You and Me by Veronica Larsen

CHAPTER ONE
    Samantha

    THE FLURRY OF EXCITEMENT that tears through me when I catch sight of my new apartment building is short lived. Thunder crashes overhead, just as the cab comes to a stop. Of course, the sky would choose this precise moment to open up and unleash hell. Rain pours down so hard, it's as though someone stands above Manhattan just dumping giant buckets of water over the city.  
    My first thought is of my hair. My typically unruly curls are now a sleek mass of straight hair after a hairstylist tamed them into submission just two days ago. The rain will undo all of it, of course, but I might as well embrace this. Graduation is over with now. It's time to face the real world. In my hand, an active call illuminates the screen of my cellphone.   It rings for the seventh time before my sister's voicemail cuts in. "You've reached and missed Delilah. You know what to do."
    I groan and hang up. Who leaves voicemails anymore, anyway? She hasn't answer a single one of my texts all morning. The last time I saw Delilah was after my graduation, right before she peeled away in her car to head back to the city, unable or unwilling to stay a minute longer. I told her my flight was for this morning and she said she'd be home. But my sister's so absentminded, I wouldn't be surprised if she forgot what day of the week it is.
    The cab driver eyes me in the rearview mirror and shakes his head. I'm sure he's not looking forward to getting out of the car to help with my luggage. I pay and as he counts the bills, consider telling him I can get the bag myself, but he gets out of the cab before I can say anything. This buys me a few seconds to gauge the distance between the curb and the front of the apartment building. Just a few seconds and I should be under the awning, which will provide much-needed coverage while I figure out how to get inside.
    Bracing myself, I open the cab door and dart out of the car to meet the driver. We do a quick exchange of the luggage before we both take off running. He goes back to the driver's side and I sprint to the front of the building.  
    I'm under the awning in just under five seconds, but it doesn't matter. I might as well have stood in the rain for hours because I'm soaked all the way through.  
    The front doors are locked. I know they are, yet I still pull on them and hear them rattle. The keycard I need to gain access is in my sister's possession—a sister who still hasn't answered her damn phone. My best friend, Grace, I could surely count on, except for the fact that she doesn't move in until tomorrow.
    Cupping my hands, I peer through the glass and into the building's lobby, hoping to catch sight of someone who could open the door. The place is empty. It's just before seven in the morning so that's to be expected, but it still sinks my spirits. My body is heavy from fatigue after the red-eye flight. I was looking forward to taking a nice, long shower, but I guess the universe misunderstood my wish.
      Another call to my sister goes to voicemail. Accepting defeat, I plop down on top of my luggage and ignore the subtle slushing of liquid beneath me.
    Cars rush past, splashing more water onto the sidewalk, as I stare out down the road. Foot traffic is scarce on this block, this time of morning, but I spy a figure moving in the distance. It's a man, jogging up the hill toward me. I watch him bob up and down, growing closer and closer. He's the only other person outside in the storm. And unlike me, he doesn't seem to mind the rain at all, even wearing only a t-shirt and shorts. His pace is steady, like someone who's not at all rushing to get out of the rain.  
    As he gets closer, I begin to appreciate the way his wet clothes cling to his body, his shirt like paint over the grooves and valleys of his chest and abs.
    I mean, wow .  
    He's a sight for sore eyes. A lean, impressive tower of a man, with a face that could probably bring back my third-grade stutter.  
    I can't help but stare.