Page 71 of Set on You

Climbing the tree was fast, but my descent is twice as fast on the ladder. He strokes my now-dripping hair and prattles on casually, as if I’m not being rescued from a tree by a member of the Boston Fire Department. Something about how Albus Doodledore ate his new lifting shoes. Truthfully, I’m not really listening, because I’m too busy freaking the heck out with each terrifying step down this rickety-ass ladder.

I don’t dare open my eyes until Scott whispers that we’re back on the ground. When the decrepit barn comes into view, I realize I’m clutching him around the torso so hard I can feel his ribs. He has to firmly pry my hand away from him to loosen my grip. My fingernails have probably left permanent indents all over his abdomen. Yes, despite the terror, I shamelessly take full advantage of this poor excuse to touch him.

“Jesus, you’ve been working on your grip strength. You almost broke my ribs,” he tells me through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” His even tone calms me slightly. “But why did you try to climb that tree when I told you not to? Couldn’t you have just waited for me to find the ladder?”

I untangle my arms from him, taking a step back to shoot a wistful glance at the lanterns swaying in the rain. At least I made a valiant effort to save Grandma Flo a few dollars. “I was desperate.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find others. Let’s get out of the rain.”

By the time we reach my car, we’re utterly soaked.

The seat squishes as Scott leans in, cranking the heat. “Glad I got to hang out with you today, even if you almost broke your neck.” The soothing sound of his voice in my ear does something to my body. Everything tenses and prickles, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just the chill of my wet clothes.

I lean my forehead against the steering wheel for a moment before turning the windshield wipers to full speed. “I’m an idiot. Thanks for rescuing me. I shouldn’t have done that.”

When I look up, he gives me a small shrug, as if to say,Shit happens.

“Still up for an extra-long movie tonight?” I ask, backing out of the laneway. The other day, he’d agreed to losing hisTitanicvirginity. Apparently, he’s never seen the movie in full. Like a typical boy, he’s only ever watched the scene where Jack paints topless Rose like One of His French Girls.

I expect him to say no, but surprisingly, he nods. “Yeah, I am.”

I white-knuckle the steering wheel, unable to contain my invading worries. “You sure? Because you’ve been weird with me all day.”

He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure, Crys. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else today.”

•••

MY APARTMENT BUILDINGis quiet, save for the squeak of the original hardwood underneath our wet steps, and the droplets of water ricocheting off the hallway floor outside my door.

My chest heaves as I wring my hair out, as well as my dress and jacket, both of which are now pressed to me like a second skin.

Scott doesn’t bother to wring his clothes out. He just watches me, forehead creased, as if he wants to say something.

When I lean against the door, he takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. I let out a shaky breath when he sets his palm on the door beside my head. His eyes drift from my face and downward.

“Do you want me to dry your clothes before we start the movie?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence.

His eyes reach mine again. “Yeah. Thanks.”

We head inside. Save for the beam of light from the stove illuminating the kitchen, the living room is empty and dark, which tells me Tara’s on night shift. Our clothes squish as he follows me down the hallway toward the closet, which contains my stacked washer and dryer.

With each step, my heart rate quickens at the mere thought of us stripping out of our wet clothes. It’s beating so loudly, I’m convinced Scott can hear it.

I halt and he crashes into my backside upon my abrupt stop. “I have nothing for you to wear in the meantime.” My words come out shaky, not just because I’m shivering, but from the mere proximity of him and the hardness of his chest practically flush against me.

Silence lingers before he speaks over my shoulder. “True. No worries. I’ll head home and change.” I expect him to back away, but he doesn’t.

I ache at the thought of him leaving right now. I don’t think I could physically let him, no matter how loud my logic screamsStop.

Thanks to a complete lack of self-control, I back into him. I expect him to back away and remind me we’re not allowed to touch. But he doesn’t. He readily accepts me, pulling me tight against his chest, as if he needs me there. Warmth fills me everywhere, to the point that I’m no longer shivering from the rain.

We stay like this in the hallway for a few breaths as he nuzzles his face into my neck. He presses a trail of small, prohibited kisses onto my shoulder before he spins me around so we’re face-to-face.

Our gazes connect, searching, before I dissolve into a puddle on the floor. He glides his fingertips up and down my spine. He leans his forehead against mine, just as he did in the fire truck.

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