Storm: Book 2 by Evelyn Rosado

Chapter 1
    When your mom is on life support and you’re recovering from an overdose, clarity is first thing you get. Clarity about where you stand in life and clarity about what means the most to you. Outside of my mom, it’s Chase.
    The hypnotic sound of the windshield wiper flashing back and forth across my eyes is my soundtrack as I head west on a two lane highway in the middle of nowhere back to campus—which is the absolute last place I should be. But I need Chase’s touch. It’s the only way I can cope. If it wasn’t for him rushing me to the hospital after my overdose, I’d be dead.
    I pull up into the parking lot of his apartment complex as a misting of California autumn rain continues to dot my windshield. He doesn’t know I’m coming home even though we traded text messages every minute since I left to see my mom. My heart is racing as I dart up the sidewalk to his door. He was on my mind so much that I forget to turn my ignition off.
    Standing in front of his door, I wipe the drizzle off of my face, shivering, not from the rain, but from the excitement I get when I see him. I release a long expansive breath from my lungs before I knock three times on his door. He doesn’t answer. I knock again harder, banging my fist on the auburn-colored steel door over the clattering of raindrops—and now thunder and lightning. I look in my purse to call him but I left it in the car. I run to my car to grab it out of the cup holder. I’m now soaking wet. I call him, but I get no answer. I bang on the door again, the meaty skin of my fist hurting from the pounding.
    “Who the hell—” Chase swings the door open with a frown that quickly melts to a smile when he sees me. He’s half naked, wearing nothing but a white towel, barely able to wrap it around his waist. His right, muscled thigh peeks through. I can hear the shower in his bathroom still running. We lock eyes. Those eyes. Mysterious, contemplative. The color of jade. It’s a shade of green that I get lost in. The type that reminds me of rolling around in the meadow of my grandmother’s garden.
    I’m dripping wet, standing above a small puddle of rain. He’s dripping wet, too. Droplets of water river down each cavern of his ripped abdomen. A drop of water, suspended at his chin, falls down on his chest right on the crease between his pectorals. My eyes waltz over his skin. He looks godly. The mere look at him makes my stomach clench.
    “Hey you,” he says, his eyes blistering, jutting up and down at me.
    “Hey,” I say, my voice tender, craving for his arms to be wrapped around me.
    “I didn’t—”
    I cut him off mid sentence as I rush towards him, mashing my lips against his, always moist and warm. I cling to him as he wraps his arms around my back. I wish he wouldn’t let me go ever again. He shuts the door behind me and I jump up and spiral my legs around him, holding the back of his neck, devouring his lip, his tongue, kissing his chin, his cheek, absorbing the heat that I missed. He plants my back against the door, making a loud thud gripping my body tightly. I forcefully cape my legs waist, right above his towel and lock my hands behind his neck, as if he’s the only person in the world that can keep me from drifting. Drifting away in the madness of my life. I feel weightless against him.
    Our lips peck against each other’s and then our kisses are harder, deeper, coiling our tongues together. I moan into his mouth. I press my lips down the curves of his neck, the scent of his skin, filling my nose. He smells like sweet cedar, it’s enchanting, forcing me to gently suck where his neck and his shoulders meet. He groans and I slide down and he rips my shirt over my head, exposing my breasts, needing, wanting to feel his taut naked skin against mine. As my hands glide over his chest, still damp, I feel his heartbeat beneath my palm and it’s racing. His towel falls off of his waist after he pulls me into him and the ruggedness of his