Noah had parked around the corner from the bookstore, so we had to literally sprint through the rain, even though both of us were already soaked through as it was. Water splashed up around our shoes every step, cold enough to sting through the fabric of my jeans. 

Noah was ahead of me by a few feet, one arm over his head, the other flailing in a useless attempt to block the rain.

Hah. Dork.

Then we rounded the corner and I saw his truck. He drove an old Ford pickup, wedged between the alley and the curb, looking like it had been eaten alive by rust. The faded blue paint had peeled so badly that patches of dull metal showed through.

I slowed down, staring at it. “Damn,” I muttered. “And I thought my car was bad.”

Noah shot me an offended look and fished his keys out of his pocket. “It runs.”

“Where?” I shot back, “Straight through hell?”

He rolled his eyes and yanked the driver’s side door open with a loud metallic screech. The inside light flickered weakly on, illuminating a cab somehow even more aggressively Noah Riley than I’d anticipated. There were fucking books everywhere. One open face-down on the dashboard…had this guy been reading at a stoplight? Two more stacked between the seats alongside loose papers, pens, and empty coffee cups. A faded brown blanket was crumpled beside a flashlight and a cassette tape case cracked right down the middle.

I stared at the disaster for a second, then looked over at him. “You ride around like this?”

Noah looked genuinely offended by my question. “It’s a truck.”

"It's a cry for help,” I replied. 

“Get in before I leave you here, asshole,” he said, climbing into the truck.

I got in after him, rain exploding against the roof the second I climbed in, loud enough to nearly drown the outside world out completely. The seat springs squealed under me as I slammed the door shut, cutting off the storm into a muffled roar around us. 

Noah jammed the keys into the ignition, rain dripping from his chin while he shoved the keys into the ignition. “Jesus, it’s cold,” he murmured almost to himself, and peeled off his glasses in an attempt to wipe them off somewhere that wasn’t already soaked. 

“Here,” I said. And before he could protest, I leaned over and plucked them right out of his hands. The truck was already cramped as it was, but leaning across the bench put me right next to him, close enough to smell the rain clinging to his skin and how droplets caught on his lashes. His eyes looked softer without his glasses and weirdly pretty.

I wiped the lenses dry against a square of my shirt that actually hadn’t gotten wet while he watched, then handed them back over. 

“Thanks,” Noah muttered quietly, sliding them back on.

The truck rattled violently when he finally turned it on and pulled away from the curb, windshield wipers dragging themselves back and forth through the storm with miserable little squeaks that barely kept up with the rain.

I leaned back in the passenger seat, one arm hooked against the door. The whole place looked wrong. I would have expected a charming seaside town to have more tourists, even with the rain. Instead, it looked empty and half-dead. 

Noah drove with both hands tight on the wheel, clearly determined not to look my way. Which, naturally, made me want to bother him more.

“So,” I said, glancing around the cab again. “What’s with all the books?”

Noah glanced over at me, then rolled his eyes. “Some people read for fun.”

“Yeah, but this is excessive,” I said and picked up one of the books, waving it at him. "You've got enough paper in here to survive an apocalypse.”

“Maybe I’m preparing,” he grumbled.

I snorted softly and watched rain crawl down the glass beside me. “You always this weird?”

“You jumped me in a motel parking lot last night and talked with me for like five seconds in a bookstore," he replied flatly. “And you still got in my truck. I don’t think you’re in a position to judge anybody.”

“Why would I be afraid of you?” I replied, tossing the book back onto the seat between us. “You look like you apologize when somebody makes your burger wrong.”

Noah laughed before he could stop himself. “That’s not true.”

“It absolutely fucking is,” I said.

“I can be intimidating,” he replied, nose scrunching a little.

I looked over at him out of the corner of my eye. At those rain-dark curls and that oversized cardigan. Those pretty green eyes behind fogged-up glasses. “You look like you cry during sad dog movies," I said.

“Oh, fuck off. I do not cry during dog movies!” Noah protested. “I mean…maybe like one time.”

I laughed. “Called it.”

“It was old and sick!” he defended himself. “That’s emotional manipulation!”

The heater finally started working a little better, warm air pushing through the vents and filling the cab with that dusty, burnt smell old vehicles always had. My clothes were still soaked through, clinging cold to my skin, but the warmth was starting to sink in around the edges now.

“You really freaked me out last night, by the way,” he muttered after a second. “In the parking lot,” he said. “You just kind of came out of nowhere. I seriously thought you were going to rob me or stab me in the back or something.”

I looked over at him, and for the first time since I’d stopped in Astoria, I started to feel something. Not the constant stab of irritation that sat under my skin like a live wire. Or the usual instinct to bare my teeth and strike first before somebody else took the chance. But something smaller and totally unfamiliar to me. 

Guilt, maybe. Though, I wasn’t so sure about it at the moment. People drifted through my life so fast, I didn’t see how feeling guilty was worth it in the long run. A school counselor had once told me that people like me ended up in only one place, and that was prison. For life. 

I remembered the way he’d leaned back in his chair when he said it, all tired eyes and coffee breath, like he already knew exactly how my story ended. Like he’d took one look at me and seen a future wrapped in police sirens, cigarette smoke, and broken teeth.

And the worst part was I hadn’t even been able to argue. I’d wanted to tell him to shove it right up his ass, but sitting there in that office with my knuckles still bruised from another fight and dried blood crusted under my nails, I hadn’t been able to think of a single reason he was wrong. 

The memory sat heavy in my stomach while rain battered the truck around us. 

Eventually, the road narrowed, gravel crunching faintly beneath the tires. Streetlights thinned out here, and the town’s glow faded behind us. Noah pulled into a small, half-hidden lot tucked behind a row of older buildings. It looked almost forgotten, with overgrown edges and rusted fence sections leaning to one side. And there, sitting under the far side under a flickering lamp, was his trailer. More of a camper, really. 

It was in no way close to the manor I’d imagined him living in. 

The metal exterior was weather-worn, soft dents, and faded paint telling stories that only Noah knew. But the windows glowed warm, soft yellow light spilling out into the rain like a promise that something in this town could still be safe if you were lucky. 

A little awning jutted out over the door, trembling slightly in the wind. And beneath it, a few potted plants clung stubbornly to life, leaves shaking with every gust. 

It looked more like a home than the place I’d run from. 

Noah cut the engine, the sudden silence making the rain sound louder. Then he cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact with me.

I propped my chin up on one hand. “What?” 

He looked weirdly tense all of a sudden, one hand still gripping the steering wheel while the other fidgeted with the sleeve of his soaked cardigan. “I just…” He chewed his lip a little. “I don’t really know how to ask this without sounding crazy.”

I cocked an eyebrow in question. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Noah stared straight ahead for another second before finally blurting: “Do you want to have sex?”

The silence after those words hit was incredible. 

I just looked at him.

Noah looked seconds away from driving directly into the ocean. “Okay,” he said quickly, horrified with himself already. “That came out wrong.”

I laughed so suddenly it surprised both of us. “Holy shit, Hot Shot.”

“I’m serious!” he groaned. “I just wanted to know if that’s what you were expecting because you keep flirting with me and I don’t…I mean, I do, obviously, you’re hot, that’s not the issue. But there’s like maybe three gays in this town and one of them’s my ex and—”

“You think I’m hot?”

“That is the least important part of this conversation!” He practically shrilled. 

I was fully grinning now, warm laughter still caught in my chest while Noah suffered beside me in absolute real time.

He shoved his wet curls back desperately. “What I’m trying to say is if you came here expecting sex, that’s not… Uh, I mean, unless you wanted to, maybe? God.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m making this worse.” He groaned and dropped his forehead against the steering wheel with a dull thunk. 

“Riles,” I said, and he looked up at me, all embarrassed, curls damp around his face, glasses slightly crooked from the whole ordeal. And maybe it was the storm outside or the soft glow from the trailer windows, or the fact that he’d looked at me like I was something human instead of something dangerous, but suddenly I wanted…

Before I could think too hard about it, I leaned across the seat and kissed him.

Noah made a startled noise against my mouth, his hand coming up slightly before he rested it against the skin peeking out from beneath my collar. His glasses bumped against my face from the awkward angle, and his lips were cold. 

He kissed exactly how he looked at me. Soft and honest, like he meant it. Which honestly should’ve scared the fuck out of me. Fucking anyone else was easy. A way to blow off steam while having fun. Something reckless and loud that burned hot for a couple of hours before disappearing before morning. No names or staying. No feeling complicated enough to matter.

But Noah Riley? He kissed me like he was trying to learn me instead of touch me.

And that was dangerous. Because for one stupid second sitting there making out with him in his crappy truck in the storm, his fingers curled lightly against my throat, I caught myself wanting something slower that lasted longer than one night.

I pulled back first, one hand gripping onto the torn seat. “I’m not a good person,” I told him.

Noah studied me behind his fogged-up glasses, lips parted slightly. “Most people aren’t,” he replied. 

Thunder rolled low overhead.

For a second, neither of us spoke. Every breath we took fogged the windows thicker. 

“You wanna go inside?” He asked me. 

I looked at him for another second too long before I smirked faintly. “You inviting me into your murder trailer, Riley?” 

“It’s not a murder trailer,” he grumbled, lip jutting out a little in a cute pout. “It’s a camper.”

“That’s exactly what somebody with a murder trailer would say,” I said. 

Noah laughed quietly under his breath, shaking his head. “C’mon.”

We got out of the truck, and the second we did, freezing rain slammed into us hard enough to steal the breath from my lungs. Noah grabbed my wrist without thinking and dragged me toward the trailer through the downpour, both of us slipping a little on wet gravel. 

By the time he got his front door unlocked, we were soaked all over again.

Warm air hit me instantly when we stumbled inside. His trailer was small and cramped, but it felt warm and cozy. Yellow string lights glowed softly along the ceiling. Blankets piled onto a worn couch beneath the window. Books covered almost every surface available, stacked crookedly beside little potted plants and mugs with chipped paint. 

It smelled like coffee and old paper and rain-damp clothes. 

It smelled like him.

Noah shoved the door shut behind us, both of us dripping water onto the floor. “Sorry about the mess,” he muttered automatically. “I don’t really have time to organize between college and my job.” He peeled off his soaked cardigan, tossing it over the back of the couch. 

My eyes dropped before I could stop them. His shirt was soaked through now, clinging enough that I could see the shape of him underneath it. Slim waist. Soft stomach. Skin flushed pink from the cold. 

“You seriously live here alone?” I asked and slipped out of my jacket before tossing it over his. 

Noah’s attention snapped downward immediately before he caught himself and looked away way too fast.

Cute.

“Uh,” he replied intelligently. “Yeah.”

I smirked and tossed the shirt aside somewhere near the couch. “You’re blushing again, Hot Shot.”

“No I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m cold.”

“You were cold in the truck too and somehow managed not to stare at my chest like it personally offended you.”

Noah groaned softly and covered part of his face with one hand. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe.”

I stepped closer slowly, watching his throat bob when I reached for my belt. The metal buckle clinked softly in the warm little trailer.

Noah’s eyes dropped again despite himself.

“You know,” I murmured, “for a guy who asked me if I wanted to have sex, you get nervous real easy.”

“I was trying to communicate clearly,” he defended weakly.

“Adorable.”

“Michael.” The warning in his voice didn’t mean much when he was already looking at me like that. All flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

I tugged the belt loose slowly, more because I liked watching his reaction than because I actually cared about getting dry anymore. Wet denim hung low on my hips now, cold fabric sticking uncomfortably to my skin.

Noah inhaled sharply.

“There it is,” I said softly, grinning a little. “Thought maybe you didn’t know how to breathe anymore.”

“You are unbelievably smug for somebody standing in my living room half naked.”

“And yet you keep looking.”

That actually made him laugh under his breath. Quiet and helpless sounding. Then Noah stepped forward before I could say anything else, fingers catching lightly on the front of my jeans near the loosened belt, not pulling, but resting there, as if asking permission to continue.

That touch alone sent heat straight through me.

His eyes lifted slowly to mine behind those stupidly cute glasses. “You talk a lot when you’re nervous, too,” he said quietly.

That shut me up for maybe the first time all night.

Then he kissed me again, this time with less hesitation.

I caught his jaw instinctively, thumb brushing his damp skin while his fingers tightened slightly, then undid the rest of my belt. My shirt came off next, and I lifted him, his legs hooking around my waist, before I carried him over to the bed, partially hidden behind some curtains.

I didn't notice the string lights blinking as we tumbled to the mattress.

Or the way the fog rolled in underneath the tiny gap in the front door.