“Would I?” Nic turned back to me, hovering across the threshold.
“We should go,” I murmured, forcing myself to focus on all the questionable things about this boy, and not the way he was making me lose my breath just by looking at me.
If Nic was disappointed, he didn’t show it. Instead, he unzipped his hoodie.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to me. “We’ll have to run to the car.” He kept his arm outstretched, leaving him in just a black T-shirt and dark jeans. His jaw tightened, and I felt as if he were daring me to refuse the gesture. “Please.”
“Well, if you insist.”
I took the sweatshirt and shrugged it on. It was at least four sizes too big. When I zipped it up and shook out the sleeves so that they fell over my hands, the severity in Nic’s expression faded. I fought the urge to twirl around so that the hoodie would fan out like a cape. Don’t be weird.
Nic was smirking at me.
“What?” I placed my hands — which were no longer visible — on my waist. “Have you never seen a drowned rat wearing an oversized hoodie before?”
“None like you,” he laughed.
“Well, you need to get out more.”
“Clearly.”
I shut off the lights, punched in the alarm code, and locked up behind us, following him out into the torrential downpour.
No wonder I hadn’t seen Nic’s SUV earlier — it was parked all the way across the lot, where even the streetlights didn’t shine. We sprinted toward it, wobbling under the force of wind that threw buckets of rain across our faces. When we reached the car, I tumbled in, pulling against the storm to shut the door. I fell back against the cool leather seat, wrapping my arms around me while Nic started the engine. Without the added warmth of his hoodie, his teeth were chattering.
I spent the car ride directing him to my house and running my fingers through my hair so it wouldn’t frizz out too much in the humidity. I was just melting into the easy conversation between us, and the welcome feeling of dryness, when he pulled up outside my house.
“Thanks for the ride.” I tried not to sound too crestfallen that our time together had ended. I pushed the door open and it flung outward under the force of the wind.
“Sophie.” Nic leaned over and gripped my leg, holding the lower half of my body in the warmth of the car. “Wait.”
My heart flipped, and I worried he could hear how loudly it was suddenly beating. I tried not to breathe too quickly, or to stare at his hand on my knee. I looked at him and found him studying my arms, my waist, my — his hoodie.
“Oh.” I shook my hair out, scolding myself. “Your hoodie.”
I began to unzip it.
“No, it’s not that,” he replied quickly, keeping his hand on my knee. “You can give it back to me some other time.”
I dropped my hands into my lap and waited, my breath bound up in the base of my throat. I could see he was steeling himself for something else. My brain began to flash with a thousand possibilities and suddenly my heart was ricocheting off my rib cage like it was trying to punch through it.
He inhaled sharply, his expression suddenly uncertain. “The switchblade,” he said quietly. “Can I have it back?”
My face fell, and something inside me — it felt a lot like hope — shriveled up and died. I reached into my bag and pulled out the knife, dropping it into his outstretched hand in one hurried movement. “Of course. I forgot.”
His fist closed around it and a flicker of relief passed over his features, relaxing them. “Thank you.”
“I guess it’s for the best. You know, me walking around with a knife isn’t exactly a good idea. I’d probably fall on it or something.” The words tumbled out in unbidden, high-pitched sentences, trying to distract from the awkwardness I was feeling. “I’d probably end up killing myself or something, and I can definitely think of less embarrassing ways to die.” Could you be any more inappropriate? I winced right after I said it and then hopped out of the car before I could put my other foot in my mouth. “Thanks again for everything.”
“Sophie?” Nic leaned across the passenger seat, his expression serious. “Will you do something for me?”
“What?”
“Don’t be thinking of ways to die.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
He pulled back with a small, controlled smile, and I shut the door.
I stood in the rain, watching the car until it disappeared around the end of the street. Then I thought about the boy with the bruised hand and the inscribed switchblade who had just broken into my father’s diner, and found myself wondering why the hell I was feeling so sad to see him go.
There was really only one thing to do with Nic’s hoodie.
“This is perfect,” Millie said when I called her the following morning to tell her about everything. “Use it as an excuse to go to his house and invite him to the party on Saturday!”
Because of the fight with Alex, Millie wasn’t Nic’s biggest fan, but she wasn’t a grudge holder, either, and given that “boys will be boys,” she resolved that she could certainly “see potential” in him and that he should still be invited to her house party. I had a pretty good idea of how Alex would react to Nic turning up, but Millie was adamant. Alex didn’t get to veto her guests. Especially since she had so few compared to him.
Besides, she took great interest in my pitiful romantic life, and since Nic was new to Cedar Hill and obviously in the dark about my father’s recent past, she saw him as a rare judgment-free opportunity for me to fall in love. Whether he might be bad for me or not didn’t weigh into it. It only made her more curious about him and his family, especially considering that Dom had asked her out right after the basketball tournament.