Page 19 of Synced to Us

I call up, “You coming?”

Her beige coat trembles along with her as she mumbles something to herself, probably a dig at me, but keeps her focus on the stairs.

Then, I witness the ultimate horror.

Her hand clamps down on the rail. “Oh, no.”

Every seasoned New Yorker knows to never touch the stair railings. All kinds of cesspool shit clings to that metal. Does she not see that no one, going up or down, is going near that thing?

“Dee! Let’s go!”

She glances up right when the garbled loudspeaker comes on, announcing the arrival of the 4 train. “What?”

“That’s our ride! C’mon!”

“I’m trying, Wyn. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, okay?” she says, right as she’s knocked forward by an aggravated dick in a suit.

In fact, the downward flow’s moving much faster, everyone trying to make it to the train before the doors shut.

“Dee!” I holler.

“I said I’m—”

Another smack to the shoulder. She almost somersaults the rest of the way.

The luggage bangs to my feet. A snarl escapes my lips as I prowl into the fray, making sure I clip both douches who hit Dee. Neither react because, of course, making the train is more important to their survival than starting a fight with a dude twice their size.

I make it to Dee in seconds, taking the steps two at a time, most commuters doing their best to avoid a leaping beast.

Dee looks up when I reach her. “What are you doing?”

“Making this go a helluva lot faster,” I say and swing her into my arms.

“Hey! What—Wyn!”

More on instinct than want, Dee’s arms wrap around my neck as we descend.

My gut seizes with in my grasp.

She must’ve dabbed perfume on her wrists because it sneaks into my nostrils. Floral, musky, and a goddamned hard-on of a smell. To make it worse, Dee’s body curves in my arms at exactly the point where her ass rubs just above my groin, and I grit my teeth. I gotta get her off me before I start humping her like a canine.

I clomp down the rest of the stairs with the grace of a rhino, setting Dee down when we reach her bags. They’re too big, heavy, and obvious for anyone to steal with any sort of skillful disappearing act. When I toss one of the handles at her, she fumbles to catch it.

“Here’s hoping you’re a lot speedier on flat surfaces,” I say, then grab her wrist and sprint to the closing doors of the train.

Dee squeaks with sound but the clop-clop of her shoes tells me I’m not dragging her, so I pull harder, her suitcases veering to one wheel, and then the other. The doors ping a warning that they’re about to close, but I reach out and palm one, forcing it to stay open.

“Get in,” I order, shooing Dee forward with one of her bags.

She glares at me, and then eyes my straining grip on the edge of the door before idly strolling inside, sashaying her hips and rolling her suitcase behind her.

Muttering a curse under my breath, I fight the automatic doors, squeezing myself through the shrinking opening and yanking Dee’s other suitcase through the gap with me.

“Did you make it in okay?” Dee asks innocently.

She holds on to one of the poles, cocking a hip and watching me gasp for breath.

“Dandy,” I retort.

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