“Ow—” I closed my eyes and pulled in a breath. “Out of town.”
Paul had gone to see a client in Michigan for work.
Her beautiful blue eyes landed on my face. Calm spread over my chest. The last time I’d felt this calm, she’d been kissing me. I planned on kissing her again if she’d let me.
“Drink?” I asked. No stutter. Nice.
Maybe if I approached it like a game, speaking would be fun. I mentally chalked one point into the Me column.
“No, thanks. I mean, I don’t know. I’m not sure how long I’m staying. I’m not sure why I texted you.” She frowned and so did I. I didn’t like that she didn’t know why she texted me. Not that I expected her to say she missed me, but it would’ve been nice to hear.
“I had a crappy day. I guess I needed someone to talk to.”
I let out a rough laugh. She wanted to talk so she came to see the guy who didn’t?
She bit back a smile and I shook my head. She was soggy and beautiful. And probably cold. Her shirt was soaked through, and as much as I wanted to stand here and ogle her nipples pressing the fabric, I should warm her up.
I took her hand and led her to the half bath bisecting the foyer. I grabbed a towel from under the sink and threw it onto her head. Then I began to scrub.
“No,” came her muffled protestation. She pulled the towel off her head and frowned at me from under a blond whirlwind. “I have fine hair and you’re tangling it.”
She stood over the sink and finger-combed her hair, squeezing water out of the strands gently. Then she bent and dried her bare legs and arms.
I was transfixed by the dance.
“We could have another session tonight instead of next week if you want.”
What a buzzkill. With my dad out of town for the weekend, I could think of plenty of things to do with the house to myself. They didn’t include this gorgeous specimen guiding me through a session.
“I have my books with me. And the straws.”
I fucking knew it.
“If I can talk you into trying things my way.”
“We d-did them yuh-your way.” Crap. Two points for the stutter demon.
She either didn’t care or didn’t notice. Okay, she probably noticed. Just like I noticed the outline of her nipples visible beneath her white Ridgeway U T-shirt.
“Do you mind?” She thrust the towel at me.
“Not at a-all,” I mumbled, tossing the towel onto the sink and following her to the kitchen. She’d reclaimed her bag. It was hooked over one shoulder. She wasn’t giving up.
I opened the fridge and pulled out two beers. I held one up, offering, though I wasn’t sure she’d accept.
“Sure, why not? After my day, I need it.”
I cracked the tops open on both and served her first. She slid onto one of the stools at the island and drank. Watching her delicately sip from a longneck bottle was sexy as hell. It also might be the highlight of my evening if I wasn’t very careful. If I had my way, I’d be making out with her long and slow by now.
“What if we tried singing?” She looked delighted by this suggestion.
“Ssssinging.” Shit. Three to one.
“Not really singing, but there is a tongue exercise where all you do is say: la la la la la la.”
“That’s singing,” I forced out, then gave myself two points for nailing it on the first try. Tied.
Her smile was flirty. I hoped. I offered my hand and she took it, hopping off the stool and walking with me to the massive sofa in the living room. She sat, placing the pack between us, so I moved it to the floor and patted the cushion next to me.
Tentatively, she scooted closer.
“You c-came to tuh-talk. Talk.”
Chapter Eleven
Cade
She let me have it.
I was content to sit and listen. She talked with her hands, gesturing every so often. It was cute. Like the rest of her. I related to the agony of a pop quiz and dull lectures. First-world problems were commonplace in college but that didn’t make them any less irritating. Then she mentioned Tony, and I saw red.
Not only had the asshole cheated on her, but then her friends had ditched her. All of them. Even the ones who hadn’t slept with Tony sided with the other girls. God, I hated that guy. I hated more that whenever she mentioned his name, she looked sad. I hoped she wasn’t still in love with him. She deserved a hell of a lot better than that two-timing prick.
“Every time I see him, I’m reminded of how I wasn’t good enough to keep him, you know?” Her voice was far off, her eyes unfocused across the room. Then she blinked and faced me, her cheeks coloring. “Ignore me. I didn’t mean to talk about Tony. I just started complaining and…well. I guess I was on a roll.”
Take-Charge Tasha was uncharacteristically fragile tonight. I was unused to it. I moved to console her, brushing her damp hair over her shoulder. Her eyes closed and she leaned toward my hand. Her next exhalation was the heady combination of peppermint candy and beer.
Testing her, I leaned in. She elevated her chin, her gaze on my mouth.
I didn’t hesitate.
I touched her lips with mine, my hand cradling her head. She let out a tiny little mewing sound as I slid my tongue into her mouth. God, she tasted better than I remembered. I scooted closer as her smaller hand clutched my T-shirt, and—
A high-pitched wail pierced the air. We sprang apart, both shocked and disoriented for a hot second.
Siren. My brain chugged into gear at the same time hers did.
“Is that the tornado siren?”
Yup. I nodded.
Leaves and rain pelted the windows, the siren drowning out the sound of the wind lashing the trees. Tasha held on to my arm, her eyes wide with fear. “I hate tornados.”
Who didn’t? I snatched her pack, knowing she’d worry about it if I didn’t, and grabbed her hand. I led her to the basement. She squeezed the life out of my fingers as we jogged down the stairs.
The lower level was exactly as the builders had left it—covered in shiny silver padding, exposed beams marking where there could have been another bedroom and bathroom. Dad wasn’t much of a handyman anyway, but after Mom—er, Joyce—left, he’d given up on finishing the space.
Hail pinged the gutters and rapped the siding as the wind and the siren continued to howl. Tasha clung to me as I walked to the only furnished corner down here.
There was a TV on a stand and a recliner in front of it. Paul’s pathetic man cave also featured a small side table, a lamp, and a mini fridge stocked with beer.
I turned on the television to find a somber weatherman pointing to a blotchy, colorful map. The words “tornado warning” scrolled along the bottom of the screen with a list of affected counties. Tasha, her body quaking, glued herself to my side. I wrapped an arm snugly around her back.
“Oh my God, what do we do?”
I rubbed my hand up and down her arm and kissed her temple. We were doing what we could. We’d sought shelter. We were staying informed. There wasn’t much else to do but wait it out.
Tornado warnings rarely affected our area specifically. The only reason I’d recognized the siren was because they tested it on the first Monday of the month, setting off a symphony of howls from neighborhood dogs.