I nod. “I remember.”
He rubs a hand absently over his stomach. I really hope he doesn’t decide to go put a shirt on. I’m having such a good time.
“You want a glass of wine?”
That’s not what I was expecting him to say, but I smile and nod. “Sure. Sounds like the perfect storm watching drink.”
He bobs his head in a nod and heads for the kitchen. It’s at this moment that I remember that I’m not wearing pants. Just an oversized Toronto Thunder t-shirt and a pair of panties.
Crap.
I should go put on pants. Right? Yes. Definitely. Jacob already caught me checking him out. If he figures out I’m in my underwear, that takes my creep factor to a whole new level.
But the decision is made for me as I run out of time and Jacob returns to the living room with two generously poured glasses of red wine. Biting my lip, I tuck the blanket more firmly around me. It’ll have to do.
The leather of the sofa creaks softly as he sinks down beside me, handing me one of the glasses. I take it with a small smile, and the glass is about halfway to my lips when he stops me.
“Wait.” I raise my eyebrows at him, and he tips his head. “We should have a toast.”
“A toast?”
He nods.
“To…storms,” I say, raising up my glass.
“To the unexpected,” he adds, then clears his throat.
I clink my glass against his and actually take a sip this time.
“Sorry if I’m…encroaching,” he says, his deep voice wrapping around me just like my modesty blanket.
I look at him, eyebrows raised.
He shrugs. “You seemed quite cozy out here.”
At that, I shake my head and take a sip of my wine. It’s smooth and velvety, with a hint of fruity sweetness. It tastes expensive, not at all like the twelve dollar bottles my friends and I buy. “You’re not,” I assure him, and then huff out a quiet laugh. “I’m the one who should be saying that, not you.”
He looks over at me, his eyes meeting mine in the dim light as rain slaps rhythmically against the windows. Thunder rumbles in the distance. “It’s nice to have someone to watch the storm with.”
“It is,” I say, wondering if he’ll notice if I scoot closer to him on the couch. I can feel the heat from his skin, and I want more of it, even though I shouldn’t. There are so many things I shouldn’t want from Jacob, and yet…I do. I can’t deny it, even if it’s wrong, given our age gap and our connection.
Lightning flashes and thunder cracks and for a moment, we sit in silence, taking in the symphony in front of us.
“I love the smell of rain,” he says offhandedly after a moment, and I get the sense that I’m seeing a side of him right now that not many others do. He’s not the cold, billionaire banker right now. He’s more real. More human.
Which is very bad for me, because I like this side of him even more than what he shows the world. I like it too much.
“Me too. That wet pavement smell, especially in the summer.”
“There’s a word for it,” he says, sipping his wine. “Petrichor.”
“Why am I not surprised you know the word for it?” I tease, bumping my shoulder against his. He’s like a furnace, giving off a ridiculous amount of heat.
“Because I seem like the type of man who has a big vocabulary?”
“Because you seem like the type of man who learns everything there is to know about things that interest him, which, apparently, includes the rain.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment.”
