Storm

by Carian Cole

  “He will love that. That’s really cute. He’s sleeping, but put it next to him, and he’ll probably play with it when he wakes up.” He gently places the toy next to Halo and then sits on the floor next to the couch. My heart swoons. A rock star just gave my cat a toy. Seriously, what could be cuter?

  “Drink the tea, you’ll feel better.”

  The tea is made perfectly with honey and just a tiny touch of milk. It feels like heaven on my throat.

  “Thank you… What are you doing here?”

  He pushes his hair out of his face and tucks it behind his ear and grins at me. “You were alone. And you sounded pretty bad.” He shrugs. “I thought maybe you shouldn’t be alone. I know you get nervous.”

  I nod slowly at him over my tea cup, breathing the steam up into my nose. I’m not sure what to say to him. I feel like we keep being pulled back to each other, and I’m not entirely sure I don’t like it.

  “Do you want me to leave?” he asks me. “And think about all the good stuff I just bought you before you say yes. I even bought you those really soft tissues. And like five different kinds of cough drops.”

  I shake my head no. “Evie, I’m not good at talking about my feelings and shit, but I kind of feel like I should take care of you. Can I just hang out here until tomorrow? Otherwise, I’m gonna sit around and worry about you, and I’m tired. I’ll just crash here on the floor.”

  I can’t help but wonder if his feelings of wanting to take care of me stem from what happened to his wife. That is not a territory I want to tread into at all.

  “We have a guest room down the hall, please sleep there.”

  “Are you sure? I can sleep right here. I sleep on floors all the time when we tour.”

  I had forgotten about his band and touring and all the stuff I know nothing about. “No, you are not sleeping on the floor. Please, sleep in the guest room.”

  “I could sleep on the couch with you like we did in the truck.” He winks at me and lays his head on my lap. I instinctively touch his hair, tangling my fingers in it. I really do want him to lay on the couch with me and feel his arms around me again. It would be so easy to fall asleep against him, all woozy from the meds and fever. But I can’t let that happen.

  “We can’t do that,” I whisper.

  Disappointment washes over his face as he stands up. “All righty. I’m gonna go down the hall. Call for me if you need anything, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “Are you sleeping here on the couch or are you going to your room?”

  “I like it here.”

  He starts to walk away, but I call after him, my voice hoarse and scratchy, “Storm?” He turns and looks back at me. “I’m glad you’re here.” Before I can blink, he’s next to me, bending down next to my face.

  “If you weren’t sick, I’d beg you to show me how glad you are.” A surge of heat having nothing to do with my fever rushes through my body and settles between my legs. He kisses my cheek and leaves the room. Damn him! How does he twist up my insides so bad? I can’t help but watch his ass as he swaggers across the room and disappears down the hallway to the guest room. Hot damn! Does that man wear jeans well?

  It’s so odd how I can just feel him in the house. There is like an energy that just comes off him that I can feel in every pore of my body. He’s like a warm plate of just-baked cookies, the yummy scent just irresistible, begging you to try to take just one.

  I am obviously so delirious I am now comparing sexy men to chocolate chip cookies. Lord, help me. I need to either get laid or go on a diet. Possibly both.

  Chapter Ten

  It’s a good thing all the meds made me sleepy, because otherwise, I do not think I would have been able to sleep knowing Storm was just down the hall. Having him in my house gave me mixed feelings of excitement and fear. What if Michael finds out and accuses me of cheating on him? Although he seems pretty crazy about Storm and his band, so maybe he wouldn’t even care if he knew he was here. I don’t think he’d be happy knowing there is some kind of sexual tension between us and he got me off twice, even though I didn’t want to. That alone should be enough for me to tell Storm he has to leave. I always do the right thing. That’s who I am. I’m honest, loyal, committed. The good girl.

  But now, I kind of like being a little bit bad. Being so close to something I shouldn’t be close to is a thrill I’ve never felt before. Storm makes me feel things I’ve only read about in books, feelings I didn’t think really existed in real life. I liked having this little tiny piece of sexy and sweet taboo in my world. I keep trying to push him out of my head, but he’s like a boomerang that just flings right back.

  “How do you feel?”

  I’m so lost in my own thoughts I don’t even realize he’s standing there. I don’t feel better at all. In fact, I feel a whole lot worse. “Huh?”

  “Focus. Do you feel any better? You look really pale.”

  I shake my head and go into a coughing fit. My ribs are killing me from coughing so much. He stands there watching me, wearing his jeans and no shirt. His long hair is all bed-head, which only makes him even more sexy and kind of adorable like a little kid who needs a haircut. Every time I see him shirtless, I feel like I lose control of my own eyes. I know I should look away, but I can’t. My eyes just keep going back to roam over his inked flesh like he’s some kind of hot train wreck. He knows I’m looking at him like that, and I can see he’s torn between being concerned about me feeling sick and making a sarcastic, sexy comment at me.

  “Did you take your medicine?” Surprisingly, he took the concern option.

  “Not yet.”

  “Good. I’m going to make you something. You mind if I touch some stuff in your kitchen?”

  I reach for a tissue and blow my nose. “Have at it,” I say, vaguely worried about what ‘touch stuff’ could actually entail. I feel gross, and I’m sure I look even grosser. I hear him rummaging around and then I hear the blender going. What the hell is he doing, and why did I agree to this? I have no appetite at all, so whatever he’s concocting in there, I’m sure I’m not going to eat it.

  A few minutes later, he’s handing me a glass with what looks like an orange smoothie, like the kind you get at the mall that’s so yummy. “Oh, wow!” I say and take a sip. It’s actually delicious. “This is sooo good.” I take another sip. “What’s in this?”

  He’s beaming over the fact I love his fuzzy orange drink. “It’s orange juice, a little bit of milk, and honey.”

  “It’s fabulous! Thank you.”

  He points to the meds on the coffee table next to me. “Take your meds. You sound worse than yesterday.”

  “They make me tired.”

  “I don’t care, rest is good for you. Sleep all fucking day if you want.”

  I down the pills with a gulp of the orange deliciousness. He’s typing like mad on his phone and looks annoyed at it. He looks up and shoves his phone into his back pocket. “Should I feed the cat? Do you want some breakfast?”

  I stare at him like he’s from another planet. Why is he doing this? Why is he even here?

  “No, I’m fine. You should really be going.”

  I hear his phone beep and he yanks it out, glances at the screen, makes a face, and shoves it back into jeans again.

  “And you look sort of busy anyway,” I say, wondering who he’s texting with. Probably his girlfriend wondering where he is. “So you should go and take care of whatever it is famous rock stars do. Like blondes with big boobs.”

  He tilts his head at me and makes a face. “Really? You’re gonna go there?” he says. “Don’t say shit like that to me, okay? I just want to be me when I’m with you. This is why I didn’t want you to know what I do. I’m not a rock star. I’m just some asshole who plays the guitar.”

  Eek. Touched a nerve it seems. “Storm, you’re not an asshole. Not always, anyway. I just thought you’d have better things to do than hang around a sick person and play nurse.”

  “If I did, that’s w
hat I’d be doing.”

  I put my hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. Calm down. And put a shirt on, please.”

  Instead, he sits on the edge of the couch next to me. He puts one hand on the pillow next to my head so he’s partially leaning over me. He takes my hand in his other hand and presses my palm against his chest, holding my hand against him. I can feel his heart beating while my own heart is pounding in my chest. I try to pull my hand away, but he holds it there against him.

  “Touch me,” he says. He’s not asking me to, he’s telling me to. He releases my hand, and I slowly run my fingers over his chest. He gently touches my cheek and leans down toward me. I think he’s going to kiss me and my mind starts to race. I look terrible. My breath must be awful. I’m full of germs. It’s cheating. My hand wanders up to his broad shoulder. So much muscle. I want to touch him everywhere and explore every beautiful part of him.

  “You look scared.” His voice is soft and even. I nod a little. Yes, I’m scared. Scared he will kiss me, and scared he won’t. I’m lost in his gaze, trapped against the couch.

  A faint smile touches his lips. “I like you scared. It makes me want to do things to you.” My stomach flips and my eyes widen. Things? What kind of things? And while I feel scared, it’s not the kind of scared like when you see someone creepy in a dark alley. It’s a pulsing, electric fear that flips a switch deep inside me, making my heart beat faster and sending shivers up and down my spine. I peek up at him to meet his eyes. They are dark and smoky and honed right in on me.

  “You have two hands,” he says.

  I put my other hand on his arm and slowly move it up toward his neck and do the same with my other hand. His skin is so warm and smooth. I slowly run my hands up and down his inked arms and chest. There is something really fascinating about touching someone who is covered in tattoos, like caressing artwork. He’s waiting, but for what I don’t know. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I love the way you touch me, Evie. Everything you feel comes right through your fingers. I felt it when you were touching my hand in the truck. And I feel it now.”

  I pull my hands away. I should not be touching him or making him feel all the things I feel. He opens his eyes and stares down at me for a moment. “I’m going to let you stop because you’re sick.” Let me? Let me?

  “Storm...”

  He leans down even closer to me, and I brace myself for his kiss, but he doesn’t kiss me. “You will touch me, Evie. I want to feel your hands all over me because it’s like a fucking drug for me right now and I need it.” He leans his forehead against mine. “And I’m going to make you beg me to let you because I need that, too.” His lips meet mine so softly... so briefly... that when he pulls away and walks out of the room, I’m left wondering if it actually really happened.

  The fuck?

  All this talk of touching and making me beg has my girly parts in a quivery wet mess. What the hell just happened? He can’t just come into my own home while I’m sick—breaking and entering, mind you—and tell me I’m going to be touching him and begging for it. I hear the shower running. Is he seriously taking a shower now after getting me all in a frenzy? He’s completely bat shit crazy. I need to get him out of here before I lose my mind and do something stupid. Especially, if he thinks he’s going to boss me around while I’m sick and not able to even think straight.

  I text Michael.

  Me: I feel like shit. Going to rest all day. Miss you

  Michael: K. In a meeting. Feel better. Call me later. MY2

  I stare at my lie on the tiny screen. I don’t miss him. This fact sinks into me slowly and then spreads from my mind all the way down to my heart, then plunges deeply into my stomach like a heavy rock.

  I get up and go upstairs to wash up in my bathroom and put clean clothes on. I look a mess—red nose, watery eyes, clammy skin. Just great. I go back downstairs with Halo hot on my heels and fill his little dishes with food and fresh water.

  “You should be resting. Get back on the couch.” I’m both relieved and disappointed he’s fully clothed now in jeans and t-shirt.

  “You have to go now,” I tell him. “Thank you for everything, but I’m okay.”

  He leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms defiantly. “When is Michael coming back?”

  “Sunday.”

  “Then I’m staying until Saturday night.”

  “No. You can’t.” I head back to the couch because I’m feeling dizzy again, but he follows me just like a cat.

  “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re sick. It’s not cool.”

  “Storm, I’m not a baby. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.” I lie on the couch and pull my blanket up over me.

  “Then it’s time you give someone else a turn. Look, next month I go on tour and it’s going to be fucking chaotic. I like hanging out with you. We can watch movies and eat ice cream. We’ll take naps like we did in the truck.”

  I swear, I think he wants to be back trapped in his truck. Maybe in a way, I do, too. As much as we annoyed each other, I liked our little bubble of us.

  “Come on...” he begs, giving me his sad puppy eyes.

  I really don’t want him to go. Partly because I hate being alone when I don’t feel well, and partly because I kind of like having him around, and I’m not really ready to never see him again or give up whatever it is we are.

  I finally give in. “All right, but I have some rules. No more touching or inappropriate behavior. Okay? I have a boyfriend and you need to respect that. I’m not a slut, and I don’t like you trying to turn me into one.”

  He looks visibly insulted. “Evelyn, I would never, ever, want you to be a slut. Unless you’re my slut.” He quirks his eyebrow up.

  “Good. I’m going to ignore that last part. And no more picking locks. That is seriously creepy, not to mention illegal.”

  “I was worried about you.”

  “Whatever. No more of that. You can’t just do whatever you want. There are certain boundaries, okay? I would like us to be friends. Real friends. I will not be some toy for you when you’re bored, though. So if that’s your plan, you can just leave.”

  “I don’t get bored.” He deadpans. “And I have enough toys.”

  “Good, then we shouldn’t have any issues.”

  He lifts my feet off the couch, sits where they were, and then puts my feet on top of his legs.

  “You can sit over there in the chair, ya know. Or on the loveseat.” I motion over to the other furniture in the room that is currently unoccupied by a sniveling person.

  “I’m fine here.”

  Unwrapping a cough drop, I shrug at him and pop it into my mouth.

  “Why don’t you want me?” he blurts out, as if he can’t even fathom it. I laugh at the sheer audacity of his question, but he doesn’t laugh or smile at all. He waits for me to stop giggling much like a parent waits for a child to stop acting like an idiot so they can continue being serious.

  I force myself to stop laughing. “Excuse me?”

  He says it slower this time, like maybe I didn’t understand it the first time. “Why don’t you want me?”

  “Storm, are you really this used to women just throwing themselves at you? Am I really the first woman who hasn’t come running to you, tongue wagging, legs spread?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hurt your amazingly large ego and obvious world record.”

  “Evelyn, I’m serious. Just tell me why.” He’s still not laughing.

  “I... okay, I’ll be serious.” I struggle to find the words to explain to him what I feel, but how can I do that when I don’t even understand it myself? “I hated you at first. I thought you were really strange and pretty much an asshole. But now, I like you. I want us to be friends. You make me laugh and you make me feel safe. I like the attention you give me, I guess. And yes, I’m attracted to you. I mean, look at you. But I have a boyfriend. I have never been a cheater. And you... like you said, you don’t d
o relationships. You have your fuckbuddies. I think you like that I’m a bit of a conquest for you. I just don’t want to be that. I don’t want to be some sort of fun challenge for you, so you can see how far you can push me and how much you can fuck with my head and my body before I give in and sleep with you, and then you move on, leaving me a huge mess.”

  “Why do you make it all sound so bad? What’s wrong with setting your sights on something or someone that’s a bit out of reach?”

  “Nothing, if that’s what two people are into. What I’m trying to say is I don’t want to be part of that. It’s not me. Yes, I’m attracted to you if that makes you feel better. You seem to need to hear it. But I really don’t believe you’re attracted to me. Look at me, I’m like five feet tall with hardly any boobs, pale skin, I’ve been a mess since the day we met. I am not the super model you are used to.”

  He squeezes my foot. “Evelyn, I am attracted to you. I think you’re fucking adorable. I’m sick of girls like that—”

  “See?” I interrupt. “You’re bored. You want something new.”

  He runs his hand through his hair, exasperated. “Why do you make things so hard? I don’t sit around and analyze my feelings. I just go after what I want. I think you’re miserable with Michael. He seems to treat you like fucking shit.”

  “That doesn’t mean I should jump into bed with you!”

  “I know that. Did you ever think you’re just wasting time with him?”

  “No.”

  “Do you really think if I just wanted to fuck you and leave you, I’d be here taking care of you?”

  “No... at least, I hope not. And I appreciate that you’re taking care of me, but I’m not going to fuck you in return.”

  “That’s not what I want, Evie. I think you know that much. You can’t deny there’s something between us, right? Am I the only one who feels a connection here?”

  I stare at the wall behind him. I don’t want to answer this.

  “Right?” he pushes.

  “Yes, there is something.”