Page 438 of Not Over You

“Good luck in Guatemala,” Eloise calls after me.

Bitch.

I give as fake a smile as they did, not bothering to correct her on my way out.

So much for friends in Philadelphia. Or at least those friends.

Benji must close a door because the sound quickly drops out. “Hey,” he says, his voice smooth and soft compared to the music. “I wanted to give you a heads up that tonight’s Jordan’s study night at the house. You might want to make yourself scarce.”

I chuckle a little, wondering how he can make such an innocent task sound so dramatic. “What do you do? Hide from the law students?”

“Hell yeah, I do. If you’re smart, you’ll hide with me.”

I pause a few stores down, under an awning as a light rain starts to fall. The weather has warmed the last few days, but today, the clouds have covered the sky, making it feel more like an early spring. As I watch the rain fall, I can’t help but think about the painting I’d sent to Archer.

“Hold on,” I tell Benji without thinking.

I’m not sure why, but I send the same picture to Benji.

He’s quiet for a second before he chuckles. “It looks like someone stepped in paint, then someone else rolled around in it.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Liar.”

“You’re right,” he says. “It’s beautiful, CJ.”

It’s the first time he’s called me CJ since the time in the bathroom, and I close my eyes at the fluttering in my chest. A comfort blanket you lost and found years later. I push the thought away, knowing Benji and I can’t be completely like we were before—even if we’re pretending we can be.

There will always be a little rift between us. A wrinkle we can’t iron out.

The storm wakes me at about three in the morning. A flash of lightning illuminates the inside of my eyelids. They fly open just as the thunder cracks. It rumbles loud enough I feel it through the walls and floor.

My heart’s already pounding from the rough wake up call when another whip of lightning brightens the room, and then I hear a far off beep before the entire room dims. Absolute silence follows.

Shit.

I take a few deep breaths, working through the fog of sleep as I crawl to the end of the bed to peek out the window. The entire street has fallen dark, the street lamps off and barely visible through the torrential downpour.

I fall back into bed with a sigh just as hail starts its harsh plinks against the glass. No chance I’ll fall back asleep with the noise outside.

A soft knock sounds at the door, and I look over just as it opens. Lightning strikes, highlighting Benji, and our eyes meet.

“Power’s out,” Benji says.

“Yeah.” I sit up and swing my legs out of bed. “I noticed.”

“Thought I’d see how you’re doing. You know, since you used to freak when it stormed.”

“I’m fine,” I say, my cheeks heating. “I’ve gotten over it.”

A total lie. My stomach’s already knotted, my urge to check the radar growing by the second. One of my earliest memories is of watching a tornado sweep up my swing set minutes after I’d been playing on it. We found its mangled corpse a mile away, and ever since, I have a deep-seated fear of storms.

“Sounds good, man,” Benji says. “Just thought I’d check.”

I think he’s leaving until the next clap of thunder makes me jump. I let out a huff of breath and then hear a soft chuckle from the doorway. Grabbing the nearest pillow, I hurl it at him.

“Jerk.”

More lightning. He caught the damn pillow.

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