Page 7 of Too Many Beds

Why wasn’t he getting any flashes of a potential future from Storm?

He’d always thought of it as a bit like static electricity. The first time he touched someone, there was a shock. That was when he saw the most, and then it lessened. If he hadn’t touched them for a while or if something significant had changed their electrical charge, so to speak, he’d get another large shock. It occasionally made meeting new people awkward, but after that, it was fine—a quirk he’d had to adjust to, especially when he was filming.

But with Storm, there was nothing. Not even the vaguest spark of possibility.

Maybe he needed to… unplug and try again? He removed his hand and rubbed his palms together before deliberately placing it back on Storm’s chest.

Still nothing.

He frowned and glanced around the studio, ignoring Storm’s confused expression. Tristan was lounging off to the side in case his illusions required adjustments. Ryder marched over to him, putting his hand on Tristan’s bare forearm.

Soft fur, rich coffee, glowing tattoos.

Tristan knocked his arm away. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do I need to remind you that?—”

Ryder walked off, staring at his hand. Okay, strange.

As he passed Rhys, he snuck out a hand and brushed it against the cameraman’s buff arm.

Mountains of dirty diapers, sleepless nights, tiny little feet.

“Oh.” He froze. That was new. “Congrats on the baby.”

Rhys beamed at him. “We were waiting until tomorrow to make the announcement. It’ll officially be twelve weeks.”

In the round of cheers and back-slapping that followed, Ryder returned to where Storm was watching him with bemusement.

He put his hand on Storm’s chest again.

Nothing.

He pressed harder, then bounced it against the distractingly firm muscles of Storm’s pecs.

Still nothing.

What the hell? This had never happened before.

He peered at Storm. “I can’t see your future.”

Storm’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean? I don’t have a future? Am I going to die soon?”

“If you were, I’d get a sense of foreboding or finality at least, and I’m not getting that. I’m not gettinganything.”

“I thought you said you see people’s futures when you touch them?”

“For everyone else, I do.”

“You see everyone’s future but mine?”

“Yeah.”

That word hung between them, and Ryder tried to puzzle out what was happening.

Wait. No. He didn’t see everyone’s. There was another person whose future he’d never seen, but there was a logical explanation for that, one that didn’t apply to Storm.

“Okay!” Brandt’s voice sliced through the celebratory noise in the studio. “Places! We’ve got a montage to film.”

Right. They had a job to do. Ryder pushed the strangeness of being unable to see Storm’s future aside and focused on their scene.

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