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Warren attempts to get inside, but his action is cut short. Good Lord, this must be the smallest cab in the world.
“Would you move over a bit?” He looks over at me, one leg in the cab while the other hovers outside the doorway.
I assess the room beside me.
There is none.
“I can’t,” I protest.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, pulling his other leg in and managing to squeeze inside before slamming the door shut.
Now, without anywhere else to go, his leg and the entire left side of his body are pressed up against mine. It’s no secret that I’ve noticed how big he is compared to me—trust me,I’ve noticed—but being in this small space beside him makes it undeniable.
The weight of his body against mine is no match to the weight I feel in my chest—at the suffocating desire to have him pulled in even tighter.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, readjusting himself to give me more space despite how badly I want to tell him not to. “Fancy us choosing the smallest cab in all of England.”
I open my mouth to respond, but it’s too dry to make a sound. Instead, I flash him what I know is a pathetic attempt at a smile. It’s all I can do. He’s inches from my face, the water from the rain dripping down his hair as he pushes a loose strand back. It’s as if I can feel his breath on me.
It’s driving me insane.
“Shouldn’t be a long ride,” he speaks up again, yet his eyes are diverted onto his hand resting on his thigh. I follow his gaze, noticing how my bare skin is inches from his touch, causing my breath to catch in my throat.
I want him to touch me.
There’s this menacing tingling sensation rushing through my thigh as a result of his pinky finger barely grazing my skin.
I’m positive my imagination is making this microscopic movement a much bigger deal than it really is, but when I watch as his eyes hone in on my intent gaze, and his finger hardly brushes my skin for a split second before pulling away, I’m reminded that no sense of fiction can surmount this reality.
I have to rip my eyes away, but I don’t make much progress as I stare up at him instead. His eyes. His jawline. His neck. He’s never felt so…real.
“We’re here.” The two of us seemingly release a breath at the sound of the cab driver shouting out that we’d arrived.
“Right, let’s go,” Warren says, his voice quieter than it’s been all day. He pulls away from me as soon as he opens his door, and I feel an aching urge to pull him back in.
Now, the rain has stopped, and the sun is fighting to break free from the clouds, in the same way I’m fighting to break free from the all-consuming desire that Warren makes me feel.
NINETEEN
W A R R E N
Life speaksto me in subliminal messages—and right now, that message is “when it rains, it pours.”
Although the weather has been on and off all day, the downpour of emotion between Delaney and me has flooded my mind.
I’m convinced that sitting in that cab next to her—feeling not only the warmth of her skin but watching as the droplets of rain glistened off her face and ran down the side of her neck into forbidden territory was “the nail that sealed the coffin shut.”
The coffin being me.
Another fucking subliminal message.
Christ.
“What time is the final train?” Delaney laughs her way out of the pub as she waved goodbye to the bartender. Everywhere she goes, she seems to leave a lasting impression.
I’m in awe.
I have to peel my eyes away from her to glance down at my watch—time has escaped the two of us today. We’d spent hours in the city, with me showing her around my favorite spots and her dragging me along to every little store that caught her eye along the way. I’m surprised by just how much I enjoyed it.
