Page 78 of The Storm

I blow out a slow breath and lean toward him. It’s a mistake. I can smell his aftershave and see the way his dress shirt clings to his shoulders. The two undone buttons at his collar don’t really help me stay focused. Neither does the dip at the hollow of his throat.

I got sucked off yesterday morning. For the first time in my life. Somebody else had his mouth on me.

“Why are you all dressed up?” I ask, and my voice is too loud.

He quirks his brow. “Graduation?”

“You weren’t going to come to that.”

“I know.” He leans forward too. “But then I was fucked into submission.”

My eyes widen, and I snap my head toward the door before I look back at him.

“Your sunburn is coming back,” he says, and for a change, it’s not smug. For a change, he’s saying it softly. And his eyes are stuck on me just as intently as mine were on him.

I drop back into my chair and ignore him for the rest of breakfast. Dia, Mom, and Dad come back into the kitchen. They all keep talking, but it goes in one ear and out the other. The onlytime I can pay any attention is when Nick says something. And every time I hear the low timbre of his voice, I’m transported straight back to the boat shed, and then all I can hear in my head is the way he sounded when he was saying dirty things to me on his knees.

TWENTY

INDY

I climbout of my window and lie down on the roof with a sigh of relief. I’ve been up my feet the whole day, but now the last of the guests Mom invited over for the graduation party she organized for us have all finally taken off. She and Dad headed out for a date, and Dia is somewhere with Bridge.

My face is hurting from all the smiling I’ve been doing, and I’m tired of talking and thinking about the future. I’ve answered the same few questions over and over again, all centering around the fall and my plans.

The shingles are still warm from the day’s sunshine.

I close my eyes, and the day keeps replaying in my head to the point of exhaustion. The handshakes. The hugs. The proud smiles.

I don’t want to think about fall anymore. About packing and moving and new people and new challenges. For right now, I just want to be. I have time. The whole summer.

I pick up the bottle of champagne I took from the kitchen. It’s the expensive stuff. A leftover from the party. I’m going to have a celebration of my own and toast for good luck.

It’s nice. It goes down easily and makes my throat fizz with bubbles. Somewhere close by, a lone mockingbird whistles. The waves lap at the shore, and I drink.

When I hear the door open in my room, I’m not even surprised. There’s a reluctantly accepted inevitability about Nick being here. I’m not sure if it’s because I expected him to come or if maybe it’s more that I hoped.

I’m less edgy and frustrated than I was before. At the party, I kept searching him out even after I repeatedly told myself not to. Then I caught him looking at me, and he didn’t even have the courtesy to turn away and pretend he hadn’t, and what the fuck was that even about?

I take another drink and wordlessly hold the bottle out for Nick after he sits down next to me. He takes it and tips it back. I watch his throat move as he swallows, and when he lowers the bottle and meets my gaze, I don’t even pretend I wasn’t looking either.

There’s a pull inside me. Some kind of invisible string that connects me to him.

I don’t know what it is or why it’s there.

An obsession? Just lust? Something more?

Or fuck it, maybe it’s just sex. Maybe it’s just the novelty of somebody with capable hands and an even more capable mouth getting me off. Like puppy love, only with sex. It’s new and exciting and feels so good that I’ve latched on to the idea that it’s something special. Something more. That there’s something there, even if I’m not sure what that something might be.

He’s dressed in a pair of shorts and nothing else, hair curling in damp strands, shoulders dotted with droplets of water. Every now and then one slides down his collarbone and chest, and I have to make a conscious effort not to follow its path.

He drags his hand through his hair, pushing it back. It only makes the curls wilder.

“Nice outfit,” I say.

“Figured you might appreciate it.”

I clutch the back of my neck with my fingers and slowly shake my head.