Page 88 of The Spider & the Storm

MASSACHUSETTS, PRESENT DAY

My old therapist, Dr. Sibilia, would have a field day if she knew that the first time I made out with a woman in years, I struggled to keep my brother from infiltrating my mind.

I just couldn’t stop thinking about that first night after Luke had bought the bike and we’d gone out to a local burger place. We played the part of each other’s wingman, pointing out girls who were both hot and interested. I got a kiss in the parking lot while Luke got a blow job in the restroom, and both of us went home feeling more confident and free than we had since Melanie had left.

But we were also sad. Because even though we’d allowed ourselves a couple of hours to forget that she was gone, we’d still had to go home to a house just as empty as we’d left it, and we’d had to remember all over again that we were orphaned bachelors.

I thought about that now as my hair knotted around Stormy girl’s fingers and our tongues coiled like snakes. I hadn’t felt this kind of good in who knew how long, and every inch of my body pulsed with an impossible, needy ache. But I had been aware since too young of an age that these moments were fleeting, and before I had a chance to commit them all to memory, they would already begin the process of fading.

God, at this point, I could barely remember the sound of my own mother’s voice. How the hell was I supposed to remember the sweetness of this rare woman’s tongue?

But she kissed so well and with so much passion, forcing a memory of Jersey to come to my mind, only to think that she—that cheating, home-wrecking bitch—paled in comparison tothis. Stormy girl held me captive within her grasp, steering me toward the bed and pushing me down. Straddling my waist and letting those skirts of lace and tulle to spill over us. She took control, never giving me a chance to hold the reins, and, shit, I liked it—a lot.

I let my hands roam along her back to her bottom. My palms molded over the curved mass of fabric, and I dug my fingers into the flesh hidden beneath. Stormy girl groaned into my mouth, and I moaned back, our tongues never slowing in their battle for more.

“What's your name?” I asked in a breathy whisper, never pulling my lips from hers. Desperate to stop calling her by some silly nickname that wasn't mine to use.

She smiled against me. “That's the first real question you've asked me all night.”

I responded with a huffed chuckle, realizing she was right.

“Stormy.” Her fingers flitted down to the hem of my shirt, disappearing beneath the fabric to trace the faintly defined lines of my abs. “My name's Stormy.”

“Really?” I was taken aback. I hadn’t expected the nickname to be at all similar to her real name, and I opened my eyes to half-mast, only to find hers looking back.

She offered a silent nod, and my heart took off galloping as I remembered that old drawing scribbled on the back of my door.

The spider caught in the middle of the storm.

It had always been a metaphor to describe the shit show that was my life, the misunderstood creature forced to weather every bolt of lightning and crack of thunder.

I had always considered that storm to be full of bad and terrible things. Death, destruction, heartbreak, and pain. But now, looking into those wild green eyes, I wondered if maybe the storm could offer something good, just this once. And how could I deny that possibility when this woman had been given such a name?

The spider and the storm.

Me and her.

“You wanna know a secret?” she asked, her lips moving against mine.

“Hey, can I tell you a secret?”

I swallowed and closed my eyes to Luke's long-ago trembling voice. “Huh?”

“I’m scared, Charlie. I’m really fuckin’ scared.”

“I’ve been thinking about your body since the other day,” Stormy confessed, pushing her hands further upward to my chest. “Like, I had a feeling you’d look good, butthisgood … I wasn’t expecting that.”

I opened my eyes again to watch her sit up, straddling my hips and moving her hands over my chest and shoulders. I tried to focus only on her. Tried to see her breasts, straining against the confines of her corset. Tried to take in the crimson shade of her blushing cheeks and the fading hue of her lipstick. But while my body was here, on her hotel bed, my mind had one foot in the present and another in the past. I saw the flashing lights flooding the living room of my childhood home. I saw my brother breakdown in front of me before the cops knocked on the door to take him away.

He would never knowthisagain. I wasn’t supposed to either, but there I was, and it felt sowrongandbackward.

Stormy’s hands slowed in their movements as her head cocked slightly, her eyes pinned to mine. “You’re sad,” she said with a hint of wonderment and realization in her tone, like she’d finally figured something out after a long time of questioning. “I always thought you were angry or something, but … no. You’resad.”

The image of Luke faded enough for her empathic eyes to come fully into view. I pressed my lips together for a moment, searching for my composure.

Then, I replied, “Deep down, we’re all sad about something.”

“I guess, yeah, but most of us can compartmentalize our emotions. You know, like, there’s a time to be happy, a time to be angry, sad, whatever. But you …” She shook her head and, to my horror, removed her hands from beneath my shirt. “I’m pretty sure you’re justsad.”

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