I clamped my mouth shut before I could spill any other vulnerabilities on this casual hang between two friends. The sincere kindness on his face almost had me spilling more, like tipping over a barrel of apples.

“It sounds like you were protecting your heart,” he said.

His words hung between us, charging the air with a seductive weight. There was something daring and dangerous about not being on Tenth Street. We were uptown, with nary a soul around, late at night. A rumble of thunder had the hair standing up on my arms. We both turned toward the sound as a glimmer of lightning appeared in the distance.

“Should we…?” Dean said.

“Yes,” I said, with too much cheer. “Absolutely, let’s do it.” Center City’s skyscrapers glittered behind us, and in front of us were the seventy-two steps leading to the museum’s entrance. “Are you going to set the scene for us? Like, what’s my motivation?”

I bent down in an approximation of what I’d seen sprinters do on TV. With a raspy laugh, Dean copied me. His body rippled with a confident, intoxicating strength even when still. I was sure he wasn’t even aware of it.

“I’m a down-on-his-luck boxer with one shot to make it big,” he said, voice low. “An underdog just like the city I’m from. I’m hungry for a win.”

There was more thunder, closer this time.

“You better not mess up,” I teased. “You’ve only got this one shot.”

His lips tipped up. “Don’t make me nervous, or I will.”

“I’ll try not to distract you.”

Desire flooded his features. A delicious shiver fluttered in my belly. Dean dipped his head tantalizingly close. When he exhaled, his breath whispered across my cheek. “Your motivation is that you’re the boxer’s new, mysterious neighbor.”

I arched a single eyebrow. “Sounds scandalous.”

He nodded. “You’re a filmmaker. You see beauty in everything, even if it’s hidden or hard to see.”

My head spun. His mouth hovered closer.

“Every day, you’ve been trying to get this boxer to live a little.”

Kiss me, I wanted to say. Kiss me, and I’ll show you how to live more than a little.

His lips brushed mine. Almost.

“And it’s working,” he whispered.

My toes curled in my running shoes. I nudged my nose against his, more than ready.

“Go,” he whispered.

21. Dean

Twenty-One

Dean

Running was a lot more enjoyable with Tabitha.

“Cheater,” she sputtered, but she was laughing. Already out of breath. I deliberately slowed until we were shoulder to shoulder on the first landing.

She dropped her hands to her knees. “I’m not giving you the prize when we get to the top.”

I nodded up ahead. “My trainers always said the victory’s in the movement. Not getting a medal after.”

“Your trainers sound like psychopaths.”