Page 25 of The Storm

And I have no idea what he plans to do with them.

SIX

INDY

We get pairedup in debate class. Argument practice partners. Because the universe enjoys irony.

He rolls his sleeves up.

It’s such a small thing. Just fabric pushed to his elbows.

But there’s skin. Lean forearms. Muscles that flex when he gestures. When he points at me with that unimpressed look because, once again, I’ve lost my train of thought. Because of those fucking forearms. I get flustered. I mess up, try to hide it, and fail.

“The fuck is the matter with you today?” he drawls. “You’re not even listening.”

“I am,” I grit through my teeth.

He quirks his brow before leaning back in his chair, all casual. He drags his hand through his hair and my eyes follow the movement. I track the stretch of his shoulder beneath his shirt. The brief flash of his stomach when he reaches for his pen. He leans over the table to grab his notes, and I catch a hint of his cologne. The clean, woodsy smell is subtle and insanely distracting.

I lose my train of thought midsentence.

He smirks. It’s a slow, knowing look filled with satisfaction. Because he doesn’t have to do anything. All he had to do was utter those few strategic sentences on New Year’s Eve. Nothing else. And now I’m sabotaging myself. No effort on his part.

“You done?” he asks.

I hate him.

I hate him so fucking much.

We get stuckin the rain after school. I gave him a ride because his car is in the shop.

It’s not a gentle drizzle. It’s a full-on downpour.

He curses under his breath, yanks the collar of his sweatshirt higher, and marches into the rain.

The fabric clings to him instantly. Plastering itself to his chest. To his stomach.

This is a terrible, horrible, deeply inconvenient development.

He turns around halfway to the car and holds his arms out. Water beads on his lashes and runs down the side of his neck. “By all means, just stand there uselessly,” he calls over the pounding of the rain.

When I don’t move, he marches back to me and snatches the keys out of my hand.

“Hey!” I snap. He ignores me, so I hurry after him. “It’s my car.”

He keeps ignoring me.

I go to grab the keys, and he easily holds them away from me, and suddenly I’m too close. Toe to toe. Chest to chest. The heat of his skin seeps through the wet fabric.

I can see the line of his jaw in perfect detail. The way his lips curve. The way a drop of water slides down to the hollow of his throat.

My brain short circuits.

The droplet of rain stays on his skin, and I?—

Fuck no.

Stop.