22. Dusty

One minute I’m looking at Marnie without actually looking at her, because it’s chilly down here and her nipples are actively trying to steal the show; and then the next thing I know, we’re thrown into sudden pitch darkness.

And my brain is slowly trying to catch up, buffering the information that crashed over me. Point number one, Marnie’s hand is grasping my thigh. Hard. Which is sending mixed signals to other appendages.

And point number two, the cutest, girliest squeak came out of her mouth just as the lights went out. I’m amazed I heard it over the thunder, but I’m glad I did, because now my goal is going to be to hear that sound again. One way or another.

I can’t help myself, a slow, rumbly kind of laugh shakes loose from my chest. Which I regret, because she takes her hand back, but I also can’t contain it.

Using my phone’s flashlight, I shine it towards her, and she hides her face like a blinded vampire, squawking about it being too bright.

Still smiling like an idiot, I climb to my feet and navigate over to the fuse box.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing if we threw a fuse.”

I try one after the other, to no avail. “Must be a tree down on a line somewhere.”

“You know where the breaker box is?”

Swinging the closet door open, I look for Gus’s emergency supplies. “I ought to. I lived here for three years.”

“Oh. Right.”

I can’t see her, but judging from the sound of her voice, she’s watching me. The couch squeaks under her as she shifts around. “I found Sienna’s room. Where did you sleep?”

I find the battery-operated lantern and flick it on, carrying it back to her. “Whose bed do you think Ed is hiding under?”

A halo of light pools around us and I set the lantern on the coffee table. More thunder crashes overhead, swirling with the sound of wind. She’s peering at the small window, gaze wary. The light from the lantern is reflected in her big eyes, like twin flames.

She catches me staring, so I busy myself by dropping to the couch. Stretching in an exaggerated way.

I haven’t been this awkward since Homecoming, freshman year. This woman has me completely off balance.

She’s quickly morphing from a novelty in a town full of monotony to something I didn’t know I needed.

It’s like finding something I lost.

She rests her elbow on the back of the couch. “Who was that guy that stopped by earlier?”

I know who she’s asking about. I could play dumb. Or lie. But I figure she’ll find out one way or another. Might as well be the one to tell her. “My weed guy. Juice.”

I expect revulsion, for her to start pulling back. I’m surprised when a grin splits her face. “You have a friend named Juice?”

“Yeah. I thought everybody had a friend named Juice.”

“Definitely not.”

I pause. “I can’t tell if we’re talking in code or what’s happening.”

She laughs. “I don’t have a friend named Juice or a dealer by that name, either.”

“You’ve got a dealer?”

“Also, no.”

She tilts her head. “I didn’t take you for a smoker.”

It’s hard to have this conversation with her. I want to be the best version of myself for her sake, but I am a deeply flawed, imperfect person and the sooner she knows that, the better. “What kind of person did you take me to be?”

“One of those all American jock sorts.”

“Replace the words all American with dumb ass and you’d be on the right track.”

Her smile slips. “Don’t put yourself down like that. I don’t like it.”

I don’t have a clever response for that. Playing the clown is my go to, but she’s disarming me. I decide to go for a redacted version of the truth. “Sienna wouldn’t remember it, but we kind of grew up around it. Runner was a big smoker.”

“Runner?”

“My dad.”

She already knows we had the custody issue. I don’t want her thinking the worst of Runner, so even though I don’t like talking about it, I fill in the blanks for her. “He died when Sienna was four.”

If I’m expecting pity, she doesn’t give it to me. Her expression is steady and open. “What was he like?”

She was supposed to say something cliché, like God has a plan and all that bullshit. But she hits me with a question instead and it takes me a second to catch up.

“He was kind of known for being the life of the party. But deep down, he was a big softy. Loyal.”

“Sounds kind of like you.”

Normally, when people compare me to my dad, I know it’s a veiled insult. But when Marnie says it, I can accept the parts that are true.

She tilts her head, smiling a little. “Was he a big football star, too?”

“He was, actually. That’s where he got the nickname.”

She smiles, but when another crash of thunder sounds overhead, she winces. “Dusty?”

“Hm?”

“What’s it going to take to get you to kiss me again?”

The skin across my shoulders and neck goes ice cold as the blood rockets south. “All you had to do was ask.”

Wrapping my hands around her soft hips, I haul her onto my lap.