Justin
The first drop of rain splattered onto my hand.
Then another.
Then the sky opened up and drenched her.
June didn't move.
She just stood there, arms wrapped around herself, head bowed, as the rain poured down on her like it had a personal vendetta.
Her shoulders shook harder, but whether it was from the cold or from the mess of emotions ripping her apart, I wasn't sure.
I clenched my jaw.
I didn't do this.
I didn't get involved.
I minded my own business.
But something about the way she stood there—breaking apart in the middle of the empty street, in the fucking rain—made me do something stupid.
I pulled up beside her, the roar of my bike cutting through the storm.
She didn't look at me.
Didn't acknowledge me at all.
I clicked my tongue, annoyed. "You need help?"
Her head snapped up, wet strands of blonde hair sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes were red, but she scowled like I'd just insulted her entire existence.
"I'm fine," she said sharply, lifting her chin. "I wasn't crying."
I arched a brow, flicking my gaze to her tear-streaked face. Bold lie.
"It's just the rain," she added quickly, wiping at her face like that would erase what I'd just seen.
I didn't call her out.
Didn't challenge her.
Because I got it. I knew what it was like to not want to be seen.
So I just shrugged. "Whatever you say, Matthews."
Her teeth chattered slightly, her wet clothes clinging to her body. She was shivering, but too damn proud to admit she was freezing her ass off.
I exhaled through my nose, already regretting this. "Come on. You're soaked." I nodded toward the bike.
She hesitated.
I expected her to argue. To throw out some snarky comment or insist she was "fine" again.
Instead, she just let out a small breath, defeated, and climbed on.
As soon as her arms wrapped around me, I stiffened.
I didn't like people touching me.
Ever.
But June?
Her hands pressed against my stomach, her chest pressed to my back—and I didn't feel repulsed.
I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
I started the bike, revved the engine, and pulled onto the road.
"Where to?" I asked over my shoulder.
She exhaled, frustrated. "I'm not telling you my address."
I frowned. "Why the hell not?"
Silence.
I didn't have to see her face to know she was being stubborn.
"You don't want me knowing where you live?" I pushed. "Scared I'll show up?"
"Scared my parents will see me on the back of your bike," she corrected.
I snorted. "Right. Can't be seen with the bad boy, huh?"
Her silence was confirmation enough.
I clenched my jaw. "So where the hell do you want me to take you?"
"Not my problem," she said. "You took me from where I was, so you figure it out."
Unbelievable.
I nearly stopped the bike right there and left her ass on the sidewalk.
She was stubborn. And bratty. And pissing me off.
I should've ditched her.
But I didn't.
Instead, I did something even more fucking stupid.
I took her to my place.
I never brought people to my place.
No one knew where I lived. No one had ever stepped foot inside.
But tonight, I was breaking two of my own damn rules.
One—I didn't let people touch me.
But right now, her arms were still wrapped around my torso, and for some fucked-up reason, I didn't hate it.
And two—I didn't let people in my space.
But here I was, taking her straight to my apartment.
And I had no idea why.
The entire ride back, I tried to tell myself I was being fucking stupid.
I should have left her there.
She wasn't my problem.
But the way she clung to me—damp, shivering, silent—felt like a weight pressing against my chest, one I didn't know how to shake off.
I pulled up outside my apartment building, cut the engine, and sighed. Too late to change my mind now.
I nudged her lightly. "We're here."
She didn't move for a second. Then, slowly, she loosened her grip and climbed off the bike, her legs unsteady from the ride.
She looked up at the tall building, frowning. "Where are we?"
"My place," I said, swinging my leg over the bike.
She snapped her gaze to me, brows pulling together. "You live here?"
"No, I just like parking in front of random buildings for fun."
She rolled her eyes. "You could've just dropped me off anywhere."
"Yeah?" I shoved my keys in my pocket. "And what would you have done? Walked home in the rain?"
She didn't answer.
That's what I thought.
I didn't wait for her response, just started walking. If she wanted to stand out here and freeze, that was her problem.
But, of course, I heard her reluctant footsteps following behind me.
Inside, the elevator ride was silent.
I could feel her watching me, but I didn't acknowledge it.
When we reached my floor, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it open for her to follow.
She hesitated for a second before finally stepping in, crossing her arms over her chest.
Her gaze moved around the place—minimal furniture, barely any decorations, clean but impersonal. Like a place someone lived in but didn't call home.
She didn't comment.
Instead, she hugged herself tighter. Her clothes were soaked through, and her teeth were probably seconds away from chattering again.
I sighed and took my hoodie from the chair the one I had decided against wearing when I was going out tossing it at her. "Wear that."
She caught it, blinking in surprise. "What about you?"
"I'm not the one shivering like a damn wet cat."
She huffed but didn't argue. For once.
She pulled the hoodie over her head, and I tried not to focus on how it swallowed her small frame, how she smelled like rain and something soft underneath it.
I cleared my throat and nodded toward the bathroom. "There's a towel in there if you need it."
She hesitated. "Thanks… I guess."
"Don't get used to it," I muttered, walking to the kitchen.
I needed a drink.
Needed something to distract me from the fact that I had a girl in my apartment.
June fucking Matthews, of all people.
I poured myself a glass of whiskey, leaning against the counter, listening to the faint sounds of her moving around.
This was a mistake.
A big mistake.
But for some reason, I wasn't making her leave.
And that pissed me off more than anything.
She stepped out of the bathroom wearing only my hoodie, her damp hair wrapped in a towel, and her wet clothes clutched in her hands.
I swallowed hard.
I should have given her some pants too.
Without a word, I turned and walked to my bedroom, peeling off my own damp clothes. I wasn't soaking like she had been, but still—walking around in wet clothes wasn't exactly comfortable.
When I came back out, dressed in dry sweatpants and a fresh t-shirt, she was still standing in the same spot.
I tossed a pair of sweatpants at her. She caught them effortlessly, blinking at me.
"Put those on," I said. "You can dry your clothes in the next room, beside the bathroom."
She nodded and turned toward the hallway, disappearing into the other bathroom.
I watched her retreat toward the spare bathroom, her bare legs peeking out from beneath my oversized hoodie.
I should've given her pants earlier. Should've thought this through.
But I hadn't. And now? Now, I was standing here, pretending I wasn't hyper-aware of the fact that there was a half-dressed girl in my apartment.
Shit.
My apartment was small—minimalist. One bedrooms, two bathrooms. One attached to my room, the other down the hall past the living room. I never used that one. Hell, I barely used any space outside of my bedroom.
The kitchen was open, meaning from the living room, you could see everything—the counters, the fridge, the stove.
As she busied herself in the other room, I grabbed my takeout bag and went to heat it up.
I wasn't sure why I was acting normal when nothing about this was normal.
I didn't bring people here.
I didn't let people wear my clothes.
And yet, here she was.
And for some reason, I hadn't told her to leave.
Shaking my head, I turned away and focused on my food instead. I grabbed the takeout bag and went to the kitchen, pulling out the containers. Something to do. Something to focus on.
The microwave hummed softly as I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, trying to ignore the fact that she was still in the other room, moving around, drying her clothes.
I wasn't used to this. People. Company.
I liked my space. My privacy. My fucking solitude.
Yet here she was.
Minutes passed, and eventually, I heard her soft footsteps return.
When I glanced up, she was standing near the couch, now in the sweatpants and hoodie I gave her, her damp hair cascading over her shoulders, towel draped over one arm.
Her eyes met mine briefly before flicking toward the food. "You gonna share?"
I huffed a short laugh. "Didn't know you were hungry."
She lifted a brow. "Being in the rain burns calories."
I smirked despite myself and grabbed another plate. Fine.
Tonight was already a mess. What's one more bad decision?