“I can’t wait to show Amelia. She’s going to be so jealous.” A huge yawn tumbles out of her. She switched to water at the start of the show, so I think she’s mostly sobered up at this point. Exhaustion is setting in now.
“Where should we go next?” she says, eyes closed, head resting against the outside of my biceps like this is completely normal for us. And oddly, it does feel normal—just as every second of the day has so far.
“Next? I’d say sleep.”
Her groggy eyes pop open. “We can’t call it a night yet! I haven’t even been arrested.”
“We have to leave something for next time,” I say, checking my phone to verify the car pulling up is our rideshare.
“Can we at least tell everyone I got arrested?”
“Sure.” I gather her wrists behind her back and she grins up at me. After opening her door, I place my hand that’s not holding her “cuffed” wrists on the top of her head and guide her through, down into the seat. She scoots over, making room for me. The driver—with aStar Trekemblem hanging from his rearview mirror—looks concerned that he’s just picked up two people who are into kinky stuff. I give him the code and we’re on our way now to the apartment where Madison used to live.
Fatigue is heavy after our nonstop night, and Madison has gone into full zombie mode, her dazed eyes staring out the window, head tilted back against the seat, absolutely silent. A rarity for her. All I want to do is sleep for a million hours. When we’re about five minutes from the destination, a slow rain trickles down onto the car, followed by a full-on shower.
Suddenly, Madison rockets forward. “Hey, sir, can you stop and let us out here?” she asks the driver.
Again, he looks concerned. “Here? It’s raining. You’re still a few blocks from your stop.”
“Yeah, I know. Stop here!”
He does, with a “whatever, lady” shake of his head.
She leans around me and opens the door, exposing us to a wall of rain.
“Madison. What are you doing?” I ask as she attempts to shove me by the shoulder out of the car. “That’s the wet world out there. The wet world is a bad place.”
She laughs. “Come on! One last adventure together in New York. Let’s run in the rain.”
That word—together—sticks. Lodges somewhere beneath my ribs.
I loll my head in her direction, and she combats my protest with big anime eyes. “Fiiiine.” I unbuckle and jump out into the rain first. I extend my hand and she takes it, joining me out here in the ocean.
For three heartbeats she looks up at me, water dripping over her smile, and I feel the kind of happy that scares a person. The kind I’ve been terrified to experience, because then I’ll know the lack of it. But then the driver peels away like we’re psychopaths he’s afraid are going to try to stuff him in the trunk and steal his car, and the moment is shattered.
We laugh, and then it’s like the sky opens and the real downpour begins, so heavy it’s hard to see a foot in front of us.
“Oh my god!” Madison yells, laughter spilling out with the rain. “This was a bad idea! Seemed cuter in my head—Wait, is it hailing?!”
I grab her hand. “Let’s run!”
So we do. Feet sloshing through quickly flooding sidewalks. Free hands hovering above our heads to protect us from the small, but definitely present, hail.
Finally, drenched and exhausted, we make it to the brownstone apartment building. Madison shoves a key into the old, ricketylock while telling me how glad she is she forgot to give her key back to her landlord. As soon as the lock clicks up we burst inside, letting the door fall shut behind us.
The sound of the rain fades, and after one final sigh we look at each other—half-drowned and deliriously happy. Water drips off our clothes, splatting on the old hardwood floor, and I’m not sure where to go from here. And I don’t just mean in this apartment.
“You know . . . I don’t normally do this for guys who aren’t wearing boots, but . . . do you want to come up to my place?” she says in a dramatically sultry voice that is one hundred percent playful but also, unfortunately, one hundred percent turning me on.
I gesture toward the stairs with my hand. “After you, Chef.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Madison
It’s weird bringing James into the apartment even though I don’t live here anymore. I’ve never brought a guy back here. Never once. Mostly because I knew I’d have to apologize for a thousand things Bryce does, and that seemed too exhausting. Plus, for hookups, I like to be able to leave whenever I want.
Anyway, this is not the kind of place you bring someone back to. The overflowing piles of laundry we have to step over by the door serve as proof. Mind you, the washer/dryer is nowhere near here. It’s actually in the bathroom closet. I guess I can thank Bryce for curing me of my messiness though.
