Page 79 of Crossing the Top Line

“Pack a bag. Do you have a shutter for your garage?” he asks, taking advantage of my silence.

“Yeah, they’re automatic and the switch is in the kitchen. How did you get here so fast?” I ask, confusion making my face flush hot.

Spencer doesn’t answer, removing his shoes politely before striding over to the kitchen and flipping any switch he can find. He turns on my garbage disposal twice before he finally finds the right one and I can hear the grinding of the metal shutters coming down over my garage door. Spencer turns to face me expectantly.

“We can beat traffic to catch a ferry, but not if you keep staring at me,” he says seriously.

My brain finally comes back online, and I rock back on my heels, crossing my arms over my chest. It occurs to me that I’m only wearing thin sleep shorts and a stretched-out University of Michigan crew neck, and I don’t have underwear on beneath either of them. Not that I think Spencer notices as he scurries around my kitchen and living room, checking the locks on my windows like a man on a mission.

“And where, pray tell, do you plan to take me?” I ask coolly, my gaze following him around my house.

Spencer spins to look at me, and he has the gall to roll his eyes. “Back to mine, Oli’s, and Eli’s place. St. Charles doesn’t flood, and even if it did, we’re up on pylons. I’ve invited a few other guys over and we’re going to have a hurricane party. Did Oli not tell you?”

I blink at him, so genuinely taken aback by his unruffled tone that I don’t comprehend the question at first. But once I do, I check my messages. He’d mentioned something about Spencer getting supplies a day or two ago and that there might be people coming to stay with them for the storm, but nothing about a hurricane party.

“In any case, we really should get going before we get stuck. The wind keeps kicking up, and they’re gonna close the bridge soon. We need to get moving to avoid congestion at the ferry,” Spencer says when I tell him about Oliver’s messages.

Biting my lower lip, I take one last moment to consider this. While I wouldn’t mind spending several days cooped up with Eli and Oli, adding Spencer to the mix, as well as anyone else who might show up, could get messy. I don’t know how much Spencer has picked up on, but it will be even harder to hide if we’re all crammed into one house for several days. I don’t really have a better option, though. Rachel is one of the only people I’d consider trying to crash with, but she lives in Lakeshore, and she evacuated to a motel north of Lake Pontchartrain yesterday along with her two roommates.

Shoulders slumping in resignation, I sigh before I turn and head into my bedroom to change and pack.

Yeah, Terry can kiss my ass.

“SucksthatOwencan’tmake it. But that means more snacks for us, I guess,” I say to Tori, trying to coat my voice in something resembling regret. But the smile I can’t wipe from my face isn’t doing me any favors.

It’s been a few hours since Spencer and Tori made it back to the house. I wasn’t confident that she’d agree to come back when he declared his intentions to Oliver after demanding the keys to the SUV. Things have been noticeably less tense between Tori and Spencer, but I wasn’t sure if she’d be willing to listen to him, even if he was right.

Tori grumbles something into her plastic cup, taking a big swig of her mixed drink, spine curled and shoulders bunched around her ears. She’s gotten grumpier every time Spencer announces that yet another guest has cancelled on us, Owen being the latest and the last person we were holding out for.

“Looks like it’s just us for the next few days, Tor,” I go on, unable to stop smiling as I take a drink of my vodka water.

I catch her glare out of the corner of my eye. “You could at least pretend to be upset. Unless this alleged hurricane party was a cover to get me over here,” she snaps.

I turn to lean sideways into the kitchen cabinet beside her, but she keeps trying to burn a hole through the back of Spencer’s head as he sits on the couch with Oliver, watching the news while we still have power.

“Why would we buy all this food and alcohol if we weren’t planning to have a party?” I ask pointedly.

She opens her mouth to retort, but stops, closing her mouth again so fast that I can hear her teeth click together. Her scowl deepens, but she knows I’m right. As far as I understand, Spencer did genuinely want to throw a hurricane party, especially when he heard I’d never experienced one. This will actually be my first ever hurricane everything, because this is the longest I’ve ever been in the city since I moved to the states. Usually, Oli and I are up north long before now, and the storms that curve that way are rarely stronger than any other intense thunderstorm.

The lights flicker for a second as a gust hits the house, the structure creaking ever so faintly. I hum thoughtfully as I look at the ceiling.

“What’s ‘hm’?” Tori asks, words clipped.

“Winds like this aren’t all that different than the ones we’d get during blizzards back home,” I comment, not letting her bad mood get to me.

“Remember that storm when you took me to meet your family?” Oliver calls out, pulling mine and Tori’s attention out to the living room.

Pushing off from the kitchen counter, I saunter over, throwing myself into one of the armchairs next to the couch and propping my feet on the ottoman with a laugh. To my surprise, Tori follows me a few moments later, nestling herself into the corner of the sectional with her feet tucked under her hips, both hands clutching her drink.

“That was a bad one,” I say as I turn a fond grin to Oliver.

We didn’t have to hide our relationship from my family, and they gave us an entire cabin to ourselves for the whole trip. Memories of the nights we’d spent wrapped in thick blankets and each other as the snow piled up outside flash through my mind. I love New Orleans, but part of me will always belong to the land of the midnight sun.

“You grew up in the great white north, though. You should have been used to a little snow,” Tori adds, her bad mood falling away as she gets caught up in the conversation.

Oliver laughs, knocking back the last of his drink. “Oh, yeah. Lots a snow up in Canada, eh?” he says, turning up his accent for effect.

We all laugh, but that quickly dissipates as the power flickers again.

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