When I tilt my face upward, he’s right there. So close. Sharing the last of the air in the tiny room. Both of our faces lit up like we’re at the last subway stop at midnight; both of us gripping each other like we don’t want to get off.

“Move,” he whispers.

I shake my head slowly.

His eyes are hooded and lazy as they survey my face. He leans closer, closer, and says against my lips, “Move … Josie.”

And when I open my mouth to tell him no, he kisses me.

Softly, once.

Again.

Then I kiss him back.

And that’s the tipping point, right there. He lets go of my fingers to cup my face, and we’re kissing each other like there truly is no air left in the tiny closet. As if we’re locked in some kind of escape room and fighting for our lives—our very survival depends on the maximum amount of pleasure we can derive from one deep, long kiss, and my God, are we going to endure.

A hurricane could hit. Tectonic plates could grind and shift below our feet. A legendary sea monster could rise from the harbor and wrap its tentacles around ships, trying to drown the people of this town, and we wouldn’t care.

We would endure.

I wrap my arms around him like I do when I’m on the back of his bike, only it’s a hundred times better holding him from the front, especially when he presses his weight against me and we both fall into the door together. I lose my balance and grab the darkroom curtain, but one of the curtain rings pops open where it’s attached to the rod above the door—then another. One, two, three … And the fabric starts to fall down on our heads.

“Oh shit,” he says, untangling us from the falling fabric, one hand on my lower back, pulling me away with him.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I can fix it. Not broken.”

He’s breathing heavily. So am I. And for a moment, I think he’s going to let go of me, and I’m about to shout that I really do not care about the stupid curtain, and then—

Then he’s pulling me closer. Good lord, he feels nice. I feel nice.

We both feel nice.

He’s nuzzling my neck, close to my ear, and I really, really want him to kiss me again. The tremble in my hand is gone. It’s been hijacked by a wave of warm tingles that spreads all the way up my arms and lights up each one of my cells from the inside out, and—

“Josie?”

Muffled voice. Stockroom. Evie.

We push away from each other in a panic, breathing like marathon runners. Seems we’ve failed the escape room and must now face the consequences.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.