My fists clench as I move toward him. I’m a volcano at the point of eruption. “You are so fucking frustrating, Jack! You have some fucking nerve, weaseling your way into my head. Holding me in the water like that, smiling like you know you got me hooked, writing poems for me, holding my hand, kissing me.” I don’t hold back. “I don’t know where your head is at. You tell me you regret kissing me but then, that poem in there, and …”

Jack stands straight and faces me, a single tear trickling down his cheek.

“I’m sorry I kissed you back that night and maybe scared you. I should’ve thought about what you were telling me. But fuck, Jack—” I walk closer to him, but not too close, because the kinetic energy firing between us is like a bomb ready to explode. “You are all I think about, and I probably would’ve done anything to be with you, and you just ghosted. You know what? Fuck y—”

He grabs my face and kisses me, shutting me up.

Which, okay.

Because those lips! His body presses against mine as his arms wrap around my back and pull me closer. I feel the heat radiating off his hard chest. His mouth moves with a hungry fervor, and I lose my breath trying to match it.

A group of passersby cheer for us, and I immediately stop, expecting Jack to pull away and run again.

But he doesn’t. At least, not yet.

The onlookers scream out for us again, and I flash a quick wave, still holding on to Jack’s strong back, which tenses. He looks away, his cheeks red. He’s breathing heavily, so I let him go. But he doesn’t want to be let go of. He pulls me around the side of the campus center so we’re shielded by bushes and trees, and our voices are muffled by the hum of a giant air vent. He’s breathing heavily, like I do when I’m on the verge of a panic attack.

“I don’t understand you,” I say, panting.

“I’m messed up.”

“A true writer.” I offer a nervous laugh. To lighten the mood. Or something.

His body is shaking.

“Are you going to run again?” I ask.

“I don’t want to,” he says softly into my ear, the heat from his breath sending chills down my back. He hugs me so tightly that I’m afraid of what I’ll do if he lets go. “I don’t want to disappoint you, but—” He looks back toward where the onlookers cheered for us. “I’m afraid.”

“Of me?”