Page 57 of Catching Kyle
I get out, and he’s walking to his car.
“Damn rain,” I hear him mutter. It’s coming down harder now.
I make my way to my front porch. “You can stay,” I say. “Until it lets up. I know driving city traffic is bad when it’s wet.”
“I’ll be fine,” he grunts. He reaches his car and opens the door, but he’s soaked now.
All the fantasies I’ve had of us—both in bed and in real life—flash before me. I never get that dark feeling around him, and I feel so seen by him. He’s so kind. And now I feel like he’s running away. Will I see him again?
“Michael,” I say.
He hesitates before he gets in the car.
“Thank you for bringing me all the books, for showing me how inspiring the romance genre actually is,” I say. I reflect on that Cat Sebastian book I read at the lesbian café. “Because it definitely has inspired me. No matter what I choose, I’ll always be grateful for that.”
He pauses, rain coming down hard now. His mullet is soaked to his neck, and water drips off his chin. He stands there leaning on his car door, still, and I can’t read his face. For a moment, I think he might come to me.
But then he gets in his car and shuts the door.
My eyes get all hot as he starts his car. I make my way through my front door and slam it behind me. I prop myself up on my banister and hold my aching chest.
What kind of God is there that brings the man of my dreams to my doorstep and then has him go? Sure, I discovered part of my true self because of him, but is that it? Can’t there be a little more?
Rain is falling hard now, and I’m tempted to text Michael, or even call him, to be safe. But I don’t think I can do that anymore.
I swear under my breath and untie the noose of a tie around my neck. Some tears even stain my cheeks. I hate how damn much I’m crying these days. I throw the tie on the ground and keep myself held up by the banister, needing it morethan ever to keep myself up. When I get my bearings, I sigh, and then I make my way upstairs.
There’s a crash of thunder that almost sounds like a knock. I stop myself. That can’t be…
I turn around and look at my door. Just out the side window, I can see a flash of bright pink, the same color as his shorts.
I race down the stairs and open my door.
And there he is.
Michael, completely drenched.
And he’s holding a book and some of my old clothes in his hand.
I stare at him, my jaw heavy and hanging. “What are—” I don’t even know what to ask.
“Sorry,” he says, shrinking into himself like he always does.
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” I say.
He wipes rain—or tears, I don’t know—away from his eyes. “I thought about what you said, and—”
Lightning crashes, followed quickly by earthshattering thunder. A gust of wind blows rain onto the porch. Without thinking, I grab the handsome man on my porch and pull him into the house before he gets even more soaked.
I hold him his wet body against me, probably ruining my suit, but I couldn’t give two shits. I slam the door with one hand, but I keep my other wrapped tight around him.
He gulps so loud I can hear it. “I—”
“Why did you come back?” I say, pulling away and looking into his hazel eyes. My lips are dangerously close to his.
He looks at my lips, giving me all the answer I need. But I wanna hear him say it.
“Tell me,” I say so low it shakes us both. I rub my nose against his, and I feel him shiver, so I hold him tighter. I’m hardening down south, and I can feel he is too.
