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"Blondie," Wilder's voice cracks as the light turns green.
"Just think about it," I chew on my bottom lip. "I just need you to think about it."
"I will," he promises as the car starts moving again and my heart feels a little lighter.
Whatever happens, I know that I'll always remember this summer.
The summer with Wilder.
The Summer of Wild.
We push our way through the crowd, trying to get closer to the stage. Wilder's hand stays on my hip as he holds onto me. I try to hide the smile on my face but it's hard to when every part of him is touching me.
When we're close to the front, Wilder drapes his arms over my shoulders and kisses my hair. We don't usually touch like this in public, but if Wilder doesn't care people see us together, then neither do I.
After a few minutes of chanting, Smashing Trout finally makes their way onto the stage. Whoops and hollers fill the concrete theatre as I wiggle in Wilder's arms, excited I somehow roped him into spending an entire evening listening to the local celebrity band he's abhorred for years.
"I can feel you smirking," he whispers in my ear as the first song begins.
"I can't help it," I grin as I twist to look up at him. "You're at a Smashing Trout concert!"
"Kill me now," he playfully rolls his eyes.
The band plays through several songs as I sway back and forth in Wilder's arms, singing along. I know this isn't his scene, but I'm grateful he still came with me. Technically, it was on the bucket list, but I didn't actually think he'd follow through.
"You should know," I say loudly over the roar of music blasting through the speakers, "this is my first official concert that isn't a town event."
"You mean like the Fourth of July?" he winks.
"Yes!"
"It's mine, too," he says as his lips meet my ear.
The 45-minute set ends too quickly, so we all begin chanting "Encore!"
Smashing Trout gives in and plays one final song. A ballad they wrote a few years ago about the one who got away.
Words pour out of the lead singer's mouth, and I feel my eyes pricking with tears. I haven't lost Wilder yet, but I have this feeling that I'm going to. It's hard to explain. Hard to even fathom as the front of his body molds to my back. But there might come a day when he becomes the one who got away.
I stop swaying. Stop singing. I close my eyes and let my other four senses take over. The sweet sound of Wilder’s breathing in my ear. The enticing smell of fresh summer air. The salty taste of a teardrop as I lick my lips. The feel of his hand running along my bare stomach.
Every moment with Wilder is charged and momentous. I think that's what happens with summer romances. There's a thin line between savoring every second and feeling like it'll all be ripped apart from you tomorrow. That it'll slip away the same way the sun slips from the evening sky each day.
I wipe a tear from my cheek, and Wilder notices I'm crying.
"Blondie," he chuckles before kissing my shoulder. "It's just a song."
But it's not. It's not just a song. It's the beginning of the end. Or what feels like it, anyway.
Smashing Trout finishes and the lights go down. Cheers erupt as I take a sobering breath.
I've never been afraid of losing something before. Does that mean I've finally found something worth holding onto?
"Wilder!" I hear a scream.
My heart drops. Someone has spotted us. And since Wilder is wildly popular with the girls, I'm sure it's one of his former conquests.
He slides his hand in mine and pulls me toward the exit. But we hear his name again. This time louder and more high-pitched.
