• Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me? •
• I let him climb inside my body and held him captive with my kiss •
• You taught me why hurricanes are named after people •
They meet at a motel, and they're together ever since. She isn't sure...
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He watches her throw her rucksack into the back seat of Leah's truck and sighs. He isn't sure what compelled him to invite her along with him; spontaneousness, lack of judgement, his loneliness, maybe? He doesn't know, he isn't sure he wants to. Just like he's been avoiding thinking about the flip his stomach makes when she looks at him, or smiles, or the way his skin ignites when she touches him.
What he does know, however, is that lack of judgement had to have been the reason he told her about the pack. He can't chalk it down to anything else. He remembers whispering it across the bed, both of them laid on their backs, staring up at the ceiling silently. He remembers feeling so content, and at peace, that he could barely understand how this girl had so much effect on him. He remembers when he made the decision to tell her, remembers the feeling of the words clawing their way up his throat, the fear of her running away scratching at the edges of his mind.
She didn't run away, she laid still, and turned her head to him, and smiled so softly that his insides had ached. She'd trailed her fingers across his skin, and told him he's like someone she'd seen on TV (out of some show called Teen Wolf that he's never seen before). She asked him to show her, and he'd told her that he would, one day.
He remembers feeling so accepted, and happy, and welcome in a way he never has before, and he knew, right there and then, that there was no way he was going to be able to walk away from her.
Asking her to come with him though, that was a spur of the moment thing. Not that she seems to mind: he thinks she may have been waiting for him to ask.
He watches as she slams the back door shut, spins around, and grins at him. The grin lights up her eyes, making her entire face glow. His stomach flips, and he goes slightly lightheaded for a moment.
Fuck, he thinks, she'll be the death of him.
"Are you ready to go?" Storm asks him, leaning against the side of the truck.
He can't find it in him to do anything other than nod, and walk toward her and the truck. He keeps blinking, his eyes adjusting to the light. It's beginning to get on his nerves, all this blinking.
She skips round to her side of the truck (Christ, she hasn't even been in it yet, and he's already referring to it as herside), yanks open the door, and slips inside. The door shuts quietly behind her.
He looks around the motel car park, feeling the beat of the sun against his skin, and finally lets a smile slip onto his face.
What has he got to frown about, anyway? It's hot, and sunny, he's happy, he's just spent a week with a pretty girl in his motel room, and now said pretty girl is in his truck. He's got nothing to frown about, yet every reason to smile.
And so he does. He grins, looks up at the blue sky for a few moments, and then opens the car doors, clambers in, and shuts it behind him. Storm's already put the air conditioning on, he notices.
