Page 42 of Stolen Summer

But not the type of job that requires me to blow him. I was providing a service. No, damn it, that didn’t work either. No matter how my mind spun it, I always circled back around to feeling like a prostitute, and that was so not what this arrangement was.

I had to figure out how to make my brain disconnect my deal with Cole and being paid for sex. Cole and I weren’t having sex.

God, the argument even sounds weak in my head.

Ignoring the screaming protest from my feet, I pushed upright and robotically moved, detaching my mind from my body. Just keep going, Arie.

Eventually, I’d make it home. It might not be at any record-breaking speeds, but the goal was to get there before the sun fully disappeared. I had about an hour.

It was sad to see the devastation some businesses and houses suffered from the storm. Water damage could be crushing, as could wind. Although it would take the city weeks to clean all the debris and for the water to dry up, it could have been worse.

When I reached the long stretch of road where I lived known as the Strand, I regretted my decision to walk. The street seemed endless much like the ocean it ran parallel with.

I stumbled again on the side of the road, something that seemed to be happening more frequently. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Why my legs were so damn wobbly and weak. Why I couldn’t seem to pick up my feet. They dragged along the gravel, tripping on the smallest of pebbles.

My vision wavered as well, going in and out of focus.

I squeezed my eyes shut, dying to pop my contacts out and toss them into the sandy grass, which wouldn’t help. Imagine me walking down the road nearly blind and unsteady. It sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Get it together, Arie. You’re almost home.

Almost was a stretch, but I had to do whatever I could to make my legs keep going, even lie.

An unsettling feeling came over me, and my pace became a crawl. I wasn’t even sure I was still walking.

When I was seconds away from plopping down on the side of the road, a car rolled alongside me, and I was about to throw my body in front of it and beg the driver to let me ride on the hood when I saw his face smirking at me from the open window.

The very same person I’d thought about calling for help.

Cole Riley.

But there were two blurring images of him, weaving together and then separating. His name formed on my lips as I watched the car stop and the door open. Is he frowning?

Of course, he is.

All Cole does is scowl at me.

Except maybe when he was kissing me.

A sudden rush of cold surged through my veins, and black dots danced behind my eyes.

Fuck. I’m going to pass out.

“Arie,” Cole called, and despite him only being a few feet in front of me, his voice sounded miles away. The world went topsy-turvy, and soon I saw nothing but blue skies and cotton-ball-white clouds.

Arms banded around my waist, catching me before I hit the ground, and my neck snapped back. I never fully lost consciousness, but what I felt was unpleasant. It was as if I’d lost control of my body. Nothing wanted to function properly.

“Jesus Christ,” someone with a grouchy voice hissed.

I nearly smiled. I might have if I’d been able to rally the energy to move my lips. I couldn’t.

“Damn it, Arie,” he growled, lifting me off my feet.

It was nice to no longer be required to support my weight. I didn’t have the strength to do anything but rest my head on his sturdy shoulder. The world spun a little less, and the clammy feeling that had taken over me slowly receded, but I still felt off. “Hmm, you smell good,” I mumbled, my face buried into the side of his neck.

We were moving, his legs eating up the ground. “You’re dehydrated and hallucinating. When was the last time you ate or drank anything?”

“I don’t know. Stop yelling at me.” The vibrations of his voice rumbled under my ear.