“What?” I stare at him, convinced I’ve misheard.
“Piggyback,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “Like when we were kids and you twisted your ankle at the water park.”
I remember that day—fourteen years old, sobbing more from embarrassment than pain as Dylan carried me through the crowded park. But we’re not kids anymore, and I’m not exactly light.
“I’ll crush you,” I protest.
“Please,” he scoffs. “I bench press more than you weigh. Come on, Chey. We’re running out of time.”
I hesitate only a second longer before kicking off my heels. I gather them in one hand and awkwardly climb onto his back, my dress hiking up embarrassingly high in the process. His hands grip under my thighs, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, my cheek pressed against his back.
“Ready?” he asks, and I can feel the rumble of his voice against my chest.
“Ready,” I confirm, tightening my grip.
He starts climbing, taking the stairs with surprising ease despite my added weight. His breathing remains steady, his pace determined. I close my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to absorb the feeling of being so close to him, of being carried, of being—for once in my life—completely taken care of.
“Almost there,” he says several minutes later, and I open my eyes to see we’ve reached the eighteenth floor. “I can hear the music.”
Sure enough, the bass from the rooftop speakers vibrates through the stairwell walls. As we reach the twentieth floor, voices become clearer—a crowd chanting numbers in unison.
“TEN!”
Dylan sets me down gently, both of us breathing hard now. “Your shoes,” he reminds me.
“NINE!”
I slip the heels back on, wincing as they bite into my already raw skin.
“EIGHT!”
He grabs my hand again, fingers intertwining with mine. “Ready?”
“SEVEN!”
I nod, heart pounding from more than just the climb.
“SIX!”
We push through the door onto the rooftop, the cold air a shock after the stuffy stairwell. The party is in full swing, everyone gathered at the railing, faces turned to the sky where the fireworks will soon appear.
“FIVE!”
We weave through the crowd, Dylan leading the way, never letting go of my hand.
“FOUR!”
I spot Genna and Paul near the same spot where I left them, her face lighting up when she sees us.
“THREE!”
“Where have you been?” she mouths, but there’s no time to explain.
“TWO!”
Dylan pulls me to face him, his eyes reflecting the lights of the city behind me. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and in his touch is a promise.
“ONE!”
