Storm (Ashes & Embers 1)

He continues, “I do have a present for you, which is why I was trying to get in touch with you. When can I see you?”

Now. Tomorrow. Every next day. All the forevers.

“Um, I don’t know.”

“What are you doing tomorrow morning? I’ll be on my way to Grams for Christmas Eve dinner. I can stop by on my way.”

“Um, I’ll be here. You can stop by anytime. But you really don’t need to give me a gift.”

“I already got it. I want to give it to you. Will Michael be there? Maybe I should bring him a bottle of wine or something.” I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or sarcastic.

“No, he had to go out of town for a few days.”

“You’re fucking kidding, right?”

“I wish I was. He had to go out of town for work.”

“That sucks, Evie. It’s Christmas. What the fuck?”

“I’m already pissed. Trust me.”

“Is that why you called me, because you’re mad at him? And yesterday, when I wanted to talk to you, you weren’t mad yet. Right?”

Damn. He can see right through me. I let out a sigh.

“I wanted to call you... I was just trying to do the right thing by focusing on him.”

“I thought you were going to think about us.” Storm has one of those voices that are so expressive I can actually see what face he’s making when he’s talking, even if I can’t really see him. Right now, I know he’s not smiling, and his eyes got a little bit darker, and he’s probably clenching his teeth a little bit.

“Storm, I do think about you, and us and whatever this is. I can’t not think about it. But I am in a relationship with him.”

I must have super powers because now I can also hear Storm thinking.

“Are you still fucking him?”

“Storm! What the hell? You can’t ask me things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s rude and private, that’s why.”

“I don’t like the thought of him fucking you.”

“Then don’t think about it. And could you stop saying fucking? It’s vile. Who are you fucking, by the way? I saw your picture on a magazine last week with some chick with tits bigger than my head.”

“She’s no one.”

“Right.”

Our silence stares at each other in the virtual air, battling it out, both of us knowing the fight is wrong, the jealousy not allowed. But it’s there, rearing its ugly, green head. A long tense minute goes by.

“Evie, I don’t want to fight. I just want to give you your present.”

“You started it.” Yes, I am five now.

“Okay, I guess I was out of line. I’m not used to feeling jealous. Give me a break over here.”

“Is she your flavor of the week?”

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” he says it triumphantly as if he’s winning.

“No. If she’s what you’re into, that’s great.”

“I want to get into you.”

No one has ever been able to stop my heart with words. But he does, always. I close my eyes and savor the feeling for a few moments. The feeling of being wanted and desired. It’s new. It’s intoxicating.

“If you’re done swooning over me, let’s get back to me coming to see you. I have a better plan now.”

Swooning? I am not.

“I’m afraid to ask,” I say as I fall back onto the couch.

“Come with me.”

“With you where?”

“To Grams.”

“What? No. I can’t go to your family’s Christmas Eve dinner. I don’t even know them.”

“Yes, you can. You’ll have a great time. They would love to meet you.”

“It’s rude for a stranger to show up at someone’s house for a family holiday dinner, Storm. I couldn’t.”

“You’re not a stranger. You’re my friend. My family isn’t like that. Trust me. Christmas is for friends and family. Say you’ll come. You can’t sit there on Christmas by yourself. That’s total bullshit. Do you have anywhere else to go?”

I glance at the little gingerbread house on my mantle. “No, I don’t.”

“It’s settled then. I’ll pick you up at ten. Everyone will be casual, so you don’t have to dress up or anything. We’ll just be hanging out in the living room by the fire and eating in the dining room. It’s about two hours away. I probably won’t have you back until about nine at night. My Gram likes to give us gifts and stuff, so make sure you give the cat extra food and water. I don’t want you to be worried while we’re gone. I want you to have fun.”

I pick at a stray thread on my sweatpants. Christmas with Storm’s family sounds exciting and a little bit frightening. Sitting here alone sounds worse, though.

“Are you really sure it’s okay?” I ask him again.

“I’m a thousand percent positive. It’s just gonna be my parents, Gram, maybe my brothers and my sister. And Niko.”

I smile at the thought of seeing Niko again. “Only if you’re sure it’s okay. I don’t want to be in the way or make your family uncomfortable. Should I bring anything?”

“Just your ass with a bow on it.”

“Storm...” I warn.

“Okay, okay. We’ll have fun, I promise. I’m glad you’re coming.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to bring Juggsy?” I say playfully. My mood has lifted, and I’m actually looking forward to not spending the day alone tomorrow just being depressed. When I tell Amy, she will be proud of me.

“Remember you just said that, so when I spank you tomorrow, you’ll know what it’s for.”

I change my clothes

five times. I keep telling myself this is not a date. I’m really not sure what this is. I finally settle on a pair of jeans, black boots, and a white V-neck cashmere sweater. I throw a black scarf with tiny sparkles over my sweater. I guess that looks casual and festive. I add a pair of silver hoop earrings and a necklace with a black stone wrapped in white gold wire that belonged to my mom.

Earlier, Michael called and was still mad at me over Exhibit A—the bracelet. I still have a bad feeling about that cheap-ass bracelet, but I’m not going to let it wreck my holiday. I told him I was going with Storm for dinner at his Grandmothers and he didn’t even seem to care. Not that I want to make him jealous, but still. I don’t know if he just doesn’t care whom I spend my time with, or if he’s just so star struck by Storm and likes the idea of me hanging out with one of his musical idols.

Storm shows up promptly at ten a.m. He’s holding a box wrapped with silver paper and a bright red bow. I feel bad I don’t have a gift for him. It’s so awkward when someone gives you an unexpected gift and you don’t have one for them.

“Wow, you look beautiful,” he says when I open the door, and he doesn’t try to hide his eyes roaming over my body.

“Thank you... You look nice, too.” He really does. Achingly so. His hair is shiny and wavy, hanging a few inches past his shoulders. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt, faded jeans, and black motorcycle boots. A silver chain with a large black cross hangs around his neck and he has several sterling silver and black leather bracelets on. I suddenly feel very shy around him. Every now and then, the fact he is famous creeps up on me and makes me wonder what the hell he is doing hanging around with a nobody like me.

He hands the box to me. “Open this now before we go.”

I take it from him, smiling brightly, not able to hide my excitement. I wonder what sort of gift he is giving me. Knowing him, it’s going to be something joking or sexy and inappropriate.

“You really didn’t have to do this...” I tell him.

He’s grinning at me like a little kid. “Open it.”