Page 209 of Tag

“You think Layla dislikes me that much?”

“I don’t think she dislikes you. I think she wants to be you.”

The way he said it left no room for denial.

“But she’s so…” I started, shaking my head, struggling to put it into words.

“She’s one weird bitch.”

“Ryder!” I snapped, half-laughing, half-scolding. “You can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t call women that word unless—.”

“I don’t see her as a woman,” he interrupted, amused. “So, there’s no issue. You know her mom isn’t wrapped too tight either. It’s probably hereditary.”

I frowned. “My mom did say she saw her the other day… said she didn’t look well. I think that she’s a demon, but maybe she just needs help. I find that sad. She didn’t always used to be like this, you know? She used to help people.”

He stared at me, his expression switching back to unreadable. “I know.”

Oh. Right. He would know. He’d been to her practice years ago. I hadn’t meant to bring that up. I flinched as something wet hit my cheek, breaking the moment. I looked up, startled.

“Did you feel that or was it just me?”

“Drizzle,” Ryder murmured, his own head tilting back as a drop hit his skin. “It got me too. It wasn’t supposed to rain today.”

I glanced at the barely touched basket beside us, guilt pricking at my ribs. “I’m sorry, Rye. You did all this…”

His hand came up, warm against my jaw, gently turning my face back to him. “Don’t ever apologize for telling me how youfeel,” he said, his voice low and steady, the conviction in it like a pulse against my skin. “I want to know every bit of happy, sad, angry, and petty you’ve got, Sass. This? This is something small. I plan to do a million times over.”

My lips curved despite myself, my heart stuttering in my chest. I leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. I pulled back, smiling, and stood, slipping off his lap as another few droplets splattered across my hair.

We gathered our things quickly.

Ryder shook out the blanket, tucking it under his arm with the basket cradled in his other hand. Halfway up the trail, Ryder slowed and pulled his varsity jacket off, shifting the things in his arms, then he dropped it over my head.

“Rye, no.” I tried to shove it back at him. “You don’t have to do that. What am I? The Wicked Witch? I won’t melt.”

He laughed. “I’d rather you stay dry than watch you shiver like a wet dog the whole drive home.”

“That’s mildly insulting,” I huffed as we continued moving.

We finally reached the truck. He unlocked it quickly, then walked me around to my side and opened my door first.

I climbed in and held his coat in my arms. He tossed the basket and blanket into the back seat and took the jacket from me after he was in his seat, running his fingers over the pockets.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong?”

“My phone must’ve fallen out somewhere.”

I started to reach for the door handle. “Let’s go retrace—”

“No,” he cut in firmly, hand shooting out to still me. “It’s about to pour. I’ll go.”

“I can help.”

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