I open the fridge, and my stomach sinks. Right—spending three hours scrubbing grout apparently made me forget something important.
I scratch the back of my neck and turn back to her. “Don’t hate me…but all I have is tap water and I don’t have snacks. Half a bag of stale chips, maybe?”
“Crap, I forgot the popcorn.” She gasps dramatically, shooting up from the couch. “You can’t watch a movie without snacks!”
Before I can reply, her hand finds my arm, tugging me toward the door with a playful grin. “Come on. Convenience store. Down the street. I’m not letting you ruin rom-com night.”
And just like that, she’s pulling me out the door, laughter bubbling on her lips, and all I can think is—yeah, I’d clean the whole place again if it meant this.
I hook both hands through the thin plastic handles, two bags full of popcorn, chocolate, gummy worms, gummy bears, and chips. Ivy insists it’s “bare minimum movie survival gear,” her words, not mine.
We stop at the doors, rain pounding so hard it looks like the street’s dissolving.
“I don’t think it’s going to let up anytime soon,” I say, glancing from the radar on my phone to the downpour just outside the convenience store doors.
Ivy peers at my phone, a green blob glows across Dallas. She exhales. “Green’s fine. Red’s the scary one.”
Her voice is light, but I catch the flicker of relief in her eyes.
I tilt my head, watching her.
“It’s now or never,” Ivy says, and there’s something daring in her voice that makes me smile.
I reach for her hand. She doesn’t hesitate. Her fingers slide between mine like they’ve always belonged there.
“One, two…”
The second I say three, we burst out the door of the convince store and into the storm, running full speed down the sidewalk, hand in hand. The rain is ice cold, soaking through my shirt in seconds. It stings against my skin, drips into my collar, and weighs down my jeans. Water sloshes in my shoes as puddles splash beneath us.
But none of it matters.
I glance at Ivy and almost lose my footing. Her hair is plastered to her face, her eyes squinting through the rain,but her smile makes everything else disappear. She kicks at a puddle, laughing as she runs, and it hits me so hard I forget to breathe.
I’m completely gone for this girl.
My apartment is just ahead when I spot headlights rounding the corner too fast.
“Ivy, wait!”
I yank her arm, and she stumbles into my chest as a car barrels past, missing her by inches. The horn blares. Water sprays up from the tires. My arms lock around her without thinking, holding her tight.
She tilts her face up, breath caught, eyes wide like she’s standing at the edge of something she’s only dreamed of. Her chest rises and falls against mine, quick and unsteady, each inhale pulling me closer without a word.
Rain pours down around us in sheets, but I barely feel it. I’m too lost in her. The droplets running down her cheeks, the way her lashes cling together, the soft tremble of her bottom lip—I could memorize every detail and still crave more.
My hand lifts before I can stop it, brushing wet strands of hair from her face. My fingers linger at her cheek, stroking once, slow and careful.
And then I kiss her.
No second thoughts. No time to think. Just the undeniable pull that’s been building for weeks, demanding to break free.
I’d spent last night wide awake, picturing this moment—imagining it like a perfect scene in a movie. I thought I’d know how it would go, how she’d taste, how she’d melt into me.
But this?
This is better.
It’s messy and breathless, wild in a way no script could ever capture. Rain clings to her lips, cool at first—but then her mouth parts under mine, warm and soft, sending fire straight through me. Her hand fists in my soaked shirt, tugging me closer, like she’s been waiting for this just as long.
