Page 133 of Can't Text This

“Stop making me laugh. I’m being serious.Thisis serious.”

“I know, Monty. I know it is. We can make this good though. It’s gonna be hard, in more than one area”—he throws me a wink—“but itwillbe worth it. Put the work in now, enjoy the results later.”

“Later as in end of the school year later? As in about ten months from now later?”

“Yeah, that later.”

“You planning a future with me, Robbie?”

In a flash he’s right in front of me, his hands cradling my face and pulling me toward him. His face is hard, eyes serious. He’s holding on tight, like he desperately needs me to listen to him.

“Damn fucking straight.”

He smashes his mouth to mine and a tremor rattles through me. I was not expecting the weight that slams down on me.

It’s heavy, but not in a bad way.

It’s good—reallygood.

“You’re not giving up before we even really get started, are you, Monty?” he asks, his forehead resting against mine, his breath coming in short gasps.

I swallow and shake my head. “No.”

“Good.”

He takes my mouth again, and somehow, it’s so much more than it was before.

That weight? It was nothing, not compared to this.

I’m falling for him.

Hard and fast, it’s happening, and I don’t want to stop it.

A whimper escapes when he begins to pull away, and he laughs breathlessly against me. “I can’t keep kissing you like this in public.”

“Yes you can,” I tell him.

“Do you want me to strip you naked in front of that family over there? That wouldn’t be very appropriate for a teacher to do.”

“That wouldn’t be very appropriate foranyoneto do.”

“Eh, we’ll agree to disagree on that one.” He gives me another chaste kiss before pulling away and grabbing my hand, lifting me from the wall too. “Dance with me.”

“I am not dancing with you in the middle of the street.”

“Sure ya are.”

He tugs me along, dragging me out into the center of the boardwalk. You’d think on a Sunday night this place would be dead, but the weather is perfect and there’s no way anyone could pass up being out tonight.

There’s a man busking on the street corner across the way. His croon carries over the crowd, and everyone within earshot is mesmerized.

We’re in the middle of the crowd when Robbie drops my hand.

“Stay. I’ll be right back.”

He crosses the street to the performer, whispers something in his ear, and drops a bill in his guitar case. The performer laughs as he shakes his head, then they bump fists.

My eyes follow Robbie’s strides as he makes his way back through the crowd, a secretive smile on his face the whole time. He curls his arm around my waist and drags me toward him when he reaches me.

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