I wished it was raining,” he said.
“I don’t need the rain,” I said. “I need you.

How could I have ever been ashamed of loving Dante Quintana?

Try it again,” I said. “Kiss me.”
“No,” he said.
“Kiss me.”
“No,” And then he smiled. “You kiss me.”
I placed my hand on the back of his neck. I pulled him toward me. And kissed him. I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And he kept kissing me back.

I bet you could sometimes find all the mysteries of the universe in someone’s hand.