CHAPTER FOUR
CONNOR
Iswipe my thumb across the screen, smearing the rain instead of clearing it, and read Marcus’s message again even though I already know every word.
Maybe I’m hoping I missed something the first four times.
An apology. An explanation. Anything that makes being stranded out here in the pouring rain make sense.
Marcus
Sorry got caught up. theo said he can grab you
I stare at the name.
Theo.
Right. Because apparently being abandoned in the rain wasn’t already bad enough.
I stare at Marcus’s message until another drop of rain hits the screen and sends water streaking through his name. The urge to throw the phone straight into the road is almost enough to win out, but I shove it into my pocket instead.
A new phone would cost several hundred pounds.
Marcus isn’t worth several hundred pounds.
The rain comes down harder, soaking straight through my t-shirt until the fabric clings cold against my skin. Water slips beneath the collar and runs down my spine, and whatever patience I had left goes with it.
“Asshole,” I curse, jerking my backpack higher on my shoulder.
I’m going to kill him.
Not actually, obviously, but there’s a very real possibility I’m going to smack him around the back of the head the next time I see him.
He knew I needed picking up. We agreed he would pick me up.
There was a time, a place and an entire conversation dedicated to making sure this exact situation didn’t happen, yet somehow I’m still walking home in the pouring rain because apparently plans mean nothing to my brother.
I duck my head and start down the road, trainers already soaked through enough that every step makes an unpleasant squelch against the pavement.
My shirt clings cold against my back, wet hair falling into my eyes faster than I can shove it away.
I hitch my bag higher, trying to ease the strap cutting into my shoulder, but that only shifts the ache further down my back.
An engine roars somewhere behind me, growing louder fast enough that I turn just as a motorbike cuts through the water beside me and swings into the curb.
Rainwater sprays up around my ankles, splashing halfway up my jeans, and I jerk back with a hand raised against the worst of it.
As though I could possibly get any wetter.
I shove my soaked hair out of my eyes and turn to find Theo sitting astride the bike beside me, one boot planted against the wet pavement while the engine rumbles beneath him.
I recognise the bike. Hard not to when I’ve seen it parked outside campus often enough, sleek and black and obnoxiously nice, usually with Theo leaning against it looking far too pleased with himself.
He somehow manages to look even more irritating sitting on it.
Theo pulls his helmet off one-handed, shaking damp hair away from his forehead. Rain has caught in his lashes and is running down the side of his face, disappearing beneath the collar of his black t-shirt, and I realise I’m staring only when his mouth starts to curve.
“Hop on, princess,” he calls over the growl of the engine.
Any gratitude I might have scraped together dies on the spot.
“Do you even know my name?” I call back, and the moment Theo’s mouth curves, I wish I’d kept mine shut.
I walked straight into that one.
His helmet hangs loosely from his fingers while he leans forward against the handlebars, apparently in no hurry despite the rain pouring down around us.
“I do,” he says easily.
“Bullshit.”
He laughs, ducking his head before looking back up at me through rain-darkened lashes. “I know your name, princess.”
“Use it then.” I fold my arms over my chest, only to uncross them again when the movement presses my freezing shirt tighter against my skin.
Theo hums, considering me with an amount of concentration this really doesn’t deserve. His head tilts slightly, rain tracking down the side of his throat.
“If I prove I know your name,” he says slowly, “will you get on?”
I stare at him through the rain.
“Not a chance.”
“Then princess it is.” He shrugs.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re freezing.”
My mouth opens, ready with another argument, but a shiver chooses that exact moment to run through me.
Theo’s eyebrow lifts, some of the amusement slipping from his face. His eyes run over my soaked clothes, and there’s nothing teasing in them when they come back to mine.
I look down the road.
It’s easier than figuring out what to do with that.
Through the rain, it seems even longer than it did five minutes ago, nothing but wet pavement and grey sky stretching ahead of me. Water has made its way into my socks now, my fingers starting to go numb, and refusing a lift purely because Theo is the one offering it would be ridiculous.
Even if walking seems significantly less complicated.
I let my shoulders drop and turn back towards him.
Theo thrusts a spare helmet at me, the smirk returning so quickly I regret giving in on principle.
I snatch it from him and pull it on, trying to fasten the strap beneath my chin. My fingers are too wet, sliding uselessly over the clip every time I try to push it together, and after the third attempt my patience starts wearing dangerously thin.
Warm fingers close over mine, startling against how cold my hands have gotten.
My head snaps up.
Theo’s leaned towards me, close enough that I have to tip my chin back, his fingers already taking the helmet strap from mine.
I pull my hands away. “I’m fine.”
He ignores me, attention fixed beneath my chin while he takes over.
The clip snaps into place on Theo’s first try, because apparently the thing only had a problem when I was touching it. His knuckles graze beneath my jaw when he adjusts the strap, skimming the edge of my throat, and my pulse kicks hard against his fingers.
There’s no chance he missed that.
“I’m fine,” I say again, but my voice comes out rough, catching slightly when his fingers brush beneath my jaw before falling away.
Theo’s eyes stay on mine with that same unnerving intensity from his bedroom, and the longer he looks at me, the hotter my face gets despite the rain still running cold beneath my shirt. I finally break away, fixing my attention on the bike instead.
He rolls his eyes, tipping his head towards it.
Right.
I step closer, more than happy to have something else to think about, until I actually look at the thing and realise I have absolutely no idea how I’m supposed to get on it.
There has to be a correct way to do it. I’ve seen people get on motorbikes before, but apparently I’ve never paid enough attention to remember which foot goes where or how I’m supposed to swing my leg over without either kicking Theo in the head or dropping the bike on both of us.
“Fucking hell,” Theo murmurs.
Before I can ask what his problem is, his fingers close around my wrist and he pulls my hand forward, planting it firmly against his shoulder.
I pull back, but Theo’s grip tightens around my wrist, keeping my hand exactly where he put it.
“Stop overthinking everything,” he says firmly.
My mouth opens, ready to argue, but every response I come up with dies before it reaches my tongue because, infuriatingly, he has a point.
I curl my fingers into his shoulder instead, pressing my palm more firmly against the solid muscle beneath his wet shirt. It gives me enough leverage to climb on without ending up face-first on the pavement, which is far more important than how warm he feels beneath my hand.
Theo gives a quiet hum, the kind you’d use to praise someone for finally following a very simple instruction.
Patronising bastard.
Except the low sound sends a shiver over my skin that has absolutely nothing to do with the cold, raising the fine hairs along my arms and making my fingers press deeper into his shoulder.
I use his shoulder to steady myself and swing my leg over, managing to get onto the bike with slightly more dignity than I expected.
It’s only when I settle behind him that I realise exactly how little room there is, my chest pressing straight into the warmth of his back through two layers of rain-soaked clothing.
I shift backwards, gaining maybe an inch before the edge of the seat stops me.
Not that it matters. There’s hardly a way to sit on the back of a motorbike without touching the person in front of you, and the fact that the person in front of me happens to be Theo shouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference.
Theo reaches behind him and taps my arm before kicking the engine properly to life. The vibration rolls up through the bike beneath me, pulling every muscle in my body taut while I stare at the broad expanse of his back and realise what the tap was supposed to mean.
Holding on would probably be sensible, considering I’d rather not end up thrown onto the road the first time he takes a corner, but knowing that doesn’t make me any quicker to actually do it.
I hesitate long enough to annoy myself before sliding my arms around his stomach, keeping my grip loose and leaving what little space I can between us. There’s holding on, and then there’s clinging to him, and I have absolutely no intention of doing the latter.
“You’re gonna want to hold tighter than that,” Theo chuckles, flicking his visor down and revving the engine.
“I’m good,” I grit out.
My heart is beating hard enough that I can feel it against my ribs, but that has significantly more to do with sitting on a machine capable of launching me down the road at an obscene speed than it does with Theo.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs.
The bike shoots forward, my stomach dropping, my useless grip slips and my body pitches backwards with nothing to stop me going straight off the fucking thing.
Theo’s arm comes down over mine, pinning it firmly against his stomach and hauling me back into him before I can disappear onto the road behind us.
I scramble forward, abandoning any pretence of keeping my distance, and his chuckle vibrates beneath my chest the moment I’m safely pressed against his back again.
Heat floods my face.
The bike moves beneath us, forcing me to follow every shift of Theo’s body, and it takes embarrassingly little time for the warmth of him to start seeping through my soaked clothes.
After twenty minutes of rain and cold fabric stuck to my skin, I should probably hate being pressed this firmly against another person, but instead I find myself settling closer, stealing whatever heat I can get from him.
Theo hums again, quieter this time, the sound vibrating through his back and straight into my chest.
His hand drops onto my knee, my breath catching when his palm settles over it, thumb brushing across the fabric, once and then again.
I stare down at his hand, my stomach pulling strangely with every slow pass. It’s just his hand on my knee, so insignificant that it shouldn’t have every nerve in my body fixed on the place he’s touching me.
I swallow and drag my eyes back to the road, wrapping my arms more firmly around his middle when the bike shifts beneath us, but it makes absolutely no difference.
His thumb is still moving, and I can still feel every pass.