“Exactly. So we’ll be sitting in silence by tomorrow morning.”
I looked at her, the candlelight catching in her eyes, and I felt that pull again. The same one I’d been fighting all night. All year. Hell, all the years I’d known her. “I don’t think that’s gonna be the problem,” I said.
She tilted her head, studying me. “Why not?”
Because I had a lot I wanted to say to her. A lot I’d been holding back. And now, with nowhere to run and nothing to hide behind, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep shit in. The storm rattled the windows again, and the candles flickered. Outside, the storm raged on. Inside, the tension was building, slow and steady, and I knew this weekend was about to change everything.
Three hours later, I was tipsy off Remy and going insane. Kade and I made grilled ham and cheese sandwiches that I barely ate because I couldn’t focus long enough to finish them. We’d playedUnoandConnect4to distract us from the fact that we were in a candlelit cabin with a storm raging outside and absolutely nowhere to hide from whatever this was between us.
Kade dug up an old deck of cards. We played two hands ofRummy, but I couldn’t focus–my eyes kept drifting to his hands, graceful and sure as they shuffled the deck. I’d seen him do it hundreds of times. But tonight, the flicker of candlelight made every movement magnetic, the air around us heavy. Every touch, every glance felt dangerous.
“You gon’ play or just stare at the cards?” he’d asked, and I’d snapped my attention back to my hand, cheeks burning.
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re losing.”
“I’mthinking.”
He’d smirked at me, that slow, lazy smirk that made my stomach flip, and I’d thrown my cards down. “I’m bored with this.”
“You just don’t wanna lose.”
“I don’t wanna play anymore. There’s a difference.”
He’d gathered up the cards without arguing, and I got up from the floor where we’d been sitting, my legs stiff from being folded too long. I needed to do something other than sit across from him, hyperaware of every breath he took.
Now I was standing in the kitchen, staring into the open cabinet as if it held the answers to all my problems. It didn’t. It held canned soup, crackers, and a box of tea bags that looked like they’d been there since 2015.
“Ain’t shit in there,” Kade asked from the couch, sipping from the bottle of Remy, emptying it.
“I know.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Looking.”
“For what?”
“I don’tknow. Something.”
He shifted, the couch creaking under his weight, and somehow I felt him watching me again, even when my back was turned. His eyes tracked me constantly, like he was trying todecode me. But I couldn’t stop noticing him either-every time I wasn’t looking, I felt as if he were right there beneath my skin. That was the worst of it.
I grabbed the box of tea, just to have something to do with my hands. “You want tea?”
“Storm, it’s like a hunnid fucking degrees in here.”
“So?”
“So I don’t want hot tea when I’m already sweating.”
I turned around to look at him, and my breath caught. All showered and smelling good. He’d pushed up the sleeves of his black tee at some point, and his forearms were on full display–strong, defined, and tattooed, the kind of arms that looked like they could pick you up without effort. Which I knew they could, because I’d seen him move furniture, carry heavy equipment, lift things that would’ve had me calling for help. But I’d never let myselfthinkabout it like this. About what those arms would feel like wrapped around me, holding me, and pulling me close.
“Storm.”
I blinked. “Hmm?”
“You good?”