When his lips part, so do mine.
When his hand on my face tightens, my grip on his neck does the same.
And when he starts to close the inches between us, I lift my chin.
I can’t kiss him, but I will.
I want to.
Until a hacking cough plummets me back to reality.
“There you kids are,” Cap says, appearing from thin air. “Rain’s here.”
“It is.” Nash steps away from me and looks at the sky.
Around us, senior citizens scurry about with umbrellas and cries about the weather even though it’s barely started raining.
All the while, my heart pounds hard enough to crack ribs.I was going to kiss Nash.
“Haven’t danced in years,” Cap says, ignorant of my impending come apart.
I was going to kiss Nash.
I wanted to. I wanted it more than I want to find the gold I’m here for. I wanted it like it would solve every problem.
I don’t say a word.
Not as we drive.
Not when we drop Cap off at the marina.
Not as Nash parks in front of his house, and the rain pounds so hard on the truck’s metal roof that it’s hard to hear.
We sit there, so much electricity buzzing between us that the smallest spark of a match would cause an explosion. I want him so badly it makes me hate him.
Hate myself.
Hate the universe for putting me in this situation.
He’s white-knuckling the steering wheel, I’m white-knuckling the handle of the door.
I’m furious.
At me.
At him.
At Jonathan for not being here.
At my mother’s tumored brain.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
Rain pelts against the truck like a million hammers trying to crack it open.
“Bullshit.”
