The first raindrop hits my arm, and it's not long before there's a steady shower. I shiver in my damp t-shirt and try to pick up my pace, but my body is shaky from the effort I've spent up to this point. Thunder resounds again, louder than last time, and I count the seconds until I see a lightning bolt strike in the sky. Twelve seconds. I urge my legs not to quit, and when I reach the hill's apex, I'm thrilled to look across a field and see the old barn that sits on the back end of Renata's property.
Another clap of thunder and ten seconds before the lightning this time. I send up a prayer to the universe that I will be in the barn before things get really scary. I don't mind a little rain, but I'd rather not become a "death by lightning" statistic. I can see the local headline now, "Fool Yankee Struck Dead by Lightning in Open Field."
The run to the barn is somewhere around a third of a mile, and my legs are rubbery from exhaustion and fear. The sky is the color of charcoal, and the wind whips the trees into a frenzy, spiraling leaves to the ground. As I run toward the shed, I spy a figure moving perpendicular to me across the pasture. Shit. It's Seth.
He begins waving, then points to the sky as another rumble of thunder echoes around us, followed by lightning. Without counting, I know that this strike is closer. The timing makes Seth look like Zeus, pointing his scepter toward the sky, a comparison I will never share with him because he already thinks he's the almighty with his dishwasher loading skills and storm warnings. Apparently, he also thinks I can't hear or see the storm and need him to point it out to me.
He reaches me when I'm about twenty feet away from the barn, and I don't say a word or even look at him. I'm sure he's gloating right now, and I don't care to witness it. To my shock, the rain suddenly turns solid, and when I extend my palm, I'm pelted with hail about the size of a marble. Fantastic. I'm being shot with nature's ice bullets.
"Hail," Seth shouts unhelpfully.
He really does think I'm an idiot.
I yelp as a piece as big as a chicken nugget strikes my shoulder, and Seth shoots me a concerned look.
"I'm fine." My raspy breathing and wild-eyed appearance betray my words.
We race alongside the barn, past a row of mowers and a small tractor that are parked beneath an overhang. Seth arrives at the barn door a moment before I do, but he holds it open for me, allowing me to enter first. I find his chivalry anachronistic and annoying as hell, and I mutter something to that effect. Either he ignores me or can't hear me over the sound of the storm.
He pauses, taking one more look at the sky before he slams the door behind us. We're enveloped in darkness for a moment before he flicks on the overhead lights. They flicker for a moment as they struggle to life, casting a dim glow in the room. There's no way my legs are going to keep me upright anymore, and I attempt to sit down gracefully instead of flopping on the dirt floor. My success is limited at best.
Seth paces through the barn, which is empty except for some rusty farm equipment and old hay bales. His t-shirt is soaked through to his skin and clinging to the outline of the muscles in his chest and back. His basketball shorts are clinging to him, too, water droplets trickling over his knees and calves. I allow my eyes and my mind to wander all over his body, admiring the skin I can see beneath the wet fabric. Appreciating his body is acceptable. It has nothing to do with liking Seth. When he catches me looking, I pretend to be stretching my legs.
"Where the hell were you all this time?" he asks. "I've been looking for you for thirty minutes."
He's standing still now, hands on his waist, sounding more annoyed than concerned. When his eyes flicker down to my breasts, I follow them and see that my nipples are erect from the cold rain and the chafing of my workout bra.
"I don't remember asking you to come searching for me," I say, crossing my arms across my chest and rising to stand on newborn calf legs. No matter how tired I am, I can't stomach the feeling of him looming over me, especially when I'm getting a scolding.
Seth scowls. "I told you earlier about the storm coming in. Do you not listen to anyone or is it just my warnings you willfully ignore?"
New energy surges though me and suddenly I'm no longer weak and tired. Indignation will do that to a woman.
"I thought I'd be back earlier, but I lost track of time. Do you give unsolicited advice to everyone or am I the only lucky person?"
I'm positively sneering, and I can't hold myself back. He's partially correct. If someone else warned me about the storm, I probably would have been more willing to postpone my run. His superior attitude makes it impossible for me to admit I'm wrong.
"It's a little rain," I say. "We're fine."
Seth takes a step toward me. "A little rain? It's thunder, lightning, hail and potentially a tornado." He might as well have added the "you moron," since it was implied by his tone.
My body is thrumming with outrage and mortification. In hindsight, I shouldn't have run through the woods on paths I didn't know, especially with my crappy sense of direction. Thank god he doesn't know I was lost. The last thing I need is to be chastised for that. I move closer until we're only a few inches apart.
"You wouldn't mind if I died in a tornado so it's unclear why you ran out here to rescue me. Oh, wait, it was probably so you could tell me how stupid I am to run in a storm!"
"Now that you mention it, you are stupid to run in a storm!"
Thunder claps again, shaking the ground outside, but our stand-off continues, neither one of us flinching. I can smell his spicy scent so clearly that I can almost taste it. There are water droplets on his forehead and cheekbones, a mixture of sweat and rain that I'd like to lick off of him. Wait, what? No, no, no. My brain is fried and thinking crazy thoughts without my permission.
Seth stalks away and lets out a primal growl of frustration, shaking his fists at his side like a fighter warming up for the next round. I'm surprised and scared by the fact that I want to hit him—and not in a girly pummel of fists to the chest kind of way. I'd actually like the claw off some of his skin. This man is turning me into a sadist!
He circles back, standing even closer than before.
"You know, I'm generally a laid-back guy." His voice is trembling with all the effort it's taking to tame his temper. "But you really get under my skin. Why is that?"
It's not clear whether he's asking me this question or himself. I wish he hadn’t used the word skin though because I'm trying to ignore his damp, clingy clothing and the hard body underneath, which is difficult to do when he's this close to me.
"Maybe you can't handle strong women," I say between clenched teeth. The muscles in my neck and shoulders are so tight, I'm afraid they'll snap from the tension.
