Page 24 of My Best Friend's Dad

Almost.

He extends his hand. He’s so much warmer than the rain that it actuallysteamsoff of him. I’m unable to move. There’s no wayI’m going to take his hand, but I’m transfixed by the way the rain parts around him like he’s the one commanding it.

Maybe I’m a liar.

Maybe I’m also looking at how the rain plasters his hair to his face, beads off his nose and lips, and catches in his thick, dark lashes. I should stop at his face, but my eyes have a will of their own, and they’re extremelywillingto disobey and take in every detail of how Rowleigh’s drenched shirt clings to his body. His pants aren’t immune either. The wet fabric gives new meaning to the termdefinition, especially when it comes to the hard muscles in his shoulders, the planes of his abs, and his thick legs.

A crack of thunder splits the sky. It’s far off, rumbling for a few seconds and echoing in the wind, but it’s enough to scare me out of my stupor. It propels me forward. I launch my hand out, and Rowleigh ’s larger one closes around it. He races back to the gazebo with me.

We stumble inside as another boom of thunder sounds in the distance. It’s louder from under the gazebo. The rain is magnified too. Does sound bounce off the river? Because we’re right beside it.

Unexpectedly, Rowleigh throws back his head and laughs.

Fuck the storm. That deep, husky, musical sound is all I can hear. I don’t know what on earth is funny. Probably me, looking like a drowned rat, but you know what? It’s okay. I’ll sacrifice my pride a thousand times over if it means being able to watch his head tip back, rain streaming from his wet hair and clothes and pooling all around him, and his magic laugh vibrating the strong column of his neck and shaking his chest.

I’m aware my sweater is slicked wide open, and my dress is plastered to my body. My flimsy bralette isn’t enough to save me from the cold wind. I didn’t realize I was shivering, but now I’m very aware that my nipples are hard points, practically cutting through the thin fabric.

I immediately cross my arms over my chest, and my teeth bang together no matter how hard I lock my jaw.

Rowleigh stops laughing.

Henotices.

He steps across the concrete floor and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his sphere. Man. Musk. Spicy spices. Rain and wind. Deliciousness. Best friend’s dad-ishness.

Fuck.

No wonder he was steaming out there. His body heat pulses through his clothing, and I’m so cold that I can’t bring myself to pull away.

“W-why w-w-were y-you l-laughing?” I stammer between my teeth knocking together hard enough to crack a few.

“You promised me an experience, and you delivered. This has definitely been something out of the ordinary for me.”

“It’s not every day you get taken to a gag-worthy dinner that you don’t want to eat and then have to flee for your life to escape a freak storm from hell.”

“The piano playing was beautiful. Again. You should be doing that with your life.”

I can’t help a very undignified snort that sounds twice as loud as it should because of the echo in here. “The market’s pretty saturated, and I’m no concert pianist. I can’t sing, so that’s out. I was never driven enough to become a real pianist, and there are plenty of people willing to play in lounges here or do gigs at weddings or whatever.” I blink as the rain slides off my forehead and drips into my eyes. It’s the only reason I’ll accept as to why they’re burning. “Ask my mom. She’ll tell you that I was never dedicated enough to succeed at much of anything.”

He grunts, but it’s a disgusted, low-in-the-throat, phlegmy sound. “Your mom sounds like a piece of work.”

I bow my head. “That night in the lounge, I was there because my ex cheated on me.”

“Yes.” His eyes harden and spark angrily, warming me up because he’s angry on my behalf. “You mentioned that.” It’s not a thing to get gooey over, but that’s the point of what I’m trying to tell him. I was never good at doing what I should be doing. I’ve only ever been painfully average.

“I haven’t told my parents yet, mostly because I don’t want my mom to say she told me so. Over and over again. Because she did tell me over and over again, but now she’d tell me repeatedly, too, how dumb I was for not listening to her. Not that she’d call me dumb, but the implication would be there.”

“You’re not dumb.”

“In this, I was. I should have listened. I seem to have a thing for inappropriate men.”

Case in point…you. Case in point, why I’m not pulling away right now. Mika would be delighted if she could see us. I should be horrified. But I don’t want to freeze to death.

Although, to be honest, I won’t. It’s summer, and the storm is blowing itself out. The rain isn’t pounding down so hard anymore, and the thunder hasn’t thundered again.

Cold or not, this isn’t right. Contrived or not, I can’t do this.

I break away, shrugging my sweater off to wring it out. It might not help, but it gives me something to do with my hands. I make myself busy with it for a good few minutes while I try to sort out the mess in my head and the burning tingles in my ovaries.