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I watch him go and turn my eyes to Logan.
“He’s going to think we’re together,” I say.
“So?”
“Logan,” I begin, but he just tugs me closer to the swing.
“I could give two shits what they think. What other people think doesn’t matter. I live for me, not for anyone else.”
“But you could have anyone.”
“I know.”
I roll my eyes at that, at his easy confidence. What would that be like? To be so self-assured in all things?
We move behind a few other people and Logan refuses to let go of my hand, even when two other people come up to chat with him.
He’s so easy-going with others and remembers all their names. Everyone loves him. The selfish part of me hates it because his attention is pulled away from me, but I know this is just who he is. I’d initially thought he was an attention whore, but now I realize that he’s just a genuinely nice person that people want to be around.
I don’t blame people for flocking to him.
I want to flock to him.
I have currently flocked.
Oh my god, I’m a stage-five clinger.
I try to wrench my hand away from his and he lets me steal it away, but then he just wraps an arm around me. As we move closer to the swing, I’m now pressed up against his delicious, warm body and I can smell him. My mouth waters and my entire body lights up, so I try to sidestep and put some space between us.
“Not so fast,” he mutters, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’re staying right here, next to me.”
I huff a breath, giving in and just leaning against him. He fiddles gently with my earlobe while I stare at the ground, avoiding eye contact with curious onlookers, until it’s our turn on the swing.
Light rain has started falling from the sky and people begin to disperse, but Logan gestures for me to sit my ass down on the swing and so I do.
His strong hands press against my lower back as he’s pushing me on it, and I feel like a child all over again, playing in the park near my house. I used to spend countless hours just pumping my legs as the wind rushed through my hair.
I feel so fucking free.
After a few minutes, the rain suddenly starts coming down harder, soaking my hair and clothes as I swing. I close my eyes and revel in the feeling for a moment and then Logan is grabbing onto me, pulling me off the swing and into his strong chest.
“It’s going to get muddy. We should go,” he says, and I clutch tightly onto his strong back, watching the raindrops stream down his handsome face.
His breath stutters as his eyes find my mouth and I lick the rain off my lower lip.
“Fuck, Theo,” he whispers, and his thumb brushes a trail across my cheek. “We really have to go.”
I let out a shaky exhale but neither of us moves; we stand frozen in the middle of a storm, desperately trying not to kiss the other.
I’m the first one to cave, rocking forward and pressing my open mouth to his, swallowing his groan.
I feel his hands in my hair, pulling gently on the strands and I cling to his wet sweatshirt for dear life as he tilts his face and deepens the kiss. My knees are weak and my brain is practically mush, but I know, without a doubt, this is the most romantic moment I’ve ever experienced. What is it about kissing in the rain?
When we finally pull apart, breathless and soaking wet, Logan looks so damn happy that my heart almost bursts from my chest. I shyly smile back as he takes my hand once more.
“Let’s go,” he says, tugging me down the hill. We slide a bit on the muddy decline, and halfway down, my legs completely slip out from under me. I fall right on my ass, bringing Logan down with me.
He laughs so loudly and so joyfully, as mud smears across our clothes and we struggle to help each other back up, that I swear to God, my stupid heart just detonates. This sweet, gentle man is going to be the end of me.
