Storm (Elemental 1)

“I like to think of it as challenging myself more.”

That made her smile. “Do you still pass?”

“Of course.” He flung another fry for Casper. “If I failed a class because I didn’t read the book, my dad would kill me.”

His words were like a stone thrown into a pond, in flight for a moment, then sinking fast. Hunter lost the smile, as if he realized what he’d said.

Becca wanted to reach out and touch him—then wondered if that would be appropriate. The moment felt precarious, as if one small movement in any direction might throw everything off balance. He tossed another fry to the dog, not looking at her now.

“So he was strict?” she asked quietly. “Your dad?”

He looked up, and she found emotion trapped in his eyes. “No. Not really.”

“You must have been very close.”

He shrugged.

She waited, but he didn’t offer anything further. “So ... were you and he—”

“Can we talk about something else?”

She flushed. “Of course.”

Becca busied herself with cleaning up their plates, though there was barely enough to warrant a clean-up effort.

“Hey.” Hunter caught her wrist and stilled her movement.

She held her breath.

“Thanks,” he said softly. “I—can’t. It’s just—”

His voice stopped, and she chanced a look up. His expression was frozen, his breathing quick and shallow.

“I can’t,” he finally said.

She nodded, then bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Hunter,” she whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” Now she earned a shadow of a smile—but it looked like it might shatter. “Just—talk about something else.”

She struggled for something to say that wouldn’t completely derail him. “Well ... I went shopping with Quinn yesterday, and I think she could wear a bathing suit to Homecoming and cover more skin than the dress she bought.”

His smile widened—just a bit, but enough. “Quinn likes attention.”

He’d sure read her friend fast. “Yeah.” She glanced away and gave a light laugh. “Who doesn’t, right?”

“You.”

Becca swung her head back around. He’d sure read her fast.

He settled back on the blanket and rubbed Casper’s fur. “When’s Homecoming?”

“Two weeks.” Why had she brought up the dance? Now he’d think she was fishing for an invite. She kept talking, hoping she could turn his focus elsewhere. “It’s usually on a Saturday, but it’s a Friday this year, because of the budget. It was cheaper for a DJ or something. They’re doing the game on Thursday night. A lot of people are pissed.”

“Are you going?”

“To the game?” She shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Probably not. I might have to work.”

“No.” He smiled, his eyes bright. “Are you going to the dance?”