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“No promises!”
He rushes off, and I run my hand through my hair. “Jesus Christ.”
“Get them out!” someone shouts over the DJ’s microphone.
They came in right after Dylan left.Was she in on this?
Phones are out, snapping pics and videoing, and I’m not in the mood for this.
Students escape into locker rooms, others falling in the rush as the strobe lights cut out, and the music only gets louder.
“Call the cops!” someone shouts.
“Like they’ll come,” another says.
I run to the exit, passing Coral. “Where did Dylan go?”
“She mentioned riding in the rain,” she shouts over the commotion.
Dammit.
I run out into the parking lot, thunder rumbling across the sky and wind whipping through my hair. “Dylan, where are you?” I whisper to myself.
Hopping in my car, I cruise the streets, keeping my eyes peeled. Leaves and trash blow across the roads, trees bending with the force, and the rain is going to start any moment. She shouldn’t ride in this. She shouldn’t ride with even a shot of alcohol in her. I shouldn’t have let her go.
I swing past Knock Hill, the lane deserted, everyone inside, and then I climb up to Phelan’s Throat. She knows better, but that doesn’t mean she’ll listen to her head.
I gas it uphill, making a slow right over the curve, exhaling when I don’t see any trace of her or her bike.
Heading down past the docks, I sweep the mill district, spotting something in the road. I hit the brakes, hearing my tires skid across the pavement.
I shift intoParkand open my car door. Putting one foot out, I stand up and gaze down at Dylan, laying in the middle of the street. In the intersection.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I would be concerned that she was hurt, but her bike is parked at the curb, and her arms are splayed straight out, her legs crossed at the ankles, and she has a peaceful look on her face as her hair flies across her cheeks.
I look around, not a soul in sight. No cars. “What are you doing?” I call out to her.
She doesn’t open her eyes, and I walk, stopping when I’m standing over her. My body hums, my eyes drawn to the sliver of bare waist below her jacket.
“Did you know the Pirates were going to crash the flood party?”
I don’t even really care. She’s so fucking stunning right now. Dangerous and silly and alive.
She blinks, looking up at me. “The Pirates are there?” she asks.
And I know she had no idea.
“What are you doing?” I press again.
A little smile pulls at her lips. “All the streets are empty,” she tells me. “I always wanted to try this.”
And despite the frustration I seem to always have these days—the worry, the aggravation, and the confusion—I want nothing more than for this moment to last all night. God, she’s amazing.
Reaching down, I lift her up to her feet, because she can’t stay in the street, no matter how much I want her to be happy.
She dusts off her clothes. “I don’t need protection, Hunter.”
