Excerpts

Rain

His skin is pale. The dip of his collar bone almost collecting the beads of rain that run down his neck. Nestled just below is a small cluster of freckles. They litter his skin like inverted stars, forming twisted constellations. His broad shoulders are hunched, curled in like he can protect himself-- from what? I have no idea.

He stiffens, and with a flush, I realize he caught me staring-- ogling. I glance down at my hands, grip the lanyard holding my keys, try to shove them into my pocket, give a small huff at their resistance, and, of course, drop them on the ground.

Because why not?

I refuse to look up. My short fingernails graze against the wet pavement. I tug up my keys. They're wet-- dripping even. I can feel them start to soak through the inner lining of my rain jacket-- like I could get any wetter.

I'm not wearing a hood and my fate was sealed the moment I stepped out of my apartment. It didn't matter that I was dressed perfectly decently for the weather-- because this is me, and my foot had sunk into a puddle before I had even gotten into my old Blazer.

My eyes flicker to his. I grimace. He's still looking, face turned my way in curiosity, hands tucking into his North Face, lips twitching, shoulders open now, almost inviting. Almost.

Why today?

I don't have to look at my reflection in the shop windows to know my hair is something else. My mom used to describe it as free-spirited. Unmanageable, I told her-- irritating, impossible even when short. Now it curls around my ears, nuzzles my collar, and still manages to give me the appearance of a lion most mornings.

I know it doesn't do well in the rain-- I know, but somehow, I convinced myself to leave my hood down, to feel the attack of raindrops, and now I feel it sticking to my scalp, curling even worse.

My face is cool from the rain, vision framed by clumping eyelashes-- spidery webs glued together with water. A drop runs down the side of my nose.

He extends his legs, rolls his shoulders back, rises to his full height, and somehow, I'm even more self-conscious now than I was before.

I feel my ears getting red-- more red, and the heat creeping not-so-subtly down my neck.

I duck my chin. Glance up.

He's still looking.

I stuff my hands into my pockets, play with a ripped thread, try to avoid the feel of my soaking lanyard-- avoid the gaze of the man in front of me.

My boot catches on a break in the sidewalk and I stumble forward, mouth opening in shock, hands yanking themselves from the safety of my pockets, feet wildly trying to catch up to my body.

I land in a mess of limbs, of brightly coloured raingear-- of water, like a damsel in distress at his feet.

And fuck.

Because I thought this couldn't get any more embarrassing.

His jaw is slack, head pulled back in surprise, eyebrows slightly lifted, it's a mildly impressed look, hands half raised as if to catch me, or protect himself from my onslaught-- I'm not sure.

"You alright?" His voice is low, like he's speaking in a silent room, worried about making too much of a show.

I can feel my palms burning, my knees aching, hair falling into my eyes. I shrug, try to smile. It feels more like a grimace.

"Fine," I say, pulling myself up, dusting off the dark wet patches of my jeans, wringing the water off my hands, "Thanks."-- What am I thanking him for?

With a horrifying feeling I realize I'm staring again-- studying his jawline, his dark eyebrows, his earring. I give a weird sort of shudder-- a cringe, and pull myself a couple steps back.

"Sorry."

My hands try to awkwardly hide themselves in my pockets again, my whole face bright red, hair still flying everywhere. I shuffle my feet for a few seconds-- unsure, then whirl around, shoulders tense.

I realize too late that I'm not even going in the right direction, but I can feel his gaze on my back.

I glance over my shoulder. He's leaning against the wall, just out of the rain, arms crossed in a facade of nonchalance, lips pulled up at the corners like he's sharing a private joke.

Fuck.