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His mouth falls open. And when he closes it, a muscle ticks in his jaw.
Is he angry? Does he prefer experienced women? God, why am I so stupid? He’s 40 years old. Of course, he doesn’t want virgins on his bed. He probably doesn’t want to have anything to do with me now. Maybe he’ll send me…
I don’t finish the thought because he slams his mouth to mine, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
Just then, thunder reverberates through the beach, its deep rumble stops us from going further. Dark clouds cast a shadow over the landscape, the deafening roar resonating across the expanse. The weather is taking a turn for the worst as lightning slices through the dark sky, the momentary flashes of light forcing us to leave the pool.
Andrew wraps his shirt around my bottom as we run cautiously inside the house. He bolts the door, stares at me, and we both break into laughter, feeling like a pair of teenagers caught by their parents doing something forbidden.
We take a shower together and make out some more. After towel-drying my hair, I find Andrew in the living room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a MacBook on his lap. I grab my own cup and scroll through my messages—mostly from my dad and group mates.
I slap a hand over my mouth when I see a preview of one text. It reads, “Where are you? Why?”
My finger hovers over it and I’m mentally debating whether to read it or not. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. Wiping my clammy hand on my shorts, I open the message with trembling fingers.
“Where are you? Why aren’t you at your dorm?!”
I suck in a sharp breath, feeling my vision narrow. The second message has two photos—one of me leaving the dorm and the other smiling inside my car.
This is NOT happening! It can’t be!
My legs give out and a sharp pain stabs my knees, but I barely pay it any mind. My throat closes, and I wonder if someone is choking the life out of me. I can’t breathe. My heart is racing, pounding against my chest like a frantic drumbeat. The sound echoes in my ears.
My chest tightens as I gasp for air, clawing at my throat and choking me. I’m dying. I’m going to die right here, right now. My skin prickles with a tingling sensation, the sweat on my forehead sliding down my face and stinging my eyes.
I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die.
“Andrea! Breathe!”
Somewhere beyond the fog, I hear something, but the wave of dizziness crashes over me. I shake. No. No, someone’s shaking me. Someone’s touching my shoulder. Someone’s clutching either side of my face.
“Andrea, please. Breathe, baby. Take a deep breath, please.”
Andrew.
It’s Andrew.
I open my eyes and there he is. Worry etched on his ruggedly handsome features. My eyes zero in on his lips as he tells me, “That’s it. I’m here, okay? Just here. I won’t leave. Now take a deep breath for me, baby.”
I do as he says.
“Good. What color are my eyes?”
Huh. Why is he asking that all of a sudden?
“Bl..Gray. Your eyes are gray.”
He lets out a huge breath but doesn’t let go of me. “What sounds can you hear?”
I focus on my surroundings, straining to listen. “The rain. The wind. The buzz from the refrigerator.”
And suddenly it hits me. He’s helping me ride this wave. I’ve never had a panic attack before, but I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what happened. God, I’ve only ever heard or read about it.
My limbs feel weak, and I’m exhausted. I choke on a sob and burrow my face into his chest. He wraps his arms around me, rubbing my back and kissing my temple.
We stay like that for a few minutes or maybe an hour, I’m not sure. But when I’m ready, I pull back from him and start to stand. My knees wobble and he sweeps me in his arms, gently depositing me on the sofa.
He’s silently observing me, probably making sure I’m better. Andrew doesn’t ask questions, but I can see it in his eyes. God, what did I do to deserve this man?
