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Savage.
I unlock the car doors, and Savage jerks the back door open and grabs my bag. I get out into the mud and rain, and cold water slides down the back of my shirt.
“I’ve got it,” I say, shutting my door, and holding out a hand for the bag.
Savage takes me by the elbow. “Let’s go, Prin—” Thunder cuts out the last of his sentence, and I don’t get a chance to ask what he said, because we’re sprinting toward the front of his house.
I slip in the mud, and he catches me and helps me up.
We barrel up the front steps of the porch together and into the warmth of the house. Savage shuts the door and locks it, and the roar of the rain dims.
“Thanks,” I say, “but I was fine.”
He grunts, and I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing, and how wet his shirt is. So wet, it clings to every inch of his chest, outlining what I felt last night in the dark. He runs a hand over his neck, and shakes out his hair, and I’m mesmerized.
He places my bag on the floor next to an end table. “You want to shower?”
“Yes, please,” I squeak. “I mean, yeah, uh, yeah.” Which is, of course, way better than “yes, please” in a mouse voice.
Savage looks as if he wants to smile. “This way.” He leads me down the hall, and I can’t help peeking around at everything I pass by. This is my only glimpse into Savage’s psyche, since he barely talks to me, and when he does talk to me, the sound of his voice and the way his lips move tends to distract me. Apparently, I’m a horny teenager.
The house is small. Much smaller than I expected, but not in a bad way. It’s cozy, and there’s an open plan living room with a fireplace. We’re past the entrance to the kitchen too quickly for me to take much stock of what’s in it.
“This is the bedroom,” Savage says. “There’s an en suite bathroom. You can shower and get changed in there.”
“The bedroom,” I say. “Wait, the bedroom?”
“That’s right.”
“There’s only one bedroom? You don’t have a guest bedroom?”
“I don’t like to entertain,” he says.
“You’re kidding,” I reply. “You? You’re the regular life of the party.”
His lips twitch.
Does Savage think I’m funny? “But, sorry, give me a second here. How are we, June and I, going to stay over for the night if there’s no guest bedroom?”
“You’ll be staying in my bed. I’ll be on the couch.”
“The couch,” I say. “Aren’t there like—Uh, you’re running a camp, right?”
“I’m going to. Once the bungalows are finished being built.”
“They’re not done now?”
“No.”
I press my lips together, mulling this particular development over. I thought coming out here meant June and I would have our own cute little camp spot or bungalow to ourselves, and we’d see Savage during “training” or whatever. But this is not that.
This is me, trapped in a cabin with my crush during a storm.
“More questions?” Savage asks.
“Where’s June?”
“Not here.” And then he turns and walks off.
