Page 29 of He Has MVP (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
“Are we finished? Do you think it’ll hold?” I look back at the wall and the waves splashing up against it where we were standing a minute ago.
“It’ll have to do. We’ve used all the sandbags they had.” He stops and looks at the waves, probably thinking the same thing I am.
“The storm is over,” I reiterate.
Okay, so it’s wishful thinking. I have no clue because we’ve been cut off from all communication here since late last night. A cell tower must be down. But if the last reports were right, this should all be over in a few hours. Right after the storm surge of these ungodly high waves subside.
“Okay, Pollyanna,” he says. Then he looks me up and down with that appreciative wolfish way he has, those panty-melting eyes sending all kinds of tingles wherever they fall as if he’s shooting sex-rays from them. “How about if we get out of these wet clothes?” There’s nothing subtle about his suggestion and my body is all-in, twitching and swelling and ready even after a night like I’ve never had before.
“We need to get ready to leave at the first opportunity. Time’s run out to get off this island. For both of us,” I remind him. Based on the sobering look on his face, I hit my mark. He nods and pushes the truck ahead with renewed vigor.
Shit. Disappointment hits me like unexpected collateral damage.
