Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Chloe.”
Chapter Eight
Sam
The world stops, and the air is sucked out of my chest. Wind and rain rage around us, and thunder booms when her full lips part, drowning out whatever she said. I blink, afraid if I look away she’ll disappear somehow, that maybe I’m just imaging all this.
She’s drenched from the rain, dark red hair hanging around her face, somehow highlighting her intense green eyes. Dressed in hiking boots, black leggings, and a white t-shirt with the words Nightfall along the collar, my eyes go right to her breasts on their own accord and—fuck—I can see the faint outline of her nipples through the wet fabric.
I’ve wondered what Chloe looks like naked multiple times over the years. I’ve caught glimpses of her here and there, most happening innocently enough. But seeing her—all of her—has been the subject of my dreams more times than once.
The years have been good to her, and even standing here, barely out of the pouring rain, with wet hair, no makeup, and mud splattered on her feet and ankles, Chloe takes my fucking breath away. She’s even more gorgeous here than she is in photos—photos where her hair and makeup have been professionally done and she has her arm linked through some guy’s.
The wind gusts, blowing rain into the covered shelter. The flames in the large fireplace, which were almost out, hiss in protest. More thunder rumbles overhead and lightning flashes across the darkening sky. I blink and the logical part of my brain kicks into gear.
It’s storming, and my phone buzzed with a weather alert not long ago, warning about a tornado in the next town over. Chloe is still at the threshold of the shelter, at risk for getting hit by lightning or debris. I think the shelter might hold up in the event a tornado actually went through here, but we’d need to move to the center, hoping the great stone fireplace will hold and the structure won’t lose its integrity if trees topple over.
Chloe shivers again, pulling her arms in toward herself. If I had a jacket, I’d take it off and give it to her. But I’m out here in athletic shorts and a tank top, having slipped away from the house for a jog through the woods to clear my head. I made it to the shelter before it started raining, and I decided to play it safe and wait out the storm in the picnic shelter. There were a few families here, rushing to gather their belongings and get out before the storm hit.
They were roasting hotdogs over the fire and didn’t bother to put out the flames as they ran out. I’d been sitting here poking at the fire when I saw someone come out of the woods. There are a few more logs left to toss into the fire, and right now Chloe might be thankful for that. The heat of the day got washed away with the rain, and the constant wind is making even me a little cold, and I’m not soaking wet from the cold rain.
Chloe reaches up, moving several strands of wet hair that are stuck to her forehead, and continues to stare at me, unmoving. For a second, I think maybe she doesn’t recognize me anymore. It’s been years, and the memory of the last time I laid eyes on Chloe is burned in my memory.
Did that memory fade for her?
“Chloe,” I say again, and those two syllables come out breathy, awakening something inside of me. Something I need to promptly fall right back to sleep. She slowly steps forward and regret weighs heavily on my chest.
“Sam,” she finally replies, inching in. “It’s…it’s been a while.”
“It has.” I don’t realize I’m walking closer until misty rain blows in, dampening my face. Goosebumps break out on Chloe’s arms, and her pert nipples become even more obvious beneath the thin fabric of her shirt. “You look good.”
“I’m wet,” she says, and then immediately thinks exactly what I’m thinking. “From the rain,” she adds quickly. “Not because, well, you know—but not—it’s raining and…fuck.”
My lips curve into a smile, mind of course struggling to get out of the gutter, but happily surprised to see she’s just as adorably awkward as ever. Leaves rip off the nearby trees, crashing to the ground in wet heaps.
“We should move to the center,” I tell her, finding comfort in being rational. Think about our physical safety, not about how it would feel to have her physically closer to me. Chloe nods but stands rooted to the spot, emerald eyes piercing into mine, and I hate that I can’t interpret the look on her pretty face.
We have so much history between us, history I left behind and couldn’t go back to because I burned that bridge. Has enough time passed?
“I didn’t think the storm would be this intense,” she says quietly, moving next to the hearth. She takes her backpack off and sets it on a picnic table. “Or else I would have brought a raincoat.”