“I need to see your ticket.”
I slap a stack of hundred-dollar bills in his hand. “This should cover it.”
“I can put you in the second row or you can stand in the pit. Which one do you want?”
“Pit’s fine.”
It’s where Dylan will be.
He hands me a badge with the words, VIP on it. “Need a poncho?”
“No.”
I just need Dylan.
He lifts up the rope. “Have fun.”
After walking through a tunnel that goes on for too fucking long, I enter the outdoor amphitheater.
Despite the rain trickling down and the thunder rolling in the distance, it’s still packed.
Flipping my hood up, I trek down the pathway leading to the entrance of the pit…but pause when I spot her.
Eyes closed and one hand thrust in the air, Dylan’s singing every lyric to “The Middle” by Jimmy Eat World into the sunset while swaying her body to the music.
She looks so gorgeous and carefree it makes my breath catch.
The people in the pit are getting frustrated due to the impending storm, but Dylan doesn’t give a single fuck.
It’s one of the things I love most about her.
The sky opens up and the rain starts coming down in buckets, soaking her hair and clothes…but my girl keeps singing and dancing, never missing a beat.
Determination fuels my steps, but it’s quickly replaced by rage when some guy comes up behind her and places his hands on her hips.
A haze of red mist clouds my vision and I clench my hands into fists as I push through the crowd.
He’s a dead man. I’m going to crush every bone in this motherfucker’s body and…
Dylan sails her fist into his jaw two seconds before I reach her.
The asshole staggers back before running away like a little bitch.
Well, shit.
“You just ruined my big romantic gesture.”
Her eyes widen with shock when she peers up at me. “What are you doing here?”
At least I think that’s what she says. It’s hard to hear her above the music.
“I’m an asshole.”
It’s not the best opening line, but hell if it’s not the truth.
Scrunching her pretty face, she gestures to her ear. “What?”
Evidently, she can’t hear me either.
Closing the distance between us, I place her hand on my chest, right over the organ that belongs to her.
Then I repeat the same words I told her in the closet that day, picking up right where I dropped the ball.
“The Mariana Trench isn’t deep enough for what I feel for you.”
And I’ll gladly bleed my heart out to prove that shit to her if that’s what it takes.
She points to her ear with her free hand, signaling she still can’t hear me.
Oh, hell.
I know a better way we can communicate.
Cupping her face in my hands, I crash my mouth against hers.
