I walk into my bedroom and start pacing as I furiously text her back.

Lottie: Funny . . . he’s been with me every night. Are you trying to start drama, Angela?

There, call her out on her bullshit. It’s not as if I have anything to lose.

Angela: Why on earth would I want to do that?

I laugh out loud. She must think I’m a complete dumbass.

And maybe I am in her eyes, since I’m the idiot who’s followed her around and been at her beck and call only for her to turn her back on me.

Not anymore.

Lottie: Because you’re jealous.

Angela: Jealous? Of you? Oh, honey, that’s cute.

I don’t think I’ve ever despised someone as much as I despise her.

I’m about to text her back when there’s a knock at my door and then Huxley cracks open the door. When he catches sight of me, his eyes heat up, and he gives me a strong perusal before he pushes the door all the way open.

“What are you doing?” he asks. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so casually dressed. Shorts and a T-shirt, his hair a rumpled mess, and he didn’t bother shaving today. He looks . . . yummy.

“Texting with Angela. Did you know I hate her?”

“Yeah, I did.” He walks up to me, removes my phone from my steel grip, and tosses it on the bed. He then laces his fingers with mine and guides me toward the hallway.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“It’s raining.”

“I noticed.”

He pauses and says, “When I asked you what you’d want if it was a perfect world, you said to work with your sister, move out of your mom’s house, stick it to Angela, erase your student loans, and to have a place where you can lie in the rain without judgment.”

He remembered that?

He tugs on my hand. “I told you I’d take care of all of it. I’ve come through on everything else. This is the last thing.”

He pulls me down the hallway, to the opposite side of the house, and to a door I’ve never explored before. When he opens it, we’re greeted by another set of stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask as we ascend the stairs.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, when we reach the top, he opens the door to a surprise rooftop deck.

What on earth?

It’s not very big at all, and he’s done nothing with the space. Just four short walls to prevent you from rolling off the side.

“Here you go,” he says, “the perfect spot to lie in the rain without judgment, without being disturbed.” He nods toward the teak-covered floor. “Does this work?”

“This more than works.” I glance up at him. “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” he says softly and steps aside so I can make my way out into the rain, just as it starts to pick up.

When I get outside, I spread my arms wide, tilt my head back, and let the rain soak through my clothes and into my skin. When I open my eyes, I smile at Huxley, who’s watching me intently. I motion for him to join me.

He doesn’t skip a beat and steps out into the rain with me. I take his hands in mine and spin him around. He chuckles lightly, letting me be goofy with him.

“Don’t you love it? The rain?” I ask.

“Not as much as you do.”

“You clearly don’t know how to appreciate it.” I guide him to the ground and lay him out next to me, keeping my hand in his as the rain pelts down upon us. Eyes closed, I say, “The sound, the smell, the feeling of not caring if you get wet—isn’t it the best feeling?”

He doesn’t answer right away but, I feel him take a few deep breaths. “I’ve never stopped to feel the rain.” I turn my head, open my eyes, and see him staring back at me. “Thank you.”

He’s so genuine in this moment.

So real.

There’s no domineering asshole trying to control me.

There’s no sign of the man who’s been playing Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

This is Huxley.

The true man.

And it feels like a bullet to the chest. I like this side of him. I like him like this more than I probably should.

Together, we lie in the rain, letting it soak us to the bone and gather on the rooftop surface. The plops from the water hitting the hard surface fill the silence between us, while the smell of wet blacktop wafts around us.

Pure perfection.

“When did you start doing this?” he asks, turning toward me.

I turn toward him as well. The rain has let up so it’s more of a sprinkle now. “When I was in high school. I’ve always loved the rain, especially since it rarely rains here in California. I loved the feeling of being caught up in something other than everyday life. Especially when I was hanging out with Angela. I felt out of control at times. The rain would help me slow down.” Being with Angela often felt like being in a dark, unwelcome storm. But the rain, by contrast, was soft. Safe. Clean.

He reaches out and places his hand on my cheek before wiping away a few droplets of water with his thumb. It’s a sweet, intimate gesture, and instead of shying away, I lean into it.

“How often do you come up here?”

“Not often enough,” he says. “I’ve probably come up here once or twice. But when you said you wanted a place to lie in the rain, I knew exactly where I’d take you.” Seeming insecure, he asks, “Do you like it?”

I nod. “I like it a lot. It could use a piece of furniture.” I chuckle. “But I think it’s perfect. Thank you.”

When he doesn’t say anything, but instead continues to stare at me, I take that moment to scoot closer to him. The heat of the day doesn’t quite break through all the rain, so my body is slightly chilled, but not chilled enough to force me to leave. I just need a little warmth.

Noticing my intention, he lifts his arm, and I scoot in even closer until he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against his side. And, oh God, does he smell good. Like fresh, masculine laundry—if that makes sense.

“Should’ve put on something warmer,” he says.

“I didn’t know I’d be out in the rain, and these are the clothes you provided me.” I look up at him. “I’ve come to realize you’re a pervert.”

He lightly chuckles. “I’m not a pervert.”

“Everything in that closet of mine is scandalous. I’m going to start working my way into your dresser drawers and taking all your shirts.”

“Have whatever you want. You look sexy in both.”

I lift up, my hand on his chest as I stare at him. “Was that a compliment, Huxley?”

“Want me to take it back?”

“No.” I shake my head and press my hand to my heart. “I need to cherish this moment. Huxley Cane complimented me. Not sure this moment could get any better.”

“It can,” he says and pulls me on top of him. Compared to his tall and muscular stature, I feel so miniature, so petite. Both of his hands fall to my lower back and then slip an inch under the waistband of my shorts.

“Is this comfortable for you?” I ask him.

“Very,” he says.

“And I thought you wouldn’t appreciate having a shrew of a woman draped across you.”

He laughs, and it’s such a beautiful sound. “I might enjoy the shrew more than I thought.”

This causes me to sit all the way up until I’m situated on top of his lap. “Are you saying you enjoy my company rather than despise it?”

His hands fall to my thighs, and he moves them farther north until they connect with the insides of my hips. It’s a small touch, but it carries a large impact as a bolt of lust shoots right up my spine.

“I never despised you. You have to stop thinking that. Did I find you mildly irritating at times? Of course.”

I laugh. “Such a charmer.”

“Wasn’t aware I needed to charm you.” His eyes speak of pure playfulness. “Do you need charming?”

I pretend to fluff my wet hair. “Wouldn’t hurt you to throw a little charm this way.”

He wets his lips even though they probably don’t need it because of the rain. “What do you consider charm? Words or actions?”