Another massive gust of wind, accompanied by a sheet of rainwater and hail, smacks the side of the clinic as the wind howls loudly outside.
“Go home and prep your house!” Louis shouts to me from the back room. “I don’t want you getting caught in a flooded road!”
My house is only a few miles down the street, but I know he’s right. My car is smaller and lower to the ground then the trucks and SUVs most of the inhabitants of the city drive so I’m at much more of a risk for getting caught in flash flooding or getting stuck. I grab my raincoat from the front lobby as I take one more glance around the clinic and then sprint outside towards my car. The wind from the storm whips the side of my face, causing my hair to become soaked and stick to the back of my neck and my skin to turn raw.
I sprint to my car, pulling the door shut and turn on the ignition. The rain is almost blinding as I crank my wipers up to full speed and do my best to carefully navigate the two miles down the road to my home. There’s no proper drainage on the streets so when it rains hard, the water seems to pile up more quickly than it does in more developed cities, making for dangerous conditions that can turn deadly fast if you’re unprepared.
I finally make it to the driveway of my home, noticing that Georgia’s car isn’t there.
Teagan: Just making sure you’re alright and safely in San Angelo? I’m home and going to put on the storm shutters now.
Georgia: Yes! Our flight to Mexico leaves at nine tonight. If there are any issues with the home or you need anything, don’t hesitate to text my cousin. He has tools and can come to help.
And the worst part is, I wish he would.
I think back to what Georgia said after my date with Wilder on Tuesday. When he dropped me off at the house we share. She’d stood in the doorway, practically slack-jawed at the sightof his truck in the driveway. That’s when she casually dropped a bombshell I wasn’t prepared for: Wilder is not only her first cousin, but also one of my landlords.
Because of course he is.
This is Lonestar Junction, where everyone knows everyone and somehow has their hand in everything. At first, I’d been mildly annoyed by the town’s lack of boundaries, but now… there’s something oddly comforting about it. Knowing Wilder’s keeping an eye on the place while Georgia is out of town doesn’t hurt either.
I scroll through the text on my phone.
Teagan:I will. Looks like this storm won’t let up until Friday, but I’ve got enough supplies to ride it out. Stay safe and have fun in Mexico!
It’s only after I hit send that it hits me: the storm means I’ll miss my second date with Hardin tomorrow. And here’s the kicker—I’m not even upset about it. If anything, I’m relieved.
I haven’t seen Wilder since Tuesday night, and it’s not for lack of effort on his part. He took me straight home after what can only be described as an unintentional dry-humping orgasm. I hadn’t meant for things to get that far, but it’d been weeks since I’d… you know. The combination of his rough, strong arms around me and the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne took me straight back to being twenty-two years old and thinking I was in love with a cowboy I’d just met who’d rocked my world.
Later that night, he texted me, saying he’d had a great time and asking when he could see me again. I reminded him about my date with Hardin on Thursday, and Wilder, being Wilder, took it in stride, casually suggesting we meet up this weekend after the storm passed. I told him I’d be busy with work, which wasn’t entirely a lie, but the truth is I couldn’t let myself commit to seeing him again—not yet.
By the time I pull into the driveway, the water has alreadystarted pooling across the blacktop. With a sigh, I kick off my sneakers and hop out of the car barefoot, darting toward the front door. The rain is relentless, soaking through my jeans as the wind nearly tears the screen door off its hinges. I fumble for my keys, swearing under my breath, and finally shove the door open, slamming it shut behind me.
The first thing I notice is the noise. The rain and hail pounding against the tin roof is deafening, echoing through the tiny house like a chaotic symphony. I hadn’t really thought about this when I rented the place, but now it feels like I’m inside a drum.
I toss my keys onto the counter, shaking the rain from my hair, and lean back against the door, trying to catch my breath. The house feels smaller somehow—too quiet yet too loud at the same time. All I can think about is Wilder, that stupidly charming grin of his, and the way my heart stuttered when he winked at me after walking me to the door. And now, with the storm locking me in, there’s nowhere to run from my thoughts. Or the fact that, as much as I tell myself this is complicated and messy… a part of me wants to see him again. Maybe more than just a part.
I dash to my bedroom, peeling off my soaked jeans and t-shirt and swapping them for workout shorts and a tank top. The rain jacket and boots go on next as I brace myself for the battle waiting outside. The shed behind the house is barely visible through the sheets of rain, but I push forward, my boots sinking into the muddy ground with every step.
With a stubborn determination that I barely feel, I wrestle each storm shutter off the rack, clipping them onto the pre-installed hooks on the side of the house. The wind is relentless, whipping me back and forth like I’m some sort of rag doll, drenching me all over again and nearly knocking me flat. Each shutter feels heavier than the last, but somehow, I manage to get all ten secured before sprinting back to the house.
Slamming the door shut behind me, I slide down to the floor, my back against the wood. I’m drenched, exhausted, and utterlydone, but there’s this nagging voice in the back of my mind reminding me I should probably do more to prepare. The storm’s only getting worse, and it’s a given the power will be out before long.
Instead, I stay put, stripping off my wet clothes and leaving them in a trail across the house because, honestly, who cares? Georgia won’t be back for another week, and I’m too tired to deal with it right now. I head to the kitchen, throw together the saddest sandwich known to man, and scarf it down before crawling into bed.
It’s barely 8 PM, but the darkness outside feels heavier than usual, and there’s nothing else to do. I don’t want to drain my phone battery watching Netflix in case there’s an emergency and Doc needs to call me, so I squeeze my eyes shut, praying for sleep.
But sleep isn’t happening. Not with the hail and rain pounding against the tin roof like it’s trying to break in. I lie there for what feels like forever, finally letting out a groan before throwing off the blankets. Padding back out to the living room, I double-check every window and door like I’m expecting something to slip through the cracks.
When I’m satisfied everything’s locked up tight, I make my way back to the bedroom, sliding under the cool sheets just as the inevitable happens. The lights flicker once, then everything goes dark.
“Well, shit…”
It’s early September, and the heat in Lonestar Junction is relentless. Even with the storm outside, the air inside the house feels thick and oppressive, making it impossible to sleep. If I don’t knock out soon, I’m going to wake up in a puddle of my own sweat.
I roll over, open the drawer of my bedside table, and pull out my trusty vibrator. It’s the kind with the clit suction, akathe good kind.When it comes to insomnia, it’s always a toss-up betweenan orgasm or an Ambien—and tonight, the orgasm wins.
I’m already naked, so I spread my legs, kicking the damp top sheet off my body. The cool air hits my skin, but it’s not enough to combat the sticky heat clinging to me.
