Once I get outside to my bike, I chance a quick look at the bushes, but there’s still no sign ofhim, which really disappoints me.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text, and when I pull it out and read the screen, I’m excited to see that it’s from Dante. I haven’t spoken to him since the funeral; I’ve been giving him the space he needs to deal with burying his child. But now that he’s reaching out to me, I feel like I can finally breathe again.
I run a hand through my hair tiredly and read Dante’s text.
DANTE:
Do you have a minute to talk?
My teeth worry my bottom lip to the point of pain before I text him back.
ME:
Of course.
The gray text bubble keeps popping up and going away, and with each passing moment, the butterflies in my stomach intensify.
What does he want to say? Did my absence really upset him that much?
After a few minutes, a text comes through.
DANTE:
I think we should talk in person. Can I give you a ride home?
ME:
That would be great. I’m exhausted.
Almost immediately after I send the text, Dante’s truck comes barreling into the parking lot of my job and screeches to a halt in front of me. The driver’s side door swings open, and Dante hops out and comes to grab my bike for me.
I look at him with raised eyebrows and chuckle. “That was fast.”
He smirks—which accentuates that delicious dimple in his chin—and hauls my bike into the bed of his truck effortlessly. His rich brown hair hangs just past his ears, and his dark five o’clock shadow makes me feel tingly at the thought of what it would feel like between my legs.
I silently scold myself for having such crass thoughts about him.
“I was in the area,” he says with a shrug.
Something about his tone lets me know he wasn’t just “in the area,” but I don’t say anything as he opens the passenger side door and helps me up. My breath hitches as his strong fingers grip my waist and hoist me up like I weigh nothing.
He’s a firefighter, so he has to stay in shape for work, but I can’t help the downright filthy fantasies I have of him.
Especiallywhen he’s in his turnout gear.
My cheeks flame at the thought of him crashing through my window to get me out of a fiery house, lifting me into his arms, and reassuring me that everything will be alright.
“You’re safe now,”he’d said.“I’m going to get you out of here.”
The slamming from his door closing breaks me out of my thoughts. Even though I could have died the night of the fire, I still think of Dante in a less-than-appropriate way.
Shifting into drive, he peels out of the school’s parking lot. I look at that spot by the bushes one last time to make sure I don’t miss the masked man, but he’s still not there, much to my disappointment.
Dante and I drive in silence for a few minutes before he says, “I’m sorry about the other day, Essence. I shouldn’t have put that kind of pressure on you.”
I shake my head and look at him. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been through so much. I just wanted to give you some space.”
He lets out a breath and grips the steering wheel tighter with one hand, the other resting on his lap as his fingers start tapping against his leg restlessly. “I don’t want space, Essence. I wantyou. I only ever want you, and the fact that you’re still with Evan?—”
