Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)(43)

“I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’m fine,” he grumbles. “Whatever it was seems to be all out of my system. So, what’s the dare?” he asks warily.

I stand up and hold out a hand to him. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

He slips his hand into mine, and the feeling is as sweet as the hot chocolate.

I laugh, feeling younger and more carefree than I can remember. Maybe risks are fun after all. At least, this will be fun for me. Maybe not for him.





Fifteen minutes later, Chase glowers at me.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this,” he complains.

I grin at him. “Don’t even think about backing out of this. You chose to take a dare.”

“I promised, and I don’t break promises. But for the record, you’re evil.” He raises his voice, but not in anger—at least, I hope not too much anger. We’re standing under the overhang outside the hotel’s revolving door, and he’s yelling to be heard over the sound of the pounding rain.

Normally, the street we’re on is packed with cars and pedestrians, but now, the road is deserted. The weather has calmed some, but it’s still pouring. Everyone sane is inside, staying dry.

Wind whips rain toward us. I laugh in exhilaration at the cold shock, feeling more alive than I ever have.

“I’m sorry, but I have to do this. I mean, here we are, in a rainstorm. How could I pass up this opportunity? This is for all the girls everywhere!” I shout back to him, wanting to laugh at his expression, but fearing it will push him over the edge.

He lets out a long-suffering sigh and rips off his hoodie, one-handed. I watch in fascination as a white T-shirt and muscles appear from beneath the shapeless fabric. His shirt lifts a little with the sweatshirt, revealing a patch of smooth-looking skin, strong muscles, and a thin line of hair that I’m dying to explore.

“Lift your arms,” he instructs.

“Why?” I tilt my head.

“So you can wear my sweatshirt,” he says as if I'm a child.

“Oh, but you’ll be cold.”

“But you won’t be, which is what’s important.”

“That’s very gentlemanly of you.” I try to hold back my pleased smile but can’t.

“I am a gentleman. Even with evil girls and their evil plans,” he teases.

I think about refusing his sweatshirt because I feel guilty for taking it, especially since he’s probably still weak from being sick, but then I realize my shirt is so thin that it will be transparent if it gets wet. I’d rather it be his shirt that turns see-through than mine.

So, I lift my arms and luxuriate in the soft fabric that envelops me like a hug.

I can’t believe I had the guts to make him do this.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s go!” I squeal and run out into the middle of the deserted city street. He follows me.

Rain beats down on us.

“It’s cold!”

“And wet!” Chase yells.

I laugh, rain rushing over my face.

Chase shakes his head like a dog, streams of water flying at his gesture.

I hold up my arms, and he steps into my space. We embrace as if we’re about to dance.

Because we are. About to dance, that is. I look up at him.

“This is ridiculous. Olivia Evans, you’re impossible.”

“Shut up and twirl me like you do in the movie.”

The Wanderers is a sci-fi thriller with a group of time-jumping heroes. One of the movie’s most iconic scenes is at the end of the film, after the bad guys are banished to the outer regions of space forever, Chase dances in the rain with Cassidy Reynolds and professes his undying love. The scene melted a million girls’ hearts and catapulted Chase to maximum heartthrob status.

In that movie moment, every girl wanted to be Cassidy. And every girl wanted to be in Chase’s arms, or at least his character’s.

And here I am, reenacting it. The idea for the dare was one-third wish fulfillment, one-third mischievous glee, and one-third to give me the chance to be in his arms, any way I can.

He twirls me as demanded, and I tilt my head up toward the dark gray sky. He leans down, blocking the rain, gathers me in those muscled arms of his, and sways with me.

I’m short enough that I have to stand on my tiptoes and he has to bend down. I close my eyes and memorize every sensation. The cold slick of rain. The heat coming off Chase’s body. It feels as if we’re all alone in the world.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“For this,” he says simply, and then his lips meet mine.

It’s a sweeping brush of a kiss. A butterfly that touches down before flying away. It sends an electric wave through my body.

I long. Long for his lips to come back to me. Long for more than the briefest taste of heaven. But I already pushed myself so far out of my comfort zone, I don’t dare ask for more. He tucks my head back into the safety of his chest and holds me as if I’m precious to him. As if he longs for me as well.

I sway in time with him and memorize the feel of his body, never wanting this to end.

But it’s cold and wet, and we probably look crazy, so with a flourish, he twirls me one last time, and then we’re running back under the awning of the hotel, laughing and dripping, his hand in mine.