A Thousand Storms

03 alone

I turned, narrowing my eyes at the rude stranger. My heart picked up its own beat at the sight of him.

The tank top he had on showcased toned biceps, and a sheen of sweat covered his bronze skin. Black ink peeked out at his chest, alluding to a tattoo he had there. His curly hair brushed against his forehead, and slight stubble had formed over the bottom half of his face.

I gulped. I could practically taste the testosterone in the air.

"I introduced it to your mom last night. That's why her breath is so fresh," Logan responded with a smirk, completely nonchalant.

It took me a while to get it, and when I did, I didn't know whether to choke myself or cackle with laughter.

The rude stranger didn't respond to Logan, but kept his eyes trained on me as a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"You came," he said, flatly. His eyes snaked across my cartoon t-shirt, holding a glimmer of amusement.

"I didn't say I wouldn't," I replied. "I'm—"

"Ever," he said lowly, as if testing out the waters.

I looked at him questioningly.

"I heard," he explained, motioning to Logan.

"Mason, man, don't give the girl a hard time," Logan intervened.

Mason. That was his name. Mason. My temples started a dull, growing ache. Why did it sound so familiar?

"I did nothing," Mason said, leering at me with a smirk as his eyes travelled my length. "Yet."

The way he said it sent another shiver—icier than the last, up my spine.

I shouldn't be here. This guy—Mason, was setting off all my alarm bells.

Logan just shook his head and left the garage. A black motorcycle behind him caught my eye. It was the same one I'd partly destroyed. Except it now looked as good as new—better, even.

"You fixed it?" I motioned to the cycle.

"Yeah," Mason said, leaning against my car.

He made it brand new in such a short span of time? Impressive. I didn't admit it, though.

"I brought my car," I said.

Mason looked beneath him, lifting his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. "It just needs a little panel beating. Pick it up tomorrow."

I exhaled, relieved that it wasn't too serious. "How much do I owe you?"

He lifted his gaze to me in a slow, deliberate sweep. "It's on me," he said.

I frowned, my molars meeting harshly. "Just tell me the price."

"I told you," he drawled, those brown eyes scouring my face, "it's on me. I'm feeling generous today, and besides, it's nice to have people indebted to you."

I growled under my breath. This guy was infuriating. "Well, it's not nice to be in debt. I don't want to owe you anything."

"Too bad, blondie." The smirk on his face sent fire running through my blood.

"Don't call me that," I hissed.

"Why not?" He bit his lip, edging closer to me. His eyes lit up with a bright glint, dark chocolate with brilliant flecks of honey.

The Gods were seriously testing my patience.

We were close enough to be breathing the same air. He brought his lips to my face, and I shut my eyes. I couldn't breathe.