We stood there, chest to chest, hands still locked, dripping onto the concrete.
For a minute, neither of us spoke.
She leaned her head against my shoulder.
Not seductive.
Not strategic.
Just tired.
Just human.
“I was scared you’d tell me to go,” she said.
“I almost did.”
She huffed a small, sad laugh. “That bad?”
“That dangerous,” I corrected.
Silence.
Her fingers tightened around mine.
“I’m not trying to trap you,” she said softly. “I just… I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
That, more than the kissing, made my chest ache.
I stepped out into the rain, arm still linked with hers, scanning the street.
A taxi came through the light.
I raised my hand.
It slowed.
Stopped.
I opened the back door for her.
She hesitated, looking up at me.
“You’re not coming?” she asked.
I surprised myself.
“I am.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
I slid in beside her, closing the door on the rain and the noise and the night.
The cab smelled like vinyl and wet coats.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
She gave her address.
