“Fuck!” I kick the gate and immediately regret that decision when pain radiates through my foot. The wind blows the hail sideways, sending a thousand bullets into my naked legs, and a stoke of lightning lights up the sky. Mentally, I try to remember what my dad taught me about gauging the distance of a storm.
“All right, Remi, watch for the light, then count the seconds until you hear thunder.”
“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi, five Mississippi…”
Thunder booms before I get to six.
“Five seconds,” I tell him, sitting on the counter with my chin on my dirty knees, staring out at palm trees threatening to fall over in our yard. I hope they do. I love storms. But even more than watching them, I love playing in the wreckage afterward.
“That’s right. So, to figure out where lightning struck, you divide the number of seconds between the lightning and thunder by five. How far away is the storm?”
“Five divided by five is one, so…one mile?” I look up at him, excited that it’s so close. He musses up my stringy hair with a proud smile.
“Bingo,” he says and tips his beer bottle back for another swig. “And if it’s less than thirty seconds, what should you do?” he quizzes.
“Take cover,” I answer firmly.
“Good girl.”
“Can I go play outside when it’s over?” I beg.
“Sure. Monsoons don’t got nothin’ on Hurricane Remi,” he teases.
Another flash of lightning pulls me from my memory, and I count.
“One Mississippi, two Mississ—” Thunder cracks through the sky not even three seconds later. God, I’m an idiot. I don’t even have my phone on me. The tears are falling fast and hard now, mixing with the rain. I walk up to the keypad outside of the gate and stab random numbers in an attempt to get in. I try all the obvious number combinations to no avail. Motherfucker.
Finally, thankfully, a car comes around the corner. I step back behind the keypad as the car pulls up, and once they punch in the code, they’re in too much of a hurry to realize or even care that I slip through the gate behind them. I rack my brain trying to remember where exactly Pierce’s house is. It looks so different at night. When I pass the big “It’s a Boy!” sign from earlier, I know I’m on the right track. Then, I see his house. Now would probably be the time to come up with something to say. An explanation as to why I’m here. Uninvited and in shambles. In the middle of a fucking monsoon. But etiquette has never been my strong suit.
I ring the doorbell and wait, suddenly afraid that he’s not even home. His car isn’t out front, but I assumed it was in the garage. Especially in this weather. But then he answers the door. All scruffy and sleepy-eyed perfection. He’s shirtless, and his perfect V is showcased by low hanging gray sweatpants.
“Remington?” he asks, swinging the door open wider. The sleepiness in his eyes quickly morphs into concern. “What in the hell are you doing here? How did you get here?” He scans the street for my source of transportation before grabbing the hem of my shirt and yanking me inside. He slams the door and locks it for good measure. I don’t answer his question. I don’t even know what to say. All I do know is that I need him.
“Remington, say something. What happened?” His voice is hard but melting around the edges.
I should tell him all about my night with Ryan, with my dad—and I will—but right now, I don’t want to talk about that. Pierce takes my face in both of his hands, searching my eyes. His thumbs brush across my cheeks while his fingers dig into the back of my neck, and the move is so symbolic of him. The perfect concoction of rough, yet sweet. Demanding, yet patient.
“Remington,” he warns in that tone that never fails to send chills through my body.
“It’s my birthday,” I whisper.
I was in my office, brooding over the fact that I didn’t get to see Remington today while going over the new information I got on Ryan. I was debating how to tell her about my connection to him when I heard the doorbell ring. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I opened the door to find my greatest temptation standing there, soaking wet with her clothes sticking to her body like a second skin. Her waterlogged hair dripping onto her signature white Converse. Her chest heaving and her nipples straining against her tank top. Her red-rimmed eyes. God, she’s beautiful when she’s sad. She made me want to slay all her dragons and then make her cry for me at the same time. My feelings for this girl never made sense. I’ve tried to fight this, to do the right thing, despite what my actions in my own classroom yesterday would have you think. But then she says the three words that change everything.
“It’s my birthday,” she finally whispers, green eyes looking up at me through thick, wet, dark lashes, and my resolve is gone.
The game has changed.
The curtain lifts.
The lawyer in me throws my body into gear.
My body gives the green light to my hands.
And then I’m on her, lifting her into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist while she squeezes my shoulders. I slam her back against the wall by the front door, and she lets out a squeal. Her lips are parted, and I trace them with my tongue before sliding inside. I kiss her like I’m drowning and she’s the air I breathe, and she kisses me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear at any moment. Like I’m going to come to my senses and stop her. If I were a smart man, I would.
I’m not going anywhere this time, Remi.
My lips find her neck, and I pump my hips into her wet jean shorts.