Chapter 5: Rain-Soaked Confessions
The rain was a cold, needling mist as Emily pushed through the library’s heavy doors, the weight of her shift settled deep in her shoulders. She saw him immediately—a shadow leaning against his motorcycle, helmet under his arm, watching her.
Her stomach flipped.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said, tightening her grip on her bag strap. He just pushed off the bike, his boots quiet on the wet pavement. “Give you a ride.” “I’ll walk.” He was in front of her then, blocking her path, rainwater tracing the ink on his neck. “It’s pouring, Emily.” A shiver not from the cold went through her. “I said no.”
His hand shot out, not to hurt her, but to grip the brick wall by her head, caging her in. She caught the clean scent of soap beneath the leather and wet denim. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered. He leaned closer, droplets falling from his jaw onto her parted lips. “You left me aspirin.” His other hand came up, his thumb brushing where his rainwater had fallen. “You kept my bandage.” His voice was low, a rough thing torn from his chest. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” She felt the words in her bones, a choice laid bare in the dim, rain-smeared light. She didn’t speak. She didn’t breathe. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. His gaze dropped to her mouth, his control a visible, trembling thread. “Okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, and closed the last inch between them.
The kiss wasn't soft. It was rain and necessity and the sharp, metallic taste of want. His mouth moved against hers, a question he’d been holding since he woke up alone on her floor. For a heartbeat, she remained frozen, a statue against the wet brick.
Then her hands came up, not to push him away, but to fist in the damp leather of his jacket. She kissed him back.
It was like completing a circuit. Electricity, live and unchecked, arced between them. The rain intensified, plastering her hair to her cheeks, soaking through her sweater. He broke the kiss first, pulling back just enough to search her face. His breath fogged in the cold air between them. “Tell me I read that note wrong,” he rasped.
“You didn’t,” she whispered. Her voice sounded foreign to her, bold.
He rested his forehead against hers, a shudder running through him. “I’m so fucked up, Emily.”
“I know.” She said it simply, her thumb brushing over a raindrop tracking down his temple. “I left you the aspirin anyway.” A laugh escaped him, sharp and surprised. It changed his whole face, smoothing the hard lines of defensiveness just for a second. “You’re a terrible enabler.”
“And you climb walls when you’re drunk.” She felt him wince. “We should… not be doing this here.” He nodded slowly, but didn’t move away. His knuckle grazed her cheek. “I’m sorry. For before. For scaring you.”
“You did scare me.” She held his gaze, forcing herself not to look away from the shame she saw there. “But the person who kissed me just now? That wasn’t scary.”
He swallowed hard. The honesty was a weapon she wielded without knowing its power. He stepped back, the space between them suddenly cold. “I should get you home before you catch pneumonia.”
He held out a helmet. She stared at it, then at the rumbling motorcycle. “I’ve never…”
“I’ll go slow.” A faint, real smile touched his lips. “I promise.” She took the helmet, the inside still warm from his head. She climbed on behind him, feeling the engine vibrate through her entire body. Her arms went around his waist, tentative at first.
“You’ll have to hold on tighter than that,” he said over his shoulder. She pressed herself against the solid wall of his back, her cheek against the soaked leather. He smelled like rain and something deeply, essentially him.
He drove with a deliberate, almost careful speed through the slick streets. The world became a blur of neon and shadow, the roar of the engine a private cocoon. Her mind raced, replaying the feel of his mouth, the raw admission in his voice. She had crossed a line drawn in invisible ink, and there was no walking it back.
When they pulled up to her dorm, he killed the engine. The sudden quiet was loud. She got off, legs unsteady, and handed him the helmet. “Thank you,” she said. It felt absurdly formal.
He just looked at her, water dripping from his eyelashes. “Sunday. Dinner.” It wasn’t a question.
“Sunday,” she confirmed. She turned to go, the urge to run inside and dissect every second overwhelming. His voice stopped her at the door. “Emily?” She glanced back. He was still straddling the bike, a dark silhouette in the rain. “The bandage. In my pocket. It’s still there.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Then she slipped inside, leaving him in the downpour. Leaning against the closed door, she heard the growl of his engine fade into the night. Her lips still tingled. Her hands were shaking.
Upstairs, in the quiet of her room, she peeled off her soaked clothes. The note she’d written him felt like it had been written by a different person. She ran a finger over her own lips in the dark.
She had told him to be at dinner. She just hadn’t known what would happen between now and then. Now she did. A secret thrummed beneath her skin, warm and terrifying. He had kissed her. And she had kissed him back.
Sleep was impossible. The smell of his leather jacket seemed woven into her sweater. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain trace patterns on the window. He was trouble. He was a mess. He was also the only person who had ever looked at her and seen something worth bandaging.