“Ten!”
The countdown has started, it appears.
“Nine!”
I’m supposed to be watching over them, but I had to come out here to get rid of the loud and obnoxious squeals so many of the girls were making.
“Eight!”
Not to mention some chick who looked to be twenty-eight if she wasn’t a day told me she was a damn senior in high school and asked me to deflower her. No way, no how.
“Seven!”
I’ve only had one high-school girl on my mind for way longer than I should’ve.
“Six!”
It’s been hard, but I’ve done my best to let her live her life without interfering too much. She’s dated here and there, just like I have.
“Five!”
Nothing is ever serious. For either of us. That’s apparent in the looks we give each other, when we’re sure no one else is watching.
“Four!”
But I’ve kept my hands to myself. An oath I made when she lost a lot of her girlish figure and started developing.
“Three!”
I decided right then and there whatever would happen between us would be her decision, and her decision only.
“Two!”
Which isn’t easy for a man like me. Someone used to getting what he wants, and not waiting for others to tell him if it’s okay or not.
“One!”
For her, though? I’ve waited.
“Happy Birthday!”
And I’m not disappointed in the least when I hear the backdoor of the clubhouse open. Before I even turn to look, I know it’s Justice.
I’ve always known it’s Justice by the way my body responds to her. It’s never responded to anyone like it does to her. She makes my hair stand on end, my skin ripples with awareness, and it takes everything I have not to reach out and touch her.
“Caelin?”
Her voice is soft, unsure, vulnerable. Not how I’m used to hearing her. Turning to face her, I’m not prepared for her how she looks. In the blink of an eye, she became a woman, that fucking turquoise lock of hair is taunting me.
“Happy birthday, Jus.”
“Thanks.” She ducks her head down, smoothing her hands along the edges of her way too short dress. “So this is what eighteen looks like?”
“Looks pretty damn good from where I’m standing.”
I don’t mean to say those words, but there they are. They hang in between us, stuck in the middle on a string that neither one of us appear to want to reel in.
“Looks good from where I’m standing too.”
It costs her to say it; I know how shy she is, how hard it is for her to put herself on the line like this. “Did you get everything you wanted for your birthday?”
Her head shakes no. “There was one thing I really wanted, but I didn’t get it.”
Probably some piece of clothing or a book she wants. This girl and her journals. She could have thirty and never have enough. “Maybe you’ll get it later?”
She seems to make a decision in this moment, walking toward me with her shoulders squared and her head held high. “Maybe I’ll get it right now.”
Looking back, I should have known this was about to happen, but in my defense, I’ve imagined it so many times, I wasn’t quite sure if this was the real deal or not.
Justice Walker grabs me by my cut and takes the kiss I’ve wanted to give her for years.
With that one little kiss, she rocks my world, and I know it’ll never be the same again.
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About the Author
Laramie Briscoe is the USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author of over 30 books.
Since self-publishing her first book in May of 2013, Laramie has appeared on the Top 100 Bestselling E-books Lists on Amazon Kindle, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo. Her books have been known to make readers laugh and cry. They are guaranteed to be emotional, steamy reads.
When she's not writing alpha males who seriously love their women, she loves spending time with friends, reading, and marathoning shows on Netflix. Married to her high school sweetheart, Laramie lives in Bowling Green, KY with her husband (the Travel Coordinator) and a sometimes crazy cat named Beau.
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Thank you so much for reading “Hurricane”! If you want to read the story of Cash, Harper, & young Remy – it’s told in the book “Cash”.
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