Falling Into Us by Jasinda Wilder

doors for me again, waiting until I’d tucked my skirt out of the way before shutting the truck door. He pulled out of the lot, cranked up the radio, and rolled down the windows to let in the warm late summer air.
    “This is my favorite band,” Jason shouted over the music and the wind. “Zac Brown Band. Song’s called “Whatever It Is.’”
    I dug in my purse for a hair tie and put my hair back so the wind wouldn’t tangle it, then closed my eyes and let the music wash over me. He didn’t dedicate this one to me, thankfully, but I could feel his eyes on me, flicking over to me as he drove and then back to the road. We weren’t headed back to my house, I realized after a few minutes. We were zipping down a two-lane blacktop road, away from everything, the late evening haze shifting from dark gold to deepening gray.
    “Where are we going?” I asked.
    He just shrugged. “I don’t know. This way.” He pointed at the road ahead of us with a snarky smirk. “Just driving.”
    I nodded and let my right hand hang out the window, and settled my left hand on the console between us. The song shifted to some slow and sleepy ballad, and Jason left it on but didn’t tell me who it was or the song title. I didn’t care, I realized. It was perfect music for a date, romantic and sweet. I felt Jason’s proximity like an inferno beside me. His hand was out the window like mine as he drove with his right, slowing down and turning us onto a narrow dirt road with trees growing up at the very edge. Fields stretched out into the distance beyond the trees, and the road twisted and turned, gravel bouncing off the tire wells and dust kicking up in the side-view mirrors.  
    My heart palpitated when Jason switched hands on the steering wheel, settling his right hand on the console inches from mine. I wondered if he would take my hand, and what I would do if he did. I bet his hand was warm and rough and strong, and I could almost picture my small dark fingers nestled between his larger, tanned white ones. My heart hammered, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his hand, which was somehow closer to mine than it had been. I watched as Jason’s eyes shifted to mine, then to our hands, then out the windshield again. His left foot was bouncing crazily, and his hand was beating a rhythm on the steering wheel in time to the Carrie Underwood song playing on the radio.
    I wanted to hold his hand. Nothing else mattered. I wasn’t sure where we were or where we were going or what time it was, and I didn’t care. I turned my head and met his eyes, and then, with a deep breath, slid my hand underneath his. His eyes widened and his breath hitched, but he didn’t hesitate to wind his fingers between mine. He smiled, and everything was better than fine.
    We drove until darkness had fallen, taking turns listening to country music and talking. Jason told me about his dreams of going pro, and I in turn told him about my proposed career path in speech therapy. We talked about school, about the various cliques, and realized we were both only really part of the “in crowd” because of who we were friends with. I didn’t believe Jason at first, but then he explained that he’d learned to be outspoken just so he didn’t get completely lost in Kyle’s shadow.
    “See, Kyle doesn’t mean to steal the spotlight,” Jason said. “It’s just how he is. He’s just one of those people who takes the center of attention without trying. I’ve been his friend since I don’t even know when. First grade, maybe? Forever. It’s always been that way. I’d get so frustrated, because everyone would want to be around Kyle, want to be his friend, want his attention because Kyle’s just that cool . I wasn’t that kid. I had to learn to put myself out there, talk loud enough to be heard, you know? Just so I didn’t get lost in the glow of Kyle’s golden-boy brilliance.”
    “Do I sense bitterness there?” I teased.
    He laughed. “Nah, not at all .” His voice