Page 128 of The Otherworld

I tell Orca that story as we’re standing in the ticket line, and she laughs, twirling her braid around her fingers. I pull her close, letting my hand slide down her back and rest on her hip. She doesn’t shy away from my touch.

Progress.

“This is so otherworldly,” she whispers excitedly as I lead her down the darkened hallway into the theater. “Don’t let go of me; I might lose you.”

I don’t let go of her the whole time. That’s the best part. I barely even watch the movie because I’m fully absorbed by Orca. The light from the screen flashes over her face, reflecting in her wide eyes, reminding me of how beautiful she looked at the fireworks. Eventually, I loop my arm around her back, and she rests her head on my shoulder. Her hair smells so good. My hand finds the curve of her waist again, the perfect place to hold her. I hate this armrest between us.

When the end credits roll up on the screen, I take Orca’s hand, and we dash out of the theater together.

“That was so amazing!”

“Right? I knew you’d like it.”

The streets are dark now, sidewalks lit up gold by long rows of shop windows. The temperature has dropped about twenty degrees, which makes Orca shiver and rub her arms.

“It’s freezing.”

I put my arm around her and keep her warm on the walk back to the parking lot. When we finally reach my Mustang, I dive into the backseat and pull out my bomber jacket.

“Here, put this on.”

Orca thanks me and slips the jacket on. God, she looks so sexy in it. She nuzzles her face into the collar and says, “It smells like you.”

“Hopefully that’s a good thing.”

She laughs. “A very good thing.”

* * *

We drive back home baptized in the black night, headlights on wet pavement. Orca has discovered a cassette of Bryan Adams in my glove box (a mixtape I stole from Adam forever ago), but it sounds different to me now. When “Heaven” starts playing from the stereo, I realize it is everything I feel for Orca wrapped up in a song.

The house is dark when I pull into the driveway and park. Is it that late? I glance at the clock.

11:53

Guess so.

I turn the music down soft and turn to face Orca. “Well? Was it the most stereotypical date ever?”

She bites on a smirk. “I don’t know. Was it?”

“It was. But not completely. It’s not a real stereotypical date until I kiss you in a parked vehicle in my driveway.”

Orca exhales a nervous little laugh, easing away from me. “In that case, I think we’d better go inside.”

I heave a dramatic sigh and shut off the engine. “You’re good at playing hard to get, Orca Monroe.”

I don’t take it personally. I know she’s just sheltered and shy. But it’s all right. Good things are worth waiting for—at least, that’s what Mom always says.

We sneak into the house, trying to be as silent as possible. Orca stops outside the guest room door and slides off my bomber jacket, handing it back to me. “Thanks for letting me borrow this.”

“You can keep it if you want. Looks better on you, anyway.”

She giggles and shakes her head. “Goodnight, Superman.”

“Goodnight,” I murmur, watching her vanish into the dark and shut the door.

I sigh, plowing my hands through my hair and cursing under my breath. Part of me wishes Orca were a little more like other girls—if she were, we’d be back in the driveway right now, making out in my Mustang. She would be curled up in my lap, and I’d be kissing my way down her neck, feeling around for the zipper on her jumpsuit.

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