Page 66 of Finding Storm

He’s cracking up laughing now, and I’m smiling.

I really like making him laugh. I feel like I’ve won the damn lottery every time I do.

“You’re nuts,” he tells me.

“A good nuts though, right?”

He catches my eye. “The best kind of nuts.”

There’s a dirty joke right on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back. I’m feeling flustered from the way he’s looking at me right now. Like he wants to devour me whole.

And I’m ignoring it because I think I want him to.

Throwing a sex joke into the mix will just push me over the edge, and then I’ll let him do whatever he wants to me.

I look back out the windshield.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I’ve known this guy literally a handful of hours, and I’m ready to roll over and toss my panties into the wind.

It’s crazy.

And a lot scary.

And not something I’m wholly ready to address with myself right now.

I’m just happy to keep having fun and laugh with him.

Nick is scrolling through my phone’s playlist. I use the quiet time to get my shit together.

The guitar intro to Guns N’ Roses’ “Paradise City” starts to strum out of my speakers.

“Yes! I love this song!” I start seat-dancing, singing along with the opening words, throwing a quick glance Nick’s way before looking back to the road ahead.

I realize that I was on my own singing just then. “Hey! Come on, it’s your turn to sing, big man. After this instrumental, I want to hear you.”

Axl starts singing, and Nick laughs. “Shit. Maybe I didn’t think this through enough. I forgot how damn fast Axl sings the fucking verses in this song.”

“Come on!” I bang my palm on the steering wheel. “You got this. I wanna hear you sing!”

And sing he does.

And he’s really fucking good.

Like surprisingly good.

He’s singing at the top of his lungs, and I’m catcalling and cheering him on. I even join in on the chorus even though I’m killing the song.

But isn’t that what music is about? Enjoying the hell out of it.

I realize in this moment that this time I’ve spent with Nick today is the most fun I’ve had with any man, who is not my dad or brother, in a really long time.

The song eventually comes to an end, and I slap my hand against my leg, clapping and whistling. “Fuck, dude! You’re a great singer! Ever think about giving up stripping and becoming a singer?” I half-joke the last part. Only half-joking because I know he isn’t a stripper, but damn, he really should consider taking up singing.

His lips are still smiling at me, but his eyes are telling me a different story. “I enjoyed that,” he says like it’s something he’s admitting out loud.

I think that’s his way of telling me that it’s been a while since he’s enjoyed anything.