Page 57 of No Capes
“What do you want to do? Other than that?”
“Hmmm.” I pretend to yawn. “What do you want to do?”
A clap of thunder nearly drowns out his reply: “We both know what I want to do.”
“Oh really—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His soft lips brush against mine and my eyes flutter closed. But just as quickly, he pulls back.
I blink and his cocky grin flashes back at me.
“Seriously?”
“I mean,” he says, too casually, “we’re going to be here for a while. Can’t go too fast, can we?”
Lightning splits the sky, illuminating everything under the canopy.
“If you call that fast,” I whisper, “I want to see your slow.”
He stills. White sparks flicker in the inch between us, threatening to burn something down. His hesitation lasts only for a second.
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The storm flares, alive and dangerous. Then his lips crash into mine and we melt against the tree. The bark presses into my back, grounding me as everything spins. I thread my fingers into his damp hair, careful not to tip his hat, preventing him from pulling away.
His arms tighten around my waist, holding me steady as thunder crashes overhead. Lightning flashes, each burst cracking in the pouring rain, syncing with something between us—deeper than I ever expected.
That’s when I realize Dark Static is causing the storm. He’s energy itself, an unfathomable, searing chaos, and the charge in the air pulls me in. We’re creating our own electric rhythm.
When we break apart, the night—everything—is different. Warmer and brighter than before.
“I’m starting to get why you’re called Dark Static,” I say, watching the sparks sizzle off him, vanishing into his shadows.
D.S. leans in, close enough to whisper in my ear, “Just like lightning striking water.”
That comment alone is enough to leave me breathless.
Twenty One
I don’t know how long we stay there, with D.S. standing with his back to the tree trunk, folding me into his chest like a letter inside an envelope. As I feel his mask next to my ear and listen to the pattering end of the storm, the minutes that pass are the last thing I’m aware of.
“How’s life in space?” he asks.
“Space would be awesome. Teach me how to fly so I can be an astronaut.”
D.S. rubs his hands together, keeping them warm. “Yeah, we gotta get you up to speed on those powers, Roberts, before you start a downpour on some guy.”
I gather the ends of my dress under my legs, and wince when I see the mud, which stains from the train all the way to my knees. Forget killing me, Kristen will never speak to me again.
“I’m an excellent swimmer,” I say. “I’m not afraid of a little water. A champion, one might say.”
“Champion of coming in dead last.”
I twist around and face him. “Wanna say that again?”
He crosses his ankles and leans against the tree trunk. His suit jacket flaps from his waist, revealing an inside pocket and an outline of a bowtie. “Champion of coming in—” He sees me looking at his pocket and closes his jacket without a word.
It’s going to be like that. Fine. “Race you back to the party.” With my heels in one hand and the end of my dress in the other,I sprint away from the willow tree. In an evening gown. What the heck though, it’s already dirty.
