Chapter Twenty-Six
twenty-six
hope
A tropical storm is gathering strength offshore. Historically, it’s early in the season for a hurricane, but Marissa left town a day early for her family reunion out of state to avoid any potential trouble. She invited me to come along, but the allure of getting out of town was outweighed by the prospect of spending an entire weekend making small talk with strangers—my own family reunions are stressful enough.
Solitude is the silver lining to staying back, and at first having the condo to myself was wonderful. I worked on my résumé, delved into a few recent shark studies, and ate a blissfully conversation-free lunch accompanied only by the hum of the ceiling fan. Then boredom kicked in. Turns out half a day alone in an apartment was enough, but I wasn’t about to appease my desire for a change in scenery with a potential hurricane about to make landfall.
Instead, I gather all the couch pillows and settle in, laptop propped on my knees, continuing in my quest to watch all the crew’s past videos. I’m working my way through the uploads haphazardly, an episode here, an interview there. It’s cool to watch how their rapport has grown more polished and free-flowing, less talking over one another and stammering like a log-jammed creek after a rainstorm. Their early videos make me feel better for my own flubs.
Heavy cloud cover moves in, and the gloom and patter of rain against the windows lulls me into a doze. I’m awoken by a knock that rattles the doorframe. Scrambling out of my nest of pillows, I hurry over and peer through the peephole. Adrian is outside, outlined against a curtain of sheeting rain.
Ozone assaults my nostrils when I swing the door open. “What are you doing here?” Knowing Marissa would be out of town, I purposefully didn’t ask about his weekend plans. Despite being on friendly terms, we haven’t hung out alone outside work, and a weekend without Marissa around as a buffer seems a risky time to put our new relationship boundaries to the test.
“Weather’s getting a little dicey, so I thought I’d check on you.” Arms laden with totes, he steps around me, shimmying between me and the door, his body sliding along mine for one excruciatingly delicious moment. “I thought you might need some groceries. Don’t need to be venturing out in this.”
I press the door closed with my back and lean against it for support against the heady rush of emotions whirling through me at the sight of him. “I didn’t plan to. Marissa and I shopped before she left.”
Setting down the bags on the counter, he puts a sack of oranges in the empty fruit bowl.
“You didn’t have to brave the storm to feed me.”
“Just a little rain so far.” He shrugs off his rain-specked jacket to reveal a form-fitting T-shirt. “I’ve been checking the radar all day.” Fingertips grasping the hood of his coat, he reaches around me to hang it on one of the hooks by the door. His nose is speckled with raindrops, and I catch the deep, earthy scent of his beard oil.
Skin tingling with awareness, I ask, “Then why come over? I’m fine.”
“Are you?” He stoops to unlace his shoes. “You’ve got goose bumps.” His words skitter across my bare forearms, and when he looks up at me, worry pools in his dark eyes.
“You let in a draft,” I say, rationalizing. Even at its chilliest, South Carolina in midsummer is no match for my Michigan roots. “Physical response to external stimuli.” At least that part’s true. Him kneeling, mouth level with my navel, is definitely stimulating.
His gaze runs up my arms, past my throat, until our eyes connect, and the perusal lingers on my skin like the echo of his touch. I narrowly avoid closing my eyes at the burst of longing in my chest.
He rises and places a hand against the door, framing me in. Tipping forward, he toes off one of his shoes. “You’re not used to this kind of storm.” His mouth is near my cheek, so close his lips almost brush my skin, and I should move away, but I stay put, breathing shallowly.
With a long swallow, he looks down, holding my gaze. “I wanted to make sure you’re taking the proper precautions.” His voice slips low, and I get the feeling we’re not talking about the weather anymore.
“This isn’t my first tropical storm.” My pulse has picked up, and my eyes drop to the hollow of his neck, then swing back up to his freshly trimmed beard, and further, to his lips.
“But you’re out of practice,” he insists.
I lift my eyes to his. “Are you implying you could teach me a thing or two?” My chest is heaving like I’ve just run up a flight of stairs, and Adrian’s eyes drop to the bare skin exposed by the low scoop of my tank top.
His own breath is coming fast and loud in the empty room. Just us here, alone.
“If you wanted to learn,” he says. “Though I recall you have some relevant experience with snowstorms.” A wicked, knowing smile creases his cheeks. My mind flashes to the New Year’s Day blizzard that left us stranded at the airport coming back from winter break, when we had no choice but to weather the storm in a hastily-booked hotel room equipped with a jetted tub and king-size bed.
On a shaky inhale, I force myself to meet his eyes. “Are we talking about the same kind of hands-on instruction as that morning at the beach?”
His eyes darken with desire, but there’s something else there too. Restraint. Caution. “It depends. Are you asking as my friend? Or something more?”
Until now, I’ve attributed our kisses to mutual attraction and proximity, at least on his part. My own feelings are troublingly strong, but he’s never given any indication he’d want to try again. To reforge the broken bonds between us. I figured he’d been swept up in the moment, tugged under by a strong pull of nostalgia.
But the way he’s waiting on my answer, body rigid with tension, has me wondering if he’s fighting the same losing battle I am. After a moment, he steps back, depriving me of his heat. “I’ll just put away the groceries and leave you be.” He turns away, but I grab his wrist.
His eyes fly to mine, and beneath my fingertips, his pulse hammers. “Even though I’ve lived without you for so long, my heart can’t seem to get the hang of it.” The truth leaves my mouth and I don’t bother holding back. “I thought friends could work. That this could be enough.”
“Friends will never be enough for me, Hope.” He moves closer, his wrist still caught in my unsteady grip. “But if that’s all you have to give, I’ll take it, because I don’t want to live without you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think it’s enough for me either. The wanting hasn’t stopped. And I know it’s probably ruining our chance to keep the friendship up, but I’ve kept this bottled up for so long. I’m just worried I can’t be what you need.”
“You’ve always been more than enough for me.” His confession is an echo of my own inescapable reality. A truth that doesn’t scare me anymore, not in this moment, and I let go of his wrist, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him.
His lips part in an instant and the kiss deepens, his mouth decadent and lush, scattering my thoughts like windblown leaves. His hands are everywhere, his touch all I’ve needed and been too proud to ask for. Delicious and warm and oh—hot. His tongue is slick against mine, tempting me for more.
He walks me backward until I’m pressed between the door and his body, and he presses another openmouthed kiss to my neck, sucking as he pulls away.
“I’ve been dying to touch you here,” I say, sliding my hands down his muscled back.
“I’ve been dying to touch you anywhere.” He’s back to my mouth, my lips already plump and wet, our tongues sliding against each other. Our first two kisses were hesitant, an exploration. But now I want to claim him. I want these kisses to be indelible. Come what may, I want what’s between us to last, every part of this, every part of us. He tilts his forehead against mine, filling his lungs, and draws his hands up my waist, to my rib cage, and I arch against the door, chest heaving against his.
“You’re so sexy, Hope.”
Sexy isn’t how I seek to look. My body gets me from here to there, it’s an extension of my mind. I know a lot of people, my best friends included, who put time into their appearance, and there’s worth in it for them. But for me, sexy isn’t a benchmark. It’s a feeling, and I feel it now, with Adrian, his hands roving over my body, his eyes heavy with desire, our bodies on the same wavelength.
I lift my chin, deepening the kiss. His hands have found my wrists, thumbs circling the thin skin at the inside of my wrists, pinning me, and our mouths are the only connection I control. I take full advantage, sucking his plump lower lip between mine, reveling in his moan, a sound that drives its way straight to my core.
“Adrian.” This time it’s me who pulls away, breathless, dizzy, giddy. I tip my forehead against his sternum, pulse racing.
“Regrets?” he asks, and I look up to find his brows tugged together.
“Only for all the time we wasted not doing this,” I say, and he grins.
“We have a lot of time to make up for.” He bends toward me, but right before our lips meet, the room is plunged into darkness. The hum of appliances cuts out with a noticeable click. Power outage.
We break apart and I pick my way across the dim living room to the sliding glass door and peer out. Wind lashes tree branches and the sky is dark, but it’s impossible to tell what caused the outage.
“We should probably get out of here,” Adrian says, and I turn to find him frowning at his phone.
“The power might come back on in a few minutes.”
“Or it might not,” he says. “Radar doesn’t look great, and no work crews are going out in this.”
I’m guessing he’s right; the parking lot looks like a swamp. “You said it wasn’t that bad.”
Adrian steps up behind me, warm compared to the coolness of the windowpane. “That was before we lost power. We need to move inland. If the roads end up flooding, we don’t want to be stranded here.”
Goose bumps break out on my arms all over again. I don’t want Adrian driving in this. “Let’s take my car.”
“My SUV has all-wheel drive, and I’m more familiar with the roads. If you’re worried about leaving your car—”
“I’m worried about you,” I half shout, then bite my lip. “Sorry. It’s just...” I gulp to clear my throat from worry, but it doesn’t work. “Eric lost his life driving on slick roads. And I know accidents could happen anytime, but...” Worry over losing him burrows its way into my chest, the fear a palpable ache. I rub my palm against my goose-bump-pebbled arm in a poor imitation of Adrian’s soothing touch.
“Shit, Hope,” he says. “I should’ve realized.” He gathers me into a tight hug, and I let his strength shore me up. Three years since I held Zuri up during her husband’s wake. A long time, but emotion heightens my memories.
After a long embrace, he pulls away, hands sliding down to grasp my own. “We’re going to be all right.” He gives my fingers a squeeze. “This is part of life here, something I’m prepared for. We’ll be okay.”
He can’t know that, but his surety is catching. I grab the emergency bag Marissa reminded me to pack. Add my toothbrush and zip my phone into my purse, then follow Adrian out into the storm.
Rain pelts down, driven sideways by a fierce wind that kicks up ridges of waves on puddles that stretch like rivers crisscrossing the parking lot. Lots of spaces are empty, and Adrian’s SUV is easy to pick out. We jog over and it doesn’t escape my notice that he stays on the windward side of me, blocking the worst of the gusts. He pulls my door open and waits for me to get in, then rounds the hood to the driver’s side, dumping the grocery bags in the back seat.
I pause, wet hand on the seat belt, as a thought occurs to me. His house is on the river, so we can’t be headed there. “Where are we going, a hotel?”
His face is grim for the first time all evening. “To my sister’s.”