“I won’t,” he says quietly.
Something in his voice makes me look at him. His expression holds the weight of his words, and it’s so intense I have to look away.
Mom softens a little. “Alright, then. Have fun.”
I hurry out the front door, and Ezra’s hand on my back guides me to his car. “That was intense. I thought she was going to keep that up much longer.”
I laugh. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He helps me into the passenger seat and grins at me with that blinding smile. “It’s nice to witness someone show they care about you.”
Then he shuts the door. The tightly wound nerves in my stomach unravel. As we weave in and out of traffic to Tucker’s house, I bounce my knee. I don’t know why I’m so high-strungover tonight, but I’m hyper aware of Ezra’s every movement next to me. He parks on the street, and we get out of the car. Ezra meets me on the sidewalk and drapes his jacket around my shoulders. When our eyes meet, my chest stirs. “You ready?”
“Of course.”
Tucker’s house is loud with music and laughter when we walk in. Tightly-packed bodies line the halls and living room, but the kitchen looks a little more spacious than the rest of the house.
“Hey,” Ezra says softly, leaning closer. “Stick with me.”
“I plan to.”
His hand brushes mine, then lingers. And just like that, we’re on. We move through the crowd together, exchanging hellos, and squeezing between people for at least an hour. It’s all a blur of the same small talk, so much so that it feels like we’re there for much longer.
At one point, someone from the team captures Ezra’s attention—a guy named Johnny, I think. He lifts a cup and says, “Watch this.” He tries to balance his cup of punch on his head while dancing to the music, but it falls and makes a mess all over the wood floor.
“Dude.” Ezra shakes his head. “Don’t be messing around when you have no balance.” He takes a step toward the kitchen but immediately slips on spilled punch. He goes down hard, and I stare at him for a second in shock. A few people around us shout, “Oh!” They stretch the word out.
“Are you okay?” I reach down to help him up, and he takes my hand.
“I’m fine.” But his cheeks are pink, and he’s shaking his head in embarrassment.
I can’t help it. I lose it before I even help him up. Like, tears-in-my-eyes, can’t-breathe laughing. I clutch my stomach, unable to breathe.
“Rue,” he groans from the floor. “You’re supposed to help me.”
“I can’t. I physically can’t,” I gasp.
He gets up, dripping and offended, and before I can recover, he grabs me.
“Okay,” he says. “You’re done.”
“Ezra—”
He lifts me. Actuallyliftsme, slinging me right over his shoulder.
“Put me down!” I laugh.
“No.”
He carries me out of the room while I’m still laughing, my hands gripping his shoulders, my face pressed into his hoodie as I try to catch my breath.
With his foot, he nudges open a random door and sets me down on an office chair.
The door shuts behind us, and the sounds of the booming music and laughter are muffled. My laughter fades into something softer. He kneels on the ground in front of me, shaking his head with a grin on his lips.
“You’re mean,” he says. With me in the chair and him kneeling in front of me, we’re close.
Reallyclose.
