Page 41 of Blush Crush

All I can picture is her trapped inside. My brain immediately jumps to worst-case scenario—something straight out of a movie. Pipes exploding. Water blasting through the ceilings like a fire hydrant. The whole place filling faster than anyone can run.

Maybe whatever is happening is far from dire, and Ariana is perfectly safe, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. The panic clawing up my throat doesn’t care about maybe.

All I can think about is getting to her.

The drive from my house to downtown usually takes ten minutes. I make it in less than five.

It’s all a blur. I don’t remember stopping at lights or turning corners. All I know is that one second I’m tearing out of my driveway, and the next my truck is screeching to a stop outside the building.

From the outside, everything looks just as it should. The street is dark and quiet, too early for anything to be open yet. My breath fogs in my line of sight as I heave an exhale, eyes darting about trying to figure out the fastest way to get to Ariana because she’s definitely not out here.

The emergency shutoff valve is in the basement, which is also where Ariana stores excess supplies and bakeware.

I’m no plumbing expert, but my best guess is to head for the basement and hope I can get things under control.

The basement can be accessed from the alley, where a set of concrete stairs leads down to it. I take them two at a time, and the second I reach the bottom, I hear the sound of water hammering against concrete, echoing like a damn waterfall.

“Ariana!” I shout.

“Down here!”

Relief slams my chest so hard it almost knocks the air out of me.

I round the corner and immediately step into water. Ice cold. Already at least six inches deep and growing by the second.

And there she is, standing directly under a pipe that’s spraying water across the room like a busted fire hydrant.

Her hair is plastered to her face. Her white tank top is soaked through, clinging to her skin, and she’s got both hands on the main valve like she’s using every bit of strength she has, but it’s still not enough.

She turns to me, water dripping off her nose, droplets coming off her thick lashes. “I couldn’t just leave without trying.”

“Move.”

“What?”

“Move.” I step forward, grabbing her arm and tugging her out of the direct spray before she can argue. The water is freezing, and she’s already shaking.

“Cole—”

“Just—hold on.”

The valve is rusted to hell, probably hasn’t been touched in twenty years. I grip it with both hands and twist.

Nothing. “Come on,” I mutter.

Behind me Ariana shivers. “It wouldn’t budge when I tried.”

I plant my boot against the pipe and put my full weight into it. The metal groans. For a second I think it’s not going to move at all until I feel it give just a little. With one last push, the wheel turns a few inches with a violent squeal, and the spray above us weakens. “One more,” I grit out. I yank off my hoodie for full range of motion and shove again, muscles straining until the valve finally turns all the way.

The water cuts off, and the roaring stops, leaving the basement eerily quiet except for the drip, drip, drip as the last bits leak from the pipe.

I drop my head for a second, catching my breath before looking over at Ariana. And immediately forget what I was thinking.

She’s soaked. Completely drenched from head to toe. Her white tank top is transparent enough that the pale pink outline of her bra is impossible to miss. Beneath it, the hard peaks of her nipples draw my attention like a moth to a flame. Water falls from the ends of her hair, sliding down her collarbone before disappearing between her cleavage. It takes a great deal of effort to force myself not to look.

She hugs her arms around herself, teeth chattering, and I can only imagine how cold she must be. I’ve only been standing ankle-deep in the water for a few minutes, and I can already feel the chill down to my bones. Meanwhile she was standing directly under that freezing spray for who knows how long.

My discarded hoodie landed on a stack of storage bins. I grab it just as I notice a knit cardigan floating past me. She must’ve been wearing it at some point.