Finding Storm

by Samantha Towle

  That makes me laugh again. Only Stevie.

  “But, by choice, I did read the news article Gran had shown me.”

  “Okay …” I say slowly, bringing my eyes to her. “And what did it say?”

  “That you assaulted a journalist.”

  “That’s true.” I nod.

  “Did he deserve it?”

  I sigh. “Yeah. But I still shouldn’t have done it.”

  She shrugs. “We do what we have to when necessary.”

  I’m still staring at her when I ask, “What else did it say?”

  She exhales a soft breath that I want to inhale for myself. I just want her goodness inside of me. And I want to be inside of her so fucking badly.

  I just want her, full stop.

  “It said things about your dad. Jonny, right?” She glances at me for confirmation, but all I can manage is a nod. “It mentioned how he died. How you never knew him and you thought he didn’t know you. But he did and that you just recently found that out, that he had been coming to see you the night he died.”

  “That’s pretty much it in a nutshell.”

  “I’m sorry he died. Sorry that you never knew him.”

  I sigh again. “Yeah. Me too.”

  I might resent Jonny in many ways, resent his ghost, the memory of him. But would I have wanted to know him, given the chance?

  Of course I would have.

  “It also said you had a disagreement with your family …” She leaves the words hanging, giving me the option of whether I want to say more or not.

  “Yeah.” I sigh again. “Jonny—my dad—and his best friends, they were in a band together. I’d tell you who they are, but chances are, you wouldn’t know.”

  “Probably.” She grins, making me smile.

  “To cut a long story short, when Jonny died, for a long time, no one knew why he had been out in his car that night. He was high—Jonny had a serious drug problem. A lot of people thought he’d committed suicide, driving his car into that ravine. Turns out, he was driving to the airport to come see me. He’d found out that night that I existed. Jake, Tom, and Denny—my dad’s best friends—they never knew about me or what happened that night. They found out about me eleven years ago. Found out the truth about Jonny’s last moments the day of my mom’s funeral.”

  “You lost your mom?” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

  I shrug. Because it’s all I can ever do when my mom comes up. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” Another pull on my cigarette. I blow out the smoke. “They never told me the truth. I found out yesterday morning. That journalist I assaulted, he told me. I went and confronted them. Said … some shit.” Some awful shit. “Walked out, got in my car, and started driving.”

  “Pulled up at a gas station, put the wrong fuel in your car, and here we are.”

  I rest my chin against my shoulder, staring at her. “Yep. Here we are.”

  I hold her eyes. I feel the exact moment the air changes. Everything seems heightened. The scent of her perfume. The way her hair blows gently in the breeze. The flush in her cheeks, spreading down her neck, across her beautiful chest. The heat that suffuses her eyes.

  Fuck, I want her. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.

  A car horn beeps down the street, killing the moment.

  She looks away.

  And I want to go punch whoever hit their car horn.

  I take a final pull on my cigarette and put it out against the wall. I stuff the butt back in the packet, next to the other butt I just had before she came out here.

  “Um … that’s you disposing of your cigarette butt responsibly?”

  I grin, unable not to. I get off on her giving me shit. Sick fucker that I am. “Yeah …” I say slowly.

  “Dude.” She frowns, her brows puckering. “That’s not even close to disposing of it responsibly.”

  “Is this the point where I’m supposed to say sorry?”

  I’m still grinning because this is what she does to me. She makes me happy as fuck.

  She huffs, a little puff of air escaping between her lips. “No. It’s fine. The marine life will forgive you this one time.” I don’t tell her it’s not just this one time. “And I owe you a free pass anyway because you didn’t give me shit for reading the news story about you when you should’ve.”

  I give her a look. “Stevie, I told you, it’s not an issue.”

  “It is an issue. I shouldn’t have done it. Also … I have another confession while we’re at it.” She bites the corner of her lip. “I was gonna go along with the lie. About your name. I wasn’t going to tell you that I knew who you were. I figured you hadn’t told me for a reason, and that was because you wanted your privacy. So, I was going to give that to you. I’m sorry Pen messed it up. Next time, I’ll gag her.”

  I’m just staring at her, wondering where the hell she came from and how I had the damn good fucking luck to meet her.

  She thinks that’s bad. That’s about one of the nicest things anyone could have done for me.

  “Where have you been all my life?” The words are out before I can stop them.

  She looks surprised. Her eyes drop down to her feet.

  I’ve embarrassed her. Probably scared the shit out of her.

  Fuck.

  I’ve known this girl a day, and I go and say something stupidly fucking forward like that.

  But in truth, it feels like I’ve known her forever.

  And what I just said feels an awful lot like the truth.

  I’m stumbling over words in my brain, figuring out how to take it back, knowing that I don’t want to. “Stevie, I—”

  “Right here,” she says softly, her eyes lifting back to mine. “I’ve been right here.” She smiles.

  And my heart fucking jets. It skyrockets out of my chest. And I’m pretty damn sure it lands back down, right in the palm of her hand.

  “Spend the day with me,” I blurt.

  “Spend the day with you?”

  “Yeah,” I’m quick to say. “Can you do that … or are you busy?” I tip my head back in the direction of the B&B.

  “Yes. I mean, no.” She shakes her head. “I’m not busy.” A smile lifts her lips, lighting her eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Anything,” I tell her honestly. “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care.”

  “Where have you been all my life?”

  “As long as I’m with you, I don’t care.”

  Yep, those sentences have been on repeat in my head ever since he said them.

  It’s not often a girl hears those words.

  Especially not this girl.

  And I’m still trying to figure out in what capacity he meant them.

  Where have I been all his life—as a friend?

  As long as he’s with me, he doesn’t care—as a friend?

  You can’t throw these kinds of bombshell statements on a girl and then leave her hanging. I need answers.

  Not that I’m going to ask him for answers.

  I’m brave. But not that fucking brave.

  Storm left it up to me to choose what we’d be doing today, and as I didn’t think he’d want to spend the day around people in case he was recognized, I figured we’d do the one thing we could where he’d be ensured privacy.

  Take my dad’s boat out.

  So, I told Gran I was going to take Storm out on the boat. And I ignored the excited gleam in her eyes.

  She’ll be at the B&B today because she doesn’t have any plans, so it’s worked out well. And considering Storm is our only guest until tomorrow when more guests arrive, there’s not a lot to be done, except ready their rooms, which I can do later.

  I didn’t tell Storm where we were going. I thought I’d let it be a surprise.

  So, I packed up a picnic. The water isn’t usually warm this time of year, but it is an unseasonably warm day today at eighty degrees, so the water should be okay to swim.

  I borrowed a pair of Beck’s swimming trunks for Storm to
wear. And I’m not considering going swimming, so I can see Storm’s bare chest again.

  No siree.

  Although swimming does mean wearing a bathing suit in front of him.

  Not nervous about that at all.

  I’ve let Storm have control of the stereo. I was feeling generous. Not my usual MO to give up music control in my car. But when a guy asks where you’ve been his whole life, then he can pretty much have whatever he wants. Coochie included.

  So, we’re currently listening to one of his favorite bands, Avenged Sevenfold. “Afterlife” is what I think he said the song’s called.

  It’s not my thing, just a lot of noise if you ask me, but he seems happy, and that’s what matters.

  He’s singing along to the song, which means I get to hear him sing, which of course is a bonus.

  He has such an amazing singing voice. It surprises me that he doesn’t sing in his band.

  “How come you don’t sing in your band?” I echo my thoughts, turning onto the street that will lead us to London Bridge, taking us over the water to the island where the marina is and where Dad keeps his boat.

  “I do. Well, I sing backup.”

  “Why don’t you sing lead?” I briefly glance at him.

  He’s watching me with those intense eyes of his. I catch a shrug before I look back to the road ahead.

  “I guess it’s just always been that way. Raze sings. I play guitar.”

  Raze. That’s the one Pen thinks is hot.

  “So, Raze is the singer. You play guitar. Who else is in your band?” I ask.

  He chuckles, making me ask, “What?”

  “I’m just not used to someone asking me these kinds of questions. Especially not a girl.”

  Another glance at him. “Because they always already know?”

  “Pretty much,” he says. “But I like that you don’t know, if that makes sense.”

  I smile, feeling happy at that. “It makes perfect sense.”

  “Thank you,” he says in a quiet voice.

  “For?” I pull up to a set of lights, allowing me to look at him properly.

  His eyes meet mine.

  He shrugs again. He seems shy, which is at total odds with the confident man I’ve come to know.

  “For not … caring. About who I am out there.” He tips his head to the window, indicating the world outside.

  I swallow. Then, of course, I make a joke. “I’ve never been thanked for not caring before.”

  He chuckles, smiling at me. “Well then, I’m officially the first person to ever thank you for not caring.”

  “I feel like I need a badge to commemorate it. Or maybe a certificate. Framed, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Certificate of Achievement awarded to Stevie Cavalli for being the first girl to not care that Storm Slater is a rock star.”

  “Has quite the ring to it.”

  “I think so.” I grin at him, earning me one of his gorgeous smiles that I feel all the way down to my toes.

  The car beeps its horn behind me, making me realize the light has changed.

  I put my car in drive and set off moving.

  We drive over London Bridge, and I tell Storm about how it was the original bridge that spanned the River Thames in London. Built in the 1800s, it was bought by a founder of Lake Havasu in the 1960s when they built the bridge they have in London now. It was dismantled and shipped here and reconstructed over the water to link the island to the main shore in the early ’70s. He seems interested in the brief history lesson, and I’m relieved that I didn’t bore him to death.

  We reach the marina, and I park the car.

  “A marina?” Storm asks as we get out of the car.

  “Ever been on a boat before?” I ask him, heading to the trunk of my car.

  Then, I hear my words back.

  Of course he’s been on a boat before, dummy.

  God, I ask the stupidest questions at times.

  “Yeah … I’ve been on a yacht.” He seems to wince. Like he’s embarrassed by this. He shouldn’t be. Having money is nothing to be ashamed of. “Not mine,” he adds quickly. “It was this guy’s yacht. He’s a big deal in the music industry.”

  “Please tell me it had a helipad. Because I’m not calling it a yacht if it didn’t.” I pop the trunk and get out the picnic basket and bag with our swimming gear.

  He chuckles. “Actually, it didn’t.” He takes the picnic basket and bag from my hands.

  “Pfft. Doesn’t count then. Not that Dad’s boat has a helipad.” I start walking toward where the boats are moored on the jetty. Storm follows. “Or its own bathroom,” I add. “It doesn’t even have a downstairs, and it has a permanent fishy smell to it ’cause Dad mostly uses it to go fishing. So, actually, your music man’s yacht sounds a lot better, even without the helipad.”

  He’s laughing the whole time I’m talking. “Have I ever told you that you, Stevie Cavalli, are the best kind of nuts?”

  I grin up at him, feeling this warm glow in my chest. “Eh, once or twice. But feel free to keep saying it.”

  We walk down the jetty to Dad’s boat. I climb onboard first. Then, Storm hands me the picnic basket and bag before getting onboard.

  “You ever driven a boat?” I ask Storm, moving toward the front of the boat.

  Dad’s boat is an open bow, meaning it has a seating area at the front of the boat, which I mostly use to sunbathe when I do come out on the boat with Dad. I set the stuff down on one of the two padded bench seats.

  “Nope. Never.”

  “Well, I’d offer to let you have a go today. But I don’t feel like dying.”

  “Hey.” His eyes spark with mischief. “I’ll have you know, I’m a fast learner. And I’m good at most things.”

  Hands to my hips, I cock my head to the side. “Only most things?” I tease.

  Something hot and dark flashes in his eyes. “Things that matter. I’m really fucking good at the things that matter.”

  Oh. Wow.

  Shit. Wow.

  What do I say now?

  Breathe. Swallow. I’m totally flustered. “Well, if you’re really good at the things that matter, maybe I’ll trust you to have a try then.”

  “You should.”

  And there’s that dark, heated stare again.

  And I’m also sure that we’re not talking about boats anymore.

  I’m pretty sure he’s hinting at me letting him drive me instead. Or drive into me. Or I need to stop with the shitty analogies and say that he’s basically hinting at fucking me.

  Sweet Lawd.

  “Okay then. Cool.” I’m walking toward him, but I can’t look at him. If I look at him, I might die. Or jump him right here on the boat, on the jetty. “You can have a go. I mean, drive the boat. Later. On the open water.”

  Jesus. Shut the fuck up, Stevie.

  He’s standing at the entry to the walkway. I have to sidle past him to get through because he doesn’t move to make space for me to pass. And he could. There’s plenty of space.

  I decide to go past with my back to his front. Chest-to-chest seems like a bad idea for some reason I can’t quite fathom in my head.

  I just didn’t think of the fact that my back to his front means my ass brushing over his groin.

  I feel him stiffen behind me. Literally.

  I swear to God, he groans.

  Or was that me?

  I’m hot and turned on and wondering if bringing him on the boat was the worst idea in the history of ideas.

  I’m confining myself to a small space with him for a good few hours. And I’m also planning on getting us both into bathing suits and in the water.

  Okay, so I never said I was the smartest person in the world.

  But I’m not an animal. I can control myself.

  I’m not going to have sex with him on my dad’s fishy-smelling boat.

  There’s always the water.

  Sweet Jesus.

  I can survive a bit of sexual tension
.

  Okay, not a bit. A nuclear power plant’s worth of sexual tension.

  And yeah, I’m pretty sure at this point that he wants to have sex with me. But I’m still not sure if I’m the kind of girl who can have a one-time thing.

  Especially with how much I like him as a person.

  Hotness aside, he’s funny, smart, sweet, and kind.

  Pretty much all a girl wants in a guy.

  I don’t know if my heart would be able to separate the sex from my feelings for him.

  I go to the back of the boat, and reaching over, I unmoor it from the jetty.

  When I turn around, I see Storm quickly look away.

  Yep, he was totally looking at my butt.

  I hold back a smile. It was clearly the right choice, putting on my denim shorts this morning.

  I take my seat at the helm. He sits in the chair next to me.

  I take my cell out of my pocket. Select my music app. Scroll my playlist and press play on the only song a girl needs to listen to when she’s out on her daddy’s boat—“Summer of ’69” by Bryan Adams.

  Storm smiles at me. “Good song choice,” he says.

  “I know.” I grin at him.

  Then, I start the boat up. Maneuver it out of its spot on the jetty and drive it out of the marina and into the open water.

  I take the boat up to Copper Canyon. It’s great for swimming, and it’s pretty as hell. It’s a popular spot around here, but at this time of year, it should be fairly quiet.

  And I’m right. As I turn the boat into the canyon, I only see a couple of other boats here.

  “I thought we could stop here for a bit,” I say to Storm. “Have something to eat. Swim if you want. I brought some of Beck’s swimming trunks for you to wear.”

  “You’ll be swimming too?”

  I give him a funny look. “Well, I didn’t plan on sending you in on your own.”

  “Then, I’m definitely up for swimming.”

  Huh. Weird.

  Why will he only swim if I’m going in? Does he have a fear of the water or something?

  “Are you afraid of the water?” I ask him.

  It’s his turn to give me a funny look. “No. Why?”