Oscar pulled me to a corner store, and I thought for a second he was leading me inside, but then he stopped us outside the flowers, under the awning where the scent was thickest, and kissed my wet face. My forehead, my cheeks, my chin.

He glanced up at the flimsy awning. “Can’t have my girlfriend getting wet.”

“How gallant.” I could barely think, I was smiling so much. “There’s this expression, ‘Don’t like the weather in New York? Wait five minutes.’ Hardy-har-har.”

How was I still talking with his mouth tracing the curve of my neck?

He straightened, staring into my eyes. “Every city has that expression.”

“Not Phoenix.” I nodded, just as serious. “It’s sunny all the time.”

“We should go there,” Oscar said, edging us back into the rain. “We should go everywhere.”

I pulled him faster. “Let’s start with home.”

23.

my clothes were saturated, cool and clinging. I felt every inch of my own skin and I wanted it bare. I wanted to feel him peeling these stalker earth tones off me.

Oscar’s pockets were so sodden, it took both of us to tug his keys out. I had my own, but I liked the feeling that this was his place, not mine, that I was being invited in.

He danced me inside and the door swung shut, pushing a damper pedal on the rest of the world. His white button-down shirt was practically translucent. I started to unbutton it, neck to waist, airing one inch of beautiful brown skin at a time, and his breathing went funny. His head dipped low, watching me, then he ripped the shirt off like it was hurting him and reached for me.

I kissed him like this was the only chance we’d ever get—it might have been, with Dad coming back in a matter of hours—but he touched me, languid and slow, making me move even faster.

I started to tug my shirt up. Oscar hesitated—just a beat—then bunched the wet fabric in his own fingers and pulled it up over my head. I laughed, stumbling. This looked so much more graceful in the movies. But then his mouth was on my neck and his fingers were dipping gently below the line of my bra and I was all nerves, all want.

Before it could overwhelm me, I pulled him to the bed. He lowered himself over me, eyes hazy and eager. But as I arched my back, lifting my mouth to his, he blinked hard, waking himself up from a spell.

“Ruby . . .” He brushed my wet hair from my face. “We should slow down.”

“Why?” I ran my fingers along his smooth back, thrilling at the shiver he responded with. I didn’t want to slow down. I wanted to charge ahead, know what I was missing. I reached for the button of his pants.

He drew a sharp breath, then pulled my hand away.