“Great.” His accent was always more pronounced at night as if he was too exhausted to remember to say his words differently, I kind of loved it. I loved how he said his R’s. I loved how his mouth formed around words differently than mine did.

I needed to stop staring at his mouth. That much was clear.

“Night, Pris.” He opened the door and left.

With a sigh I got off the couch and cleaned up, putting the bowl into the dishwasher and wiping the counter tops. I needed to get some food if I was going to be staying there for the next week or so.

I checked my phone.

Two missed calls.

Both from my dad.

He was probably freaking out, but my parents and I had always had one of those relationships. We loved each other, but we were distant. Not in a bad way, just in a way that they knew I was an adult and they trusted me.

I sent him a quick text.

Me: I’m fine, will call in the morning, kinda sleepy. All is well — btw does the house still have insurance? What do you need me to do while you guys are with Dani?

He texted back right away.

Papa Bear: Okay sweetie, Stella told us you were okay, just wanted to hear your voice. Stay safe at the rock star’s house and try not to break anything. Kidding. We’ll discuss the insurance later. I’m… I’m hoping everything will be fine. It always is, right?

Me: Right…

Papa Bear: Are you scared?

Me: ?

Papa Bear: Being alone. Want me to send someone over? I hate that you’re by yourself. You always cried when it was too dark.

Laughing, I texted him back.

Me: I’ll just keep my phone close, if I panic I’ll call you and you can chase the darkness away.

Papa Bear: I’ll always chase the darkness away.

Me: I know.

Papa Bear: It will be fine. Always is. Get some rest. Love you, sweetie.

Dad, optimistic to a fault. That’s why everyone loved him. If it was raining, he’d say to be thankful we weren’t in a drought. If it was snowing, he’d say be thankful that the cold weather is killing all the spiders.

I turned off the lights to the living room and was about ready to go into the bedroom — the one Jaymeson had convinced me to sleep in — when I heard a knock on the door.

Other than Jaymeson, who even knew I was there?

I looked through the peephole to see a drenched Jaymeson waiting for me on the other side.

With a jolt I pulled the door open and jerked him inside. “You’re going to get sick standing in the rain. What’s wrong?”

He crossed his arms over his muscled chest. My mouth went dry. His shirt clung to him like a second skin, I didn’t mean to, but I started checking him out. Who wouldn’t? His body was tightly muscled, as if he hadn’t eaten a cookie a day in his life. Every ridge of his impressive stomach was thickly corded. I hadn’t realized how cut he was. I mean, I always thought it was movie magic.

Magic? Yes. The movies? No.

“I, erm…” He rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell, I’m just going to come out and say it. I’m scared shitless.”

“Of the rain?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “And the movie, and the thunder.”

“Have you always been afraid of storms?”

“What, are you a profiler?” he snapped, an angry tone to his voice.

“Whoa!” I held up my hands. “I was just curious — stop attacking me.”

“Sorry,” he grumbled, bits of water rolling off his chiseled face and onto the floor.

“You can stay here.”

“Really?” A smile returned to his face.

“Guest room, and I’m locking my door so don’t get any ideas.”

“We’re friends,” he said simply. “I can control myself around friends.”

Well, at least one of us could. I hated that his comment made me sting. Even though I was the idiot that put us in that zone in the first place, I still wanted him to want me… as ridiculous as that sounded.

“Cool.” I pointed back to my room. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Alright.” He started walking in the opposite direction whispering, “Goodnight, love.”

“Night.”

Chapter Nineteen

Jaymeson

I stared up at the ceiling and swore. No way did that girl see me as a man right now, especially considering I’d been too scared to go back to my own lonely house.

The movie hadn’t freaked me out as much as the storm.

I freaking hated storms.

They reminded me of my childhood, of being alone while my dad was filming. They’d left me with a housekeeper, but she was so old and cranky that she offered no help whatsoever.

I’d missed Nanna so much that night — it felt like someone had stabbed me over and over again.

One night during a storm, a tree branch crashed into my bedroom window.

The housekeeper didn’t even come.

Neither did my dad. I even called him. He told me to tell the housekeeper and go back to sleep.

But her bedroom door had been locked, so I‘d lain under my bed, with rain pouring through the window, hugging the toy truck my dad had given me when I was really little, and praying that the storm would end.

That was the day I had realized nobody would come for me — that in the end it was me against the world and that was it. Girls always joke about wanting to be rescued, needing saving, but what about guys? What about little boys who grow up parentless? Sure I had money, but money’s a cold bitch at night when you’re scared of your own shadow.