Here, we are kings.
We are the Outcasts.
We are the lords of the fates.
In these moments, we feel like we are invincible. Because the rest of the world falls to shit, but we are still alive and healthy and happy and young. And we drink and fuck and love and tell stories.
Callie is just a bit ahead of me. She is caught up in the moment, but then trips, and falls to the ground, slipping onto her back with a loud squeal.
I almost trip over her but catch myself.
“You all right?”
I forget the awkwardness between us at this moment when I take her hands and yank her up.
The touch, wet and warm in the tropical rain, is just as powerful as it ever was. This girl is a witch, I swear.
“Yeah. Crap.” She gets up and wiggles her shoulders, grinning.
I take her by the arm and spin her around, then peel her wet shirt up.
There is a scratch on her back. Nothing major.
“You cut yourself,” I say. “It’ll be fine.”
And she turns to face me.
Rain is pouring, plastering her hair to her face.
She smiles. And so do I. For no reason whatsoever. Or perhaps the awkwardness of this situation.
I still hold her arm, and she doesn’t pull it away but takes a step closer instead.
It’s just a step.
One.
Little.
Motherfucking.
Step.
But her blue eyes are on me.
She is smiling, rain running down her face.
I take a tiny step closer too.
And she closes the final distance and licks the rain off her lips.
Everything else suddenly shifts away. There is only this—pouring rain, her body in that soaked shirt and shorts, her face too close to mine, her eyes searching mine for something.
The adrenalin of momentary happiness takes over.
I cup her face and kiss her.
I fucking kiss her.