“Hey.” Only the rain is coming down so hard I have to speak it, not whisper.

“Hey.” His eyes hit me, and I know that look better than anything. There’s no way he’s not thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him.

His arms come around me, and I shouldn’t want them to but I do. It feels so good to let him hold me. Better than I remembered, or maybe it’s just that I’ve thought about his arms for way more time than I should.

My head rests on his shoulder, my arms slide around to his back, and I don’t care that we’re getting soaked or that the alley smells. My hair begins to stick to my face, and I swear as we stand together, something changes in the way we’re touching. I haven’t exactly moved, but it’s like my body is starting to take over. It’s like the dance floor, only more intense because we’re alone and there’s no music. Only, I don’t know if my heart can stand to be crushed again if he moves away first, so I do.

Pulling away means our eyes lock. My arms are still around him, and his arms are still around me. There is no willpower left in me right now. It just doesn’t matter when we’re here like this. He hesitates briefly. I’m still frozen in place, electricity running through me, forcing my heart to beat more franticly.

His lips touch mine first, and he’s so soft, so sweet. His face is cold and wet, and the rain drips down, mixing between us. My mouth opens to kiss him again, and I can taste him and taste the rain. Why does he have to feel so good, so perfect? Our kiss deepens, and it takes all my willpower to keep some sort of sound from coming up my throat. I’m not sure I succeed. The more time I spend with him, the more touching him overwhelms me.

A weight rests on my chest—big, flat, and heavy. I can’t do this. If he’d changed his mind, he would have said something, right? And now as much as the warmth of his lips is the most perfect thing ever, I just can’t kiss someone who doesn’t want more from me. The weight settles deeper down than just my chest.

My arms drop, and I step away. But it doesn’t feel like I just dropped my arms. It feels like someone just dropped me.

I stare at the ground while I take a few breaths in. Anything to try and keep my voice even.

“I can’t…” I let my eyes find his, and it’s such a big mistake because they’re filled with everything I want from him. And he can’t give it to me. “I can’t do this.”

I back up and grab the handle of the door. The silver drops of rain slap against my face. Against his face.

“Ziah, wait, I…” He steps toward me.

I stop, still holding the door, my back pressed against the wet metal. “What?” Please say you’ve changed your mind. Please tell me I’m worth it. I’m worth the risk. As the rain streams down my face, my consolation is that if I start to cry, he’ll never know.

“I…” he sucks in a breath and looks around us a few times. His hand grabs the back of his neck, and I’m learning this means he’s nervous. My heart jumps at the thought. And it shouldn’t jump, because he’s Dylan. That seems like a risk in itself, but the more I’m around him, the more surprising he becomes. In a good way. An amazing way.

“I like you. A lot. And… I know this sucks for you if you feel anything like I do.” His eyes can’t stay on me. This is all Dylan, and all real. I can hear my breathing over the sound of the rain. “Like I want to be close, but I’m not sure how or...”

I want to touch him again, but I’m almost afraid to. Like I’ll break the moment and stop whatever he’s about to say.

“Just know I’m trying. I want to be with you. I mean, more than friends…and I’m trying.”

And my heart sort of melts into my insides, and he’s scary because putting myself out there for someone like him makes my chances of another broken heart, like double. But I can’t help it. I step back into his arms, my heart hitting hard in the cage of my ribs. My eyes close, and I let his warmth wrap me up. And this is me and this is the real Dylan, and it’s like he’s everything. He’s the need and the sparks and the laughter, and he touches my heart in a way it’s never been touched before. It’s terrifying and so honest it makes me dizzy.

“Thanks for giving me something real,” I say.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m messing with you.” His fingers touch my cheek.

“Haven’t you realized I like it when you mess with me?” I take his hands and rest them low on my waist.

He chuckles. “God, Ziah. Could you make yourself harder to resist?”

“That wouldn’t really work in my favor.” My cheeks heat up. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Well, you,” he kisses my cheek, “make me say stuff all the time I never thought I’d say.”

“Let’s hope we keep that up.” I’m soaked, and I’m freezing. But I don’t care. Nothing could pull me from this spot.

“Yeah.” His lips brush mine once more, and then once more again.

I step back just far enough that we’re not touching, and I’m sort of in shock and amazed. I smile hugely and look up at the sky again just for a moment.

“There you guys are!” Lora yells from the end of the alleyway. “I have your coat, Ziah. Come on! We’re freezing! Everyone’s waiting!”

My heart pounds from nearly being caught and I’m not ready to let him go, but our night is over.

Dylan and I don’t have to say anything to each other. We know this is just for us right now—he probably won’t be talking to Derrick, and I won’t be talking to Lora. We walk close, arms touching, but not holding hands.

Lora’s waiting at Mom’s car with Karisssa, Alyssa, and Mardie, and we’ll be separated. Way too soon.

Not caring what anyone has to say or think, I give Dylan a hug, the rain still soaking us through.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he whispers. I squeeze him tighter before letting him go.

He steps back, drops my hands and starts to run through the silvery droplets toward his brother’s car.

As much as I should keep my heart in my chest, part of it runs away with him. And maybe that means part of his might be here with me.

Twenty-One

~ Dylan ~

“You just want me close to you.”

I flop into the oversized chair in Ziah’s living room and rest my feet on the ottoman. I called her today—okay, first thing this morning—and as soon we knew our siblings would be out doing whatever it is they do all the time, I came over.

“It’s big enough for two, and it’s the only piece of furniture that directly faces the TV.”

I let her get by with her excuses when she smiles. Every time I look at her, I see her last night. How she looked up at the sky, water shimmering down her body as she soaked it in. There was none of that typical girl stuff, worry about ruining make-up, hair issues, or whatever. She just took it…wanted it…and somehow, that one moment—the way her hair molded against her face, the same strand that’s driven me crazy for months now—destroyed all my resistance.

And she smiled.

Then all sorts of other thoughts started pounding down on me. How she gives me crap, the look of murder in her eyes when I spilled my drink on her that first night, and how she now looks at me in a way I never knew I wanted a girl to look at me.

It was like I woke up, and it wasn’t dark anymore. I realized it before, but not until that moment did I comprehend how much I like this girl. That I actually want to give her those things she wants. That she’s worth it. Worth the risk of being left behind. And maybe, just maybe that would never happen. She might not be like Mom.

Of course, what came out was “I’m trying,” but it got us here. So that’s okay.

She puts the movie on, and now she’s moving stuff around, putting stuff away that can wait. Sitting in this chair together was her idea, and now she’s nervous.

“Sit down, Hanes. If you freak out, I’ll freak out. Let’s just watch the movie.”