Taken by Kelli Maine Read Free Book Online Page B

across the water. “We’re going to get wet,” you say.
    Lightening slices the sky. A crack of thunder makes me jump. “I hate storms.”
    “We’ll be off the lake soon.” I watch you paddle, wishing there was another so I could help us get back faster.
    The wind blows so hard, trees bend. Another flash of lightening blinds the sky, and thunder rumbles overtop of us. A loud mechanical noise hums and echoes. “What’s that?”
    “Backup generator.” Your chest flexes and contracts with each stroke. Taking you in, my fear is instantly replaced with a rush of desire only to be yanked back by another jolt of lightening.
    We hit the shore. You grab the bucket of fish, rod and tackle box. I hop out of the canoe and run as fast as I can for the boathouse.
    Inside, it’s dark and musty. We pant, catching our breath. “Guess we wait it out in here,” you say, hauling the fish to a small wooden table underneath a window in the back. “Wonder if I can find a knife in here to clean these.”
    You search shelves and corners while I dig through the tackle box, finally coming up with a small paring knife. “Will this work?” I hold it up for you to see.
    “Perfect.” Your fingers run over mine when you take it from me. My stomach tightens, my skin prickles. My body responds to your touch more than I want it to.
    From behind, I watch you clean fish in silhouette, blocking most of the dim light streaming in the window.   A loud crash of thunder has me taking a few strides closer to you.
    “It’s okay,” you say, looking at me over your shoulder. “This place has been here a long time. I doubt that this is the day it’ll fall down around us.”
    “I hope not.” But now that you’ve put the thought into my head, it’s the only thing I can think of. “How would we know if this was a hurricane?”
    You filet one of the fish and toss the bones aside. “It’s not a hurricane. Just a storm. It’ll pass.” After setting the knife on the table, you hold your hands out. “I don’t have a towel or anything. Guess I should’ve thought about this before getting my hands covered with fish guts.” With a quick swoop over your head, your chest is bare and you’re wiping your hands on your t-shirt.
    Lightning flashes on your skin through the window making you look like Adonis—or Zeus with his lightning bolts, but not simply a man. Your tan shorts hang low on your hips, your six-pack abs lead to a defined V like an arrow to follow down past your fly where my eyes can’t follow. But they want to. They so want to.
    “We need to make a run for it,” I say. You have to get a shirt on that body before I lose all control.
    You chuckle. “A minute ago you were afraid we were stuck in a hurricane. Now you want to run out in the middle of it?”
    I hold up a finger and watch the window. “Wait. Let’s see how far away the storm is now.” When the lightning flashes again, I start counting. “One, one-thousand, two, one- thousand--”
    “What are you doing?” You look at me like I’m a circus act.
    “Shh. Three, one-thousand, four, one-thousand, five--” Thunder rumbles. “It’s one mile away. We can make it.”
    You glance at the window, then back at me. “What did you just do?”
    “You count the seconds between the lightning and thunder then divide by five. That’s the distance to the storm. You’ve never heard of this?”
    One side of your mouth twists up, revealing a dimple. “Never. Must be something you learned at Girl Scout camp that one time.”   You dip your shirt into the bucket of lake water where you’d stashed the fish in the boat. When it’s soaking wet, you wrap the filets in it. “Let’s run for it then. Want to race?”
    You dart by me and out the door, your laughter drowning in the distant thunder. I sprint after you, rain pelting down on us soaking our clothes and hair. You look back over your shoulder, then slow and turn around, jogging backward. “Come on slow poke!”
    If I wasn’t