare at him and place her index finger over his lips.
“Not now, Lewis. “ she said. “hold it”
He nodded, but that smirk was still on his face.
“Let’s just sleep and we can have all the talking tomorrow.”
Simon sighed—not an irritated or tired sigh, but one of relief, of calm, finally having her back in his arms. He pulled the comforter that had been bunched at the foot of the bed over both of them, feeling Isabelle’s breathing slow as the minutes passed. Soon, she was asleep.
He, on the other hand, stayed awake all night, absorbing every second of what had just happened, silently thanking the universe for the best ‘bad idea’ Isabelle Lightwood had ever had.