Standing there, one arm propped against the door frame, Reese glares at me from her seat.
"What?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"We can't dance in the rain if you stay in the truck," I point out.
She rolls her eyes. "I don't see any rain yet, genius."
"It's coming."
She huffs dramatically but finally slides across the bench seat, swinging those perfect legs out. As she stands, my old jersey rides up slightly, giving me a glimpse of where the gray leggings hug her ass.
The moonlight hits her just right, illuminating her face in silver light, making her look ethereal. Her hair is messy from the game, little wisps framing her face. Fuck, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Even more beautiful than the faded memories I have of my mom.
The thought comes unbidden, making my chest ache with a familiar hollowness. It's been almost ten years since she died. The memories are getting hazier each year—her laugh, the way she'd sing off-key in thekitchen, how she'd smooth my hair back when I was upset.
Something must show on my face because Reese's expression softens. She reaches up, her small hand warm against my cheek as her thumb gently smooths the furrow between my brows.
"Hey," she says softly. "Where'd you go just now?"
I catch her wrist, holding her hand against my face for a moment longer before letting go. "Nowhere important."
She doesn't push, just gives me that look that says she knows I'm full of shit but she'll let it slide.
"So," she says, glancing around at the darkness surrounding us, "dancing in the rain with no lights. We've got the no lights part down, but I'm not feeling any rain yet."
As if on cue, I feel the first drop hit my face. Then another. And another. Within seconds, it's a gentle shower, the kind of rain that feels like a blessing.
"You really did plan everything," she says, laughing as she tilts her face up to the sky.
I reach into the truck and turn on the stereo, cranking the volume so the music fills the clearing. It's some techno, haunting shit. I don’t know who the artist is or the song title, but the lyrics are about all the ways to stay away. Fucking perfect for this moment.
I flip the tailgate down and hop up to sit on it, letting the rain soak through my clothes as I watch her. Reese steps away from the truck, her arms stretched wide, welcoming the downpour like it's a fucking gift. She closes her eyes, head tilted back, and just breathes for a moment. The rain'scoming down steadily now, soaking through her clothes, making the jersey cling to her curves.
She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't overthink it like she does everything else in her life. She just lets her body respond to the music.
Holy fuck.
I've seen Reese dance countless times—at recitals, in our living room, even drunk at parties—but never like this. Never so fucking free, so uninhibited. The darkness hides nothing from me; my eyes have always adjusted quickly to the night. I can see every graceful line of her body as she moves.
Her arms stretch toward the sky as she spins, water droplets flying from her fingertips. The rain plasters her hair to her head, rivulets running down her neck and disappearing beneath my jersey. Her pants might as well be painted on, hugging every curve of her ass and thighs as she moves.
She's not doing any of that technical shit now. This is primal, instinctual. Her body rolling with the beat, hips swaying in a way that makes my cock twitch against my jeans. She dips low, rises slowly, arms carving patterns through the rain.
As the music builds, her movements get faster, more intense. Spinning, twirling, her body becoming a blur of motion. The rain seems to respond to her, coming down harder with each passing second. Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating her for brief moments—her head thrown back, eyes closed, face a mask of pure ecstasy.
Thunder rumbles, and she laughs—a wild, uninhibitedsound that shoots straight to my groin. She's commanding the fucking storm, conducting it like it's her personal symphony.
My mother used to tell me stories about the old gods and goddesses when I was little. Tales of powerful beings who controlled the elements, who could bring life or destruction with a mere thought. She'd whisper them to me on stormy nights when I couldn't sleep, her voice soft in the darkness as lightning flashed outside my window.
The name comes to me instantly as I watch Reese dance in the downpour, her body a conduit for something ancient and powerful: Tempestas. The Roman goddess of storms and sudden weather.
That's what she is right now. Not just my Reese, my north star, but something more—something wild and untamed and fucking glorious.
I can't tear my eyes away from her. Don't want to. I want to burn this image into my brain forever: Reese St. Pierre, soaked to the skin, dancing like she's possessed by something not of this world, commanding the elements with nothing but the movement of her fucking body.
Another crack of lightning, closer this time, and she spins toward me, eyes flying open. She's breathing hard, chest heaving before crooking her finger at me. Beckoning me, like a siren calling a sailor to his death.
