He looks like he’s spent the years chopping wood with his bare hands, brooding in flannels.
His deep green eyes are thoughtful, watching me every so often when he thinks I’m not looking.
He’s not as direct as Jack, but his attention makes a shiver race up my spine all the same.
And Reece, God, Reece…
He’s barely changed at all from his photos back in the day. Which somehow makes it worse.
He’s still got that easy, lopsided grin that he flashes at everyone.
His arms are still golden and strong, skin sun-kissed despite us barely having any sun in weeks.
He looks like he hasn’t aged a day past thirty.
And then there’s me, sitting here in my dad’s freshly cleaned cabin in my ratty old sweats and hoodie, my hair knotted up in a lopsided bun and stray strands tickling the back of my neck.
All I can do is sit here and pray the storm ends soon.
I feel too small surrounded by them. Too exposed.
Because no matter how many times I tell myself these are my dad’s friends, my pulse doesn’t seem to care.
It drums hard in my chest, faster every time one of them glances my way or offers me a fresh cup of tea.
And I swear, for just a heartbeat, that I see something flicker in their eyes too.
Something that makes the spot between my legs grow warm.
Fuck me.
My eyes dart back to the window for the nth time.
If I leave now, I’ll probably be able to make it down the mountain without sliding off the side of the cliff.
As long as I drive slow and keep my car tucked against the mountain’s side, I should be fine.
Hopefully.
“Hey, listen. I think I’m going to get going. I don’t think it will be that bad if I leave now. It only just started coming down an hour ago.”
Liam shifts, stepping forward slightly with his arms crossed over his chest.
The movement alone stops me dead in my tracks when I stand up from the couch.
“Holly. It’s fine. Just relax here for a bit. The storm should clear up and then you can go. Even if it’s not sticking, which it is, you don’t want to be going out there with zero visibility.”
I swallow hard. I hate how tight my throat feels.
I’m not scared of him, I’m a terrifyinglyotherthing.
“I’ll be okay. My dad’s probably going to be annoyed if he shows up and I’m still here.”
“He’ll be fine. You’re not causing us any trouble. Just sit and relax. There’s no need to get anxious on our account, least of all your father’s.” Jack replies, but from his tone, it sounds like there’s nothing up for debate.
His steady gaze holds mine for a beat too long, causing me to feel the undercurrent in it.
It’s meant to be reassurance wrapped in comfort, but all I feel is that pulse between my legs getting worse.
