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My eyes grow heavy and I begin to drift.
At some point the headphones must fall off because I wake to the screeching sound of hurricane winds. Ethan is still holding me and his eyes are open, staring at the ceiling.
“Go back to sleep, Juliet,” he whispers.
It’s like we’re in the middle of some cease-fire. It sounds like a war is raging outside but he’s in here calling me Juliet. What do I do with that?
“I don’t think I can,” I confess, removing the headphones from around my neck. “It’s so loud out there.”
He nods. “The eye came and went while you were sleeping. We’re in the middle of the second wall of the storm right now. A lot of times that’s even worse than the first.”
I sit up. “Is the house okay?”
“I’m sure it is.” If he’s so sure then why did he make me sleep upstairs?
I peel off the blankets. “Let’s go check.”
“We’re not going out there until morning.”
“Not outside, dummy. But we should at least go see if there’s any flooding in the basement.”
He assures me there won’t be, that his family chose this high elevation property to build on exactly for this purpose, but I don’t care. I want to check for myself. It makes me feel like I’m taking action, like I have some control over a situation that I actually have very little control over at all.
Of course, he’s right. We go downstairs where there’s no flooding.
The house is fine.
“Since sleep is off the table, do you want to play?” He nods toward the pool table.
This thing has been here all summer and I’ve never once touched it.
With the lights still on it almost feels like we’re two normal people in this house, not two idiots waiting out a hurricane when they should’ve evacuated. “I don’t know how to play.”
He smirks and those blue eyes flash in playful challenge, making my stomach dip. “I’ll teach you, but I can’t promise to let you win.”
“Good. I like to win on my own merits.”
“I’m sure you do, Juliet.”
There it is again. I almost ask about the name and demand he not call me that, but instead I keep my mouth shut and try not to smile.
Not much later I find out that pool is easy to learn but not easy to win. I fail miserably.
“Let me show you a better technique.” He saddles up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist and grab hold of the pool stick over my hands. He shifts my hands into the correct position, long fingers lingering over mine for far longer than necessary. I know what this is, I know this is flirting, but I let him do it anyway.
Again, distractions. That’s all this is.
“Lean forward,” he instructs. I do, taking a risk and pressing my backside against his groin. Maybe this will be my way of winning. Get him all hot and bothered and leave him wanting more. More that I do not intend on giving.
He hisses softly then leans his body against mine, his face coming to rest against my cheek. I can feel the scratch of the jawline where facial hair is beginning to grow in, can smell the scent of expensive cologne and warm sleepy skin, can hear the softness of his labored husky breathing. His words keep flashing through my mind. I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.
“Like this.” And then he’s hitting the white ball and it’s slamming into the others, creating a ricochet of pool balls that sends two of my striped ones into pockets.
He returns to standing and I spin in his arms to face him. The cue stick is long forgotten, my hands sliding up his torso, fingers splayed across his still-bare chest. I know he didn’t put on a shirt because he wanted to entice me with his ridiculous body, but I don’t even care. Because he’s affected by me, too, if the skin pebbling under my fingers is any indication. Feeling brave, I gaze up into his eyes. They’re molten. Determined.
He leans forward.
So do I.
