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“Sorry I didn’t return your calls. I was…” He shivers violently. “I thought I was leaving, but I’m not, Kay.”
Leaving. There it is again, talk of going away, and that horrible feeling of sliding off balance on the edge of a sheer cliff.
“Good. I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay.”
With me.
But I don’t say that. I don’t know what he wants.
Am I crazy? I barely know him. We kissed, we made out, and I have feelings for him, feelings I don’t remember ever having for anyone.
“Need to call the cops,” he says. “Forgot to call the cops.”
“I called them. They should be here any minute now.” Slowly, I stand up and reach for his hands. “Come on. Let’s go sit inside my car to wait.”
At first I think he’ll refuse my help, but after a moment’s hesitation, he grips my hand and heaves himself on his feet.
Doesn’t work out so well. He’s tall and heavy, and his hand slips from mine as I stumble backward.
He falls back on his ass with a groan, and I wince.
Great help you are, Kay.
But he reaches for me again, his expression so trusting it twists up my heart, and this time I brace my heels in the mud not to slip as I haul him up.
He called me first. He called me before anyone else.
This has to mean something.
He weaves on his feet, and I stare at him like an idiot before I realize he’s really unsteady, and not only because of the mud. Shock and hypothermia, I think, moving closer and wrapping my other arm around his lean waist.
“Okay?” I ask.
He huffs out in reply, leaning into me. “Guess this is a bit like it, too,” he mumbles, letting go of my hand to enfold me in both his arms.
“Like what?”
“Like dancing.”
That makes me smile. “It is, isn’t it?”
“I should have danced with you. That night, at the bar.”
“You should have. But it’s not like we’ll never get another chance.”
“Here,” he says, and I don’t know what he means until he starts moving. Right, then left, his lips brushing my forehead.
Oh God, we’re dancing in the rain and the mud. He’s crazy.
Or in worse shock than I thought. He’ll be so embarrassed when he comes around later. And maybe I should stop him, but I don’t want to.
He smells of wet earth, his peppery, musky scent muted. He feels strong and solid and impossible, like a magical creature, in my arms. Powerful and yet fragile, armored and yet vulnerable. Broken and yet unique and unreplaceable.
Oh God, I have such a crush on Ocean.
I kind of knew it, I guess. But it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I had crushes on boys at school when I was younger. Even on a guy in college during my freshman year. It was the whole heart-fluttering, excitement-bubbling thing, but never… never this strong.
Never this solid, like a fist closing around my heart.
