“Looks like you lost half that old oak tree,” I said, indicating the massive limb that had fallen. Trying not to wonder why I said something that stupid when I showed up at her door in a dangerous storm.
Michelle stared for a second, and my eyes dropped to her bare feet, toenails painted neon pink. She didn’t even glance at the tree, just took in my face, my drenched clothing and hair. She registered the sound of the sirens and grabbed me by the front of the shirt, yanking me inside and slamming the door. When I felt her warm fingers close around the fabric of my chilled, clinging shirt, a jolt ran through me. In an instant, she’d dragged me out of the driving rain and cold wind and into the stillness of her foyer.
15
Michelle
Drew on my doorstep? In a raging thunderstorm? Talking about a tree limb? It was surreal and weird. I didn’t want to hang out and watch the storm rip the yard apart. I half expected to see a cow pinwheel by like in Twister. It was a ferocious storm and I wanted to go back down the basement.
I acted on instinct.
Dragging him in out of the storm made sense. Kissing him would have been a problem, so I restrained myself, stepping back awkwardly as he dripped a puddle on the wood floor. It was awkward and I wasn’t sure what to say other than, what the hell? Which seemed rude and pointless.
“Basement,” I said, and led him around behind the stairway and opened the door. The light flickered when I flipped it on but then the glow held steady. I led him downstairs and went straight to my laundry room and grabbed a towel.
“Here,” I said, tossing it to him. He wiped his face, shoved back the hair that was dripping in his eyes. He rubbed the already soaked towel over his neck and tried to dry off his arms.
Wet clothes were plastered to him like a second skin. Did I stop and ogle the ridges of muscle visible through the clinging material? Yes, I did. I was only human.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, because I had to say something that wasn’t about his body.
“I wanted to see you. I wanted to see if you were okay after the other night. It seemed like it hit you pretty hard when I told you. I kissed you. I wasn’t sure how you felt about that,” he said. “I went to the library looking for you, but it was closed up. The storm was about to hit, so I came here and hoped you’d let me in.”
I had to give him credit for being honest and thorough now. He could’ve said he wanted a library book or something. Or that he was in the neighborhood.
I nodded. “You’re freezing, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Pretty much, yeah. Thanks for the towel. It did the best it could under the circumstances,” he said, holding out the saturated towel to me.
“Okay, take off your clothes. I can throw them in the dryer for you.”
“The power’s gonna go off any minute,” he said.
“I have a generator. We’re fine. Clothes,” I said decisively.
I went and grabbed a big bath towel off a basket of clothes I hadn’t folded yet and passed it to him. Then I turned around to act polite and pretend I didn’t want to watch him undress. I mean, I would probably drop dead or be traumatized for life at this point if I saw him naked. It was bad enough seeing him in a wet shirt. The wet shirt made it obvious that he was the kind of lean and fit that made women buy naughty calendars or keep secret Pinterest boards named NSFW. His shoulders and biceps alone could make me moan if I looked too closely.
I could hear the soggy sounds of him stripping off wet fabric and dropping his clothes on the floor with a splat. I knew his skin would be cold to the touch from the soaking rain. It was all I could do not to spin around and go to him, run my warm hands all over his bare chest. I was biting my lip under the strain. I should think about… if the basement was getting damp. Did I need a dehumidifier? A tsump pump? I wasn’t sure what that was, but it rhymed and sounded important. I tried to concentrate on potential basement waterproofing issues, but it was no good. I could smell the musky cologne on his wet skin, and it made my mouth go dry.
We were alone together, stranded in a bad storm, and he was taking off his clothes. It was the kind of scenario I would’ve dreamed up in a fantasy about Drew, where we were thrown together by circumstances and had to talk out our differences. Except in the fantasy, we wouldn’t have been talking. Especially if he wasn’t wearing anything but a towel, for goodness’ sake.