I’m worse off than him and starting to shiver, but I can’t help the laugh bubbling up my throat.
A low, frustrated noise rumbles through him as he narrows his eyes, but he holds out a hand anyway, waiting for me to take it. “Come on. You can’t stay in the sprinklers.”
“Can’t I?” I look from his hand to his face, lifting an eyebrow.
He doesn’t budge, but he does look at the sky like he’s cursing whatever’s up there. “Take my damn hand, Blue. I’m not gonna be responsible for Mr. Everest’s guest catching a cold.”
I smile, slipping my fingers into his, and he hauls me to my feet. “Mr. Everest’sguest?” I ask, letting him drag me toward the nearest shelter—his house. His hand is huge, swallowing mine, his palm calloused and rough and his grip strong. Warmth climbs up my neck, spreading to my cheeks.
He stops when we’re in his doorway, just far enough that the sprinklers don’t touch us, but he doesn’t invite me in. Instead, he mutters, “Hang on,” and releases me before slipping inside.
I chew my lip, curling my now-empty hand.
He comes back holding a white towel. “Here. So you can dry off.”
I glance over my shoulder, past the shooting water that doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. Then I turn back to him, angling my chin up. “I’m just going to get wet again.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his gaze travels downward as if of its own accord. It’s not until then, when another shiver passes through me, that I realize my clothes are soaked. I’m not wearing a bra, and my thin crop top hangs off one shoulder, the cold material hugging every part of me.
I know he sees my hardened nipples when his nostrils flare. He drops his head, focusing on the ground instead. Avoiding my gaze, he holds out the towel again.
“Blue ...”
Blushing, I take it and pat myself down, starting at my flushed neck. He’s still avoiding looking at me, but I can’t help letting my own gaze wander—from his pressed lips to the water dripping down his neck, past his sculpted chest, then clinging to the contours of his abs. My heart speeds up, and I work hard to catch my breath.
When I manage to drag my attention back up to his face, he’s staring right at me. His brow is furrowed, grey eyes shifting between mine like he’s trying to figure me out.
A loud ring makes me jump, and he looks behind him. He grabs the back of his neck, then swings his gaze to me. “I should, uh ... I gotta get that.”
“Yeah.” I nod, handing the towel back to him, and I smile. “Thanks for saving me from the sprinklers. Might not have made it out alive.”
His lips twitch, something softening in his stormy eyes. “Yeah, well,” he mumbles, glancing behind him again when the phone continues to drone, “with a girl like you, closing your eyes to see what’s in front of you and all, you never know.” The corner of his lips hooks up in a definite almost-smile, and the flutters in my stomach go haywire.
Grinning, I spin on my heel toward the main house, and there’s an extra pep in my step. “See you around, grumpy,” I call over my shoulder.
I’m already on the wet grass, being hit by steady streams of water, when I barely hear it—soft and low, like he’s saying it more to himself than to me.
“See you around, hippie.”
Hunt
“Hello?” The line’s quiet, and I pull my phone from my ear to check the number again. I still don’t recognize it. “Hello?” I say again, frustrated as I peek out my front window. Blue’s already gone.
I’m about to hang up when a throat clears, and a deep voice comes through the line. My brows crash together.
“Hunt. It’s me.”
My grip tightens around the phone, blood pumping through my veins. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s fucking calling after all this time, and it takes every shred of willpower not to hang up right then. But I won’t. I know I won’t.
My throat’s dry, but I finally grit out, “What do you want?”
There’s a pause. “Is that all you have to say to your father?”
I bark out a laugh, and it sounds fucking hysterical. “Really? You think you still have any right to call yourself that?” My heart thrashes against my chest and rings in my ears. “I don’thavea damn father.”
“Hold your tongue, son—”
“Don’t call me that,” I snarl, barely above a whisper.
