Page 52 of It's a Love Story

“What?”

“What?” He’s still looking at them.

“You just said something about my legs.”

“I didn’t,” he says and meets my eyes. “Oh, they’re wet, that’s all. You should dry them.” He turns his body back toward the steering wheel as if he’s going to start the car, but he doesn’t.

The air is supercharged. I can tell by the way he swallows that his heart is racing, and I’d like to reach out and touch his chest so I can feel it. That might be as good as the signed affidavit.

I don’t look at him as I dry one leg and then the other, deliberately slow because I like what this is doing to him. His breathing is altered, and the windows are starting to fog. When I’m done, I dry my neck and chest, aware but not really caring that my clothes have gone transparent.

“Okay, you’re dry,” he says, his voice rough. He takes the towel from me and drops it in the back seat, and I just sit there in my see-through dress not making a move. I am more aware of my body than I ever have been. It pulses under the surface, and I can feel his hands on me even though we’re not touching at all. He narrows his eyes on the spaghetti strap on my shoulder, and it gives me goose bumps. In this dangerous foreign land, I am as sexy as he seems to think I am. Lightning cracks overhead. He doesn’t blink.

“So, I . . .” he starts and takes my hand, then immediately cups it in both of his. “I’m sorry, you’re freezing.” This seems to jolt him back to reality, and he starts the car and jacks up the heat.

“I’m fine,” I say. “What were you going to say?”

“I wanted to know if you were okay?” He looks at the rain on the windshield and back at me. “About last night. You’ve been weird today. And I thought we should talk about it?”

“You honestly can’t imagine how weird I’ve been today.” The words are meant to be lighthearted, but I’m staring at his mouth so they come out distracted.

He takes my hand again and entwines our fingers. “Is it because I kissed you?”

“You didn’t kiss me.”

“Jane. I was there. It was—” He makes an explosion with his free hand.

My smile is its own explosion—I cannot contain it. That kiss was exactly that, five seconds of fireworks.

“I just meanIkissedyou,”I say.

“Why does that matter?” he asks. His eyes dip to my mouth and then to my chest and down my legs, all of it somehow more naked for the thin wet cotton clinging to it.

Because I’m a little broken,I don’t say. Lightning cracks again and I ask, “Are we safe here?”

He runs a finger over the strap of my dress and then watches as it falls off my shoulder. “Probably not,” he says. He rests a hand on my thigh and I feel it everywhere, warm where my wet dress was cold. His eyes are on my mouth like he can already taste me. I want to kiss him again the way you want another breath of air when you’re drowning.

He leans toward me, and I say “Yes” in response to a question he hasn’t asked. His mouth is already on mine when I say it. His hand is moving up my thigh, and I reach for the sharp edge of his jaw. When he opens my mouth with his, it’s an explosion again, and I am part of that explosion. My fingers claw into his hair and I lean into him, savoring the feel of his stubble against my chin. Dan kisses me like he wants to know every part of me. He’s cracking me open, making me feel like it’s okay to want something this much, and it’s equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.True Storyplanted the seed, but now I can feel it: the reckless need to be close to him. His mouth is on my neck, and I’m gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him into me. This thing, for sure, has taken off and taken over. All I can hear is the pounding of the rain, the gasping breath that might be my own, and the intermittent vibrating of a phone.

“Your phone,” I say in a voice that doesn’t sound like mine.

“It’s the mob,” he says, breathless. “They don’t stop, ever.” He’s kissing me again so deeply, and the rain is pounding the windshield so hard that I think I’ve misheard him about the mob.Wait, the mob?

“Dan.” I hold his face in my hands because there’s something I need to say, but the intensity of his navy eyes pins me in place, and his hand is lifting my leg, his thumb just under my knee, and I forget what it was and kiss him again. His phone vibrates, and I remember. “The mob?” I am nearly out of breath.

He rests his forehead on mine and touches my chin, warmth trailing his fingertips.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “It’s the family group text.” He lets out a breath and grabs his phone. “They’ll text until you reply, and if you don’t, they’ll send the cops.”

I cross my arms over my see-through dress. I don’t want to be found like this. I don’t want to be found ever, actually. I want to stay in this car, fogging up the windows with Dan.

He texts them back and says, “They were worried about you. I texted that I found you. They think we should be home by now.”

“We have to get the berries. I told your dad.”

He puts down his phone and moves a wet clump of hair over my shoulder. His eyes graze my body. “We’re going to stop this over berries?”

I smile. “He asked me specifically. I need to deliver the berries.”

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