Page 84 of The Storm

Then he stalks over to me.

Sexy.

He stops right in front of me, the toes of his sneakers against the toes of mine.

“Did you get lost on your way home, Blue?” He quirks his brow at me.

“I thought you could give me a ride.”

“You did, did you?” He leans closer and puts his palms on the roof of the car, his arms bracketing me. His mouth hovers over mine. “What’s in it for me?”

“You’re in a pretty good position. I don’t have any way to get home, so you can ask me for anything in return, and I’ll do it.”

A slow grin pulls at his lips. “You talked me into it.”

I laugh, and it’s light, easy. We get in the car, and he pulls out of the parking lot.

“How was the first day back?” he asks.

I settle in a bit more comfortably and close my eyes. “A woman refused to put on a life jacket because orange isn’t her color.”

“Is the pale complexion of a corpse her color?”

I turn my head, open one eye, and peer at him. “See now, why didn’t I think to say that?”

“Off the top of my head, probably because you’re levelheaded enough not to risk being fired for saying that to a paying customer?”

“She didn’t pay because I wouldn’t let her on the paddle board without a life jacket.”

“Christ, I hate people.”

I laugh again. I think technically that might apply to me too, but it doesn’t feel like it. I guess I don’t believe I’m people to him.

“No, you don’t,” I say.

He throws me a look.

“You just like to give that impression. The big, bad wolf. A growly asshole.”

“Did you just describe me as growly?”

“Asshole didn’t bother you but growly does?”

He ignores me. I try not to grin.

“You grunt a lot,” I say.

“You think you know me so well.” He sounds almost amused.

“I told you I see you.” I shrug.

He presses his lips together and turns his head enough to look my way. “Not clearly enough.”

“Growly asshole,” I say. “How was your day?”

“Uneventful. Zero near-death experiences, so in that sense it was a bit of a downgrade from my last place of employment.”

My family hasn’t been dealing with the whole tornado incident that well. Especially Mom. She keeps tearing up and talking about how fragile life is. In comparison, I’m mostly fine. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night for no reason at all, heart beating too fast, skin clammy, mouth dry, faint remnants of a nightmare clinging to my brain. I never manage to go back to sleep after one of those.