Library

49. Marnie

I’m with Dusty in his bed when the storm rolls in. He’s on his back, arm curled around me, chest rising and falling gently.

I peer around his room. My slinky black dress hangs off the edge of the bed. His tie and dress shirt are in a pile on the floor. Our exit from the wedding reception was borderline rude. We didn’t even stay to watch Mason and Tate cut my cake.

My only duty was in delivering the pastries. Dusty was the one who received an actual invitation, but he seemed more intent on finding out what kind of panties I had on. My pussy still has a pleasant ache to it. I glance back at him, running my fingers over his hard chest. He really knows how to leave an impression on a girl.

A burst of lightning illuminates the room, followed by a sharp crack of thunder. Dusty stirs sleepily beside me, tugging me back down against his chest. An alert chimes on both of our phones. We don’t need to look to know it’s a tornado warning. Dusty checks the radar anyway. “Fuck.”

He mutters, zooming in on the screen.

“Where’s Ed?”

I push upright.

“Probably outside the door, freaking out.”

Dusty sits up, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It sticks up endearingly. “We better get to the basement again.”

A tiny thrill of alarm threads through my chest, but I’m starting to get used to the weather out this way. There must be something about the topography that draws the worst of the Nebraska weather.

He stumbles into a pair of sweats, pausing with a t-shirt in his hands to watch me shimmy back into the dress. “Little black dress. The sequel.”

In the hall, Dusty pauses at Sienna’s door, knocking gently. “Sienna? You up?”

She comes to the door, looking half comatose. Her eyes widen at my presence. And my dress. A smirk tugs at her lips.

Dusty ignores her goading stare. “We better get to the basement.”

“Majorly inconvenient.”

She mutters, pausing to grab some sneakers before following the two of us down the stairs.

Ed waits for us right outside Dusty’s door, his tail thumping with relief. He whines and spins towards the house, leading the way. I pick my way across the yard, but stiletto heels and gravel do not make a good pair. There’s another flash of lightning, one that seems to connect somewhere nearby. The air is almost staticky as a deafening roll of thunder crashes over us.

“Okay, enough of this.”

Dusty sweeps me up, hustling across the yard just as the skies crack open and rain pours down.

Sienna lets out a big whoop and runs ahead of us.

By the time we’re all safely inside, we’re dripping wet. All except Ed, who was waiting under the eaves while the slow humans meandered across the yard.

Sienna doesn’t even bother looking back at us before trooping off to the basement. “I’m going to my old room.”

I elect to change into some shorts and a tank top before going down. Maybe it’s because I’m upstairs and not safe in the basement, but something about this storm feels different. More violent.

My heart is racing as I climb down the stairs, and when my feet hit the basement floor, I feel marginally better. Seeing Dusty waiting for me is even better. He grabs my hand and leads me to his old bedroom. Sienna’s bedroom was on one end of the basement, Dusty’s was on the other.

We find Ed lying on his bed. When Dusty urges him to make room, he gives us one baleful puppy stare before grumpily retreating to the living room.

Dusty’s old bedroom was simple. A full-size bed with a heavy quilt. A dresser with a lamp. Where Sienna’s old room was imbued with personality, this room has no sign of Dusty.

It’s possible he stripped it down when they moved, but somehow, I don’t think so.

He throws back the quilt, climbing underneath, before tugging me after him. Laying on his back, he stares up at the ceiling. I watch him, wary of how uneasy he seems.

When the first ball of hail pelts the window, he flinches. One piece of hail turns into a shower of hard ice pounding the ground, hitting the window with increasing violence. I’m surprised the glass doesn’t break.

Dusty squeezes his eyes shut, frowning, before staring at the ceiling again. Listening.

“Is it bad?”

I ask, smoothing my hand across his chest.

“It’s not good.”

He says, his voice gritty. “Not good. Not good.”

“Didn’t Gus have hail insurance?”

He nods. “Yeah. He has it. But no farmer prays for hail. It ain’t a good trade.”

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.