“Did Jessie give you a talk when I was gone earlier?” James’s voice is low, gravelly.
Nelle grins. “A little one.”
“She’s protective of me,” he says. “But I can tell she likes you.”
“I like her, too.” She traces a finger along his scruffy jaw. “She has a nice book collection.”
James touches her hand, stilling it on his cheek. “I never thought I’d be standing on a rooftop in New York during a thunderstorm. And I definitely never thought you’d be here with me.”
Nelle has never wanted to kiss him more than she does now, in the darkness, rain-smeared neon blinking in the distance. His blue eyes burn into her like ice, his hair slicked back, his shirt soaked and pasted to his chest, his stomach.
“Here I am,” she says.
“Here you are.” His voice barely more than a rasp.
Her eyelids flutter shut, and she rises on her toes, holding on to James like he’s a life raft. She has never kissed anyone, but she has read about it. Dreamed about it. Her pillow, her hand, and the shower wall have all substituted as men in her fantasies.
Crack!
White light blasts behind Nelle’s eyelids. She opens her eyes, to see only rain and the ghost of a flash dancing past her vision. Too late. She missed it.
“Was that lightning?” James walks over and examines a black scorch mark that stains the concrete. “Holy shit, we almost got struck by lightning.”
Nelle’s heart hammers in her chest, whether from the near-death experience or the almost-kiss, she’s not sure.
“I know this is stupid,” she says, “but do you think that was a sign?”
“A sign saying what?” James asks.
“That we should wait ... no, never mind, it’s stupid.” She shakes her head. For years, her first kiss was nothing but a wish. What better moment to make it reality than a stormy rooftop in New York?
“We should wait to ... kiss?”
“Forget I said anything, James.” She doesn’t want towait.
“No, no, I think you’re right.” He holds her hands. “You were right about me waiting for the right moment to throw my phone away, and you’re right about this.”
“But how will we know when the right moment forthisis?” Nelle runs her thumbs over his wrists.
“We’ll know.” He brings their hands up and kisses hers. “Trust me.”
Nelle doesn’t want to wait, but she does trust him. With her life.
“Fine.” She taps his nose, the bow of his lips, saying goodbye to her hope of tasting him tonight.
Chapter 14
The toaster spits up two brown slices of bread, which Jessie butters with a knife she inherited from her mom’s first silverware set. A record crackles by the window, mostly guitar, drums, and a woman’s soprano howl. Beside the spinning vinyl, a white moth orchid shivers in the northern sunlight. James’s feet catch on the rung of Nelle’s barstool. She follows the path from his ankles to his mouth until her feelings from last night come rushing back.
Last night.
Dripping on the stairs, Nelle and James stumbled down from the roof and into the unoccupied guest room, a glorified walk-in closet with a bed and a window, where they clumsily swapped their wet clothes for sweats. Once they were dry, they crawled under the comforter, side by side, tension stretching between their sleepless bodies. Nelle had never been so aware of him before. Neither said a word until, eventually, James started snoring.
“Appetizers.” Jessie slides two plates across the tiny wood-top island. “There’s a quiche in the oven.” She sliced up strawberries alongside their toast. Almost the same shade as the fruit, her hair is pulled up in a small, spiky bun, exposing brown roots.
James gives a weak smile to show his thanks.
Nelle sighs. She has no patience for this.Heis the one who rejected the kiss, so why is he pissed off? Is this weird tension now a permanentfixture of their friendship? Maybe last night was too much for him. What if it was too much forher?
