Текст книги "Blow"

Автор книги: Kim Karr

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

ELLE

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the couch.

My laptop was on my knees, my inventory pad beside me, and my cell close at hand. I felt drained and done with work. The crackle of the logs caused me to open my eyes. Setting my things aside, I looked around.

Logan’s suite was swanky. That was the best word to describe it. Modern black sofas, crystal chandeliers, fine abstract art, and beautiful side pieces to accompany it all.

The vanilla curtains blew in the breeze and the fireplace warmed me. I’d decided on opening the terrace door and turning on the gas fireplace. My nerves had my temperature fluctuating. One minute I was hot, the next I was cold.

Peyton had said she was absolutely fine, but I forbade her from coming to work until Saturday. She needed to take a few days off. If what Logan said was true, and I was certain it was, I wanted her far away from anything until after Friday passed.

Friday.

D-day.

I hoped Michael knew what he was doing.

He’d stopped by the boutique with Clementine and Sarah, the nanny, at lunch. Peyton had me seeing things that weren’t there, I was sure, but Michael did look pretty at ease with the nanny. He also seemed to be back to normal. He acted like nothing out of the ordinary was taking place in our life. He also acted like his wife hadn’t been missing for three months. I think he’d convinced himself that she really was in rehab. Both behaviors bothered me.

Cracking open a bottle of water, I checked the time—five fifteen. My stomach was growling, so I reached over to the pile of snacks I had brought from my stash at the boutique. The coffee table was littered with fruit roll-ups, granola bars, pretzel bags, and a few Snickers.

My fingers glided over each one before I decided on pretzels. They were the flat kind with salt-and-pepper flavoring. My favorite.

I pulled my laptop back onto my lap and in the search bar, feeling oddly curious, I typed in two words: sex addict. Not that I thought I was one. It’s just that for so long I’d thought of myself as almost asexual and now, after meeting Logan, that clearly was not the case. Still, naturally, I had to wonder if it was possible to move to the other side of the spectrum.

An article in Psychology Today magazine caught my attention. It was titled, “How to Tell If You Are a Sex Addict.” The article contained many stories of people who had thought they might be. I read them all but couldn’t relate to any of them. Still, I read on. I stopped when I came to a quiz with a series of questions:

Do you find yourself unable to concentrate because you’re thinking about sex?

Do you pay for sex? (Porn or prostitution.)

Has your sexual activity ever caused problems for your family?

Even when you’re in a relationship, do you still masturbate two or three times a day?

There were dozens and dozens more questions, but I stopped there. I was confident that I was most definitely not a sex addict. Who knows? Maybe I was just a normal woman with healthy sexual urges.

Munching on my pretzels, I liked that thought. Curiosity drove me to keep searching, and this time I Googled sex drive. The first article I read stated that the majority of Americans in their late twenties and early thirties have sex with their partner two to three times per week. There were tons more articles, all stating the same thing. Interesting. I was pretty sure Logan and I might have sex two to three times per day if we could.

That put a huge smile on my face.

I was biting down on another pretzel in fascination when I heard the lock. The sound caused my heartbeat to step up.

Slowly, the door opened.

My eyes were glued to it and then glued to him the minute he stepped through it. He paused in the doorway. Right away the air felt thick—just the way I seemed to like it as of late.

I licked the salt off my lips and stared at him. When he flew out of the bedroom this morning, he left so fast, all I saw was a flash of gray. Now, I could see him, really see him, and he looked edible in the designer suit he had on. And the tie loose around his neck with the first few buttons of his white shirt open only made him look even sexier.

I was becoming obsessed with this man.

Was obsession one of the questions in any of the quizzes I’d looked at, I wondered?

If so, I didn’t care. I wanted this man. And that had to be a normal, healthy, and happy reaction.

Logan looked over at me—his eyes on me like they had never been. “Hey.” His voice was smooth like honey.

Something fluttered in my belly—butterflies? No. I was a grown woman. I didn’t get butterflies. Yet they felt an awful lot like them. “Hi,” I said back. “How was work?”

“I spent the day at the waterfront,” he said, striding toward me, tugging his tie off as he walked.

My pulse raced. “Why were you at the waterfront?”

I breathed him in. I hadn’t realized it, but I think I might have missed him.

Logan moved my computer aside and bent to brush his lips against mine. “I’ll tell you later.”

I accepted his answer—for now.

His mouth felt warm above mine, and I closed my eyes, reminding myself this was only supposed to be about the fucking. And it was normal.

He pulled away and smiled at me. The way he was looking at me made my skin tingle.

That was when I knew I was lying to myself—this was about more than just the fucking.

I was falling for him.

“What are you reading?” He nodded his head toward my computer.

I quickly moved to slam the screen down, but he was faster. He grabbed it and sat beside me. With a wiggle of his brows he read the name of the article I had been reading: “Sex Drive: How Do Men and Women Compare?”

“Give me that,” I said, reaching for the laptop.

With a boyish grin that melted me, he shook his head. “You’re looking at porn.”

“Please,” I said rather haughtily. “I am not looking at porn. I’m doing research.”

“Number one,” he said. “Men think about sex more. Number two,” he went on. “Two-thirds of men admit to masturbating three to four times a week.” He chuckled at that.

The thought of watching him do it seemed highly erotic. “Do you?”

He sat back and ran his fingers through his hair and grinned. “Well, yeah, sometimes.”

“The answers to that question are either ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ not ‘sometimes.’”

His coyness was adorable. “I don’t really count how many times. Do you . . . masturbate three to four times a week?”

“Next question,” I said, feeling oddly embarrassed by that one. It wasn’t that I was immature; it was just that my reasons for masturbating in the past weren’t the same as Logan’s, and admitting that wasn’t something I was proud of.

His laugh was low. “It’s okay if you do. In fact, I wouldn’t mind watching you sometime.”

Suddenly it felt like 1,000 degrees in the room. The thought of that turned me on as much as the thought of watching him pleasure himself.

He laughed again, and it was low, and growly, and deep. “Number three.” He cleared his throat as if trying to ward off the laughter. “Sex drive increases with exploration.” There were a couple of clicks and then he turned the screen toward me. “Wow, look at that.”

My hands moved instinctively to cover my face. I wasn’t really feeling embarrassed, though, so I peeked through my fingers and saw he had clicked a link to demonstrate various unusual sexual positions. Dropping my cover, I commented, “Kinky.”

His grin widened and he pointed to a picture. “We’ve done this,” he scrolled down, “and this,” he scrolled some more, “and I think this. Oh, we should try this one.”

Rising on my knees, I leaned over and snatched the computer, closed the top, and set it on the table. I was really close to him. Really, really close.

He breathed in deeply and when he turned his head, his lips grazed my throat.

Heat flooded me.

“You smell so good.” Logan’s voice was hoarser than it had just been, the playfulness replaced with something more lustful.

“It’s lavender,” I told him, my voice husky too.

He breathed me in again. “I really like it,” he said, and dragged his tongue up my throat to my mouth. His lips felt so soft against my skin, his tongue so wet. He was easing me closer now and I was putty in his hands.

The fabric of my simple white blouse seemed to come alive as soon as his body covered mine. My nipples tightened and strained against it. The denim of my jeans also seemed to give way as my knees got weak with his legs between mine.

As soon as I felt his erection straining through the fine fabric of his pants, instant arousal spread through me like a wildfire out of control.

His tongue flicked my lips. “You taste good, too.”

“Pretzels,” I said, a little breathy.

Our mouths parted and the onslaught of needing to be closer, needing to consume each other, took over.

His tongue stroked mine.

I stroked his back.

Wet, wild, pleasure. That’s what I felt with his mouth on mine.

The kiss broke and left us both breathing hard.

He lifted a little to look down at me. “I know you have a lot going on in that mind of yours, but Elle, you don’t need to try to categorize yourself as asexual, sexual, or anything else.”

“You don’t understand,” I said and then leaned forward, my mouth seeking his. When I reached it, I found it closed to me. I felt a little disappointed.

Did seeing me reading that article worry him?

Logan’s eyes glittered green with small flecks of brown. “Let me finish.”

I blinked my stupid fears away and smiled at him. “Go on.”

He sat up.

I gathered myself together and sat up too.

He looked at me. “I don’t care what you were or thought you were. All that matters is what we are—together. And that is pretty great.”

“Do you really think so?’

He tilted his head to the side. “I’m pretty certain you know I do.”

We looked into each other’s eyes for a long silent moment.

“I don’t know why it matters to me. My whole life I’ve tried to figure myself out and just when I thought I had, whatever this is between us happened and I feel like I have to go back to the drawing board and figure myself out all over again.”

“Then let me help you.”

I gave him a huff of laughter. “I think I am.”

He wasn’t laughing. “You said this thing between us was just about the fucking. What if I told you I thought it was more?”

There was a feeling of ease with Logan. One where the truth was the only thing that needed to be spoken. No games. No beating around the bush. “I’d say I think it is too.”

“So can we agree to figure out what we are—together? Because I have to admit, this is all new to me too.”

I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Maybe he had a point. I didn’t have to be asexual or sexually repressed or whatever it was I thought I was. It didn’t mean I was a sex addict either. Maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t turned out like either of my parents. “Yes,” I answered, and launched myself at him.

Just as my lips found his, my stomach roared with the loudest hunger cry I’d ever heard.

Our mouths connected, we both laughed.

“I need to feed you,” he said.

I sat up again. “I skipped lunch and I am a little hungry.”

As he rose to his feet, his full form took my vision—the width of his shoulders, the length of his torso, the narrow hips. I was hungry all right, hungry for him.

“Elle,” he said.

I bit my lip. “What?”

“I asked what you feel like eating.”

Okay, so I wanted to say you. “It doesn’t matter. Anything.”

The room service menu was on the desk and he glanced down at it. “Fish, steak, or pasta?” he asked.

I twisted my lip. “Pasta, I think.”

“Good choice. I think I’ll have that too. Spaghetti, linguini, or penne?”

“Spaghetti, please.”

“Carbonara, Arabiatta, Bolognese, tomato, aglio olio, or lemon capers.”

I laughed. “Too many choices. I’ll go with the traditional tomato sauce and a meatball.”

His eyes twinkled. “You’re easy.”

“I prefer simple,” I said saucily.

He shrugged and picked up the phone. “Easy.” He winked.

“I’d like to place an order,” Logan said into the phone.

I liked what this was between us. It seemed with our secrets confessed everything was lighter, easier, and dare I say fun.

His harsh tone drew my attention. He was still on the phone. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow, I said, for now, just deliver my order. I’ll pay with cash.” Logan’s voice was gruff and laced with anger as he slammed the phone down.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him.

He stalked toward the bedroom. “Nothing. I’m going to take a shower before the food arrives.”

Whoa.

Mood change much?

“Logan,” I said, my voice harsh.

He stopped.

“What we just talked about—the figuring out what we are, you talking to me is part of it.”

Even before I finished speaking, he had turned around. He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. My grandfather wants me back in New York and to get me there, he’s frozen my accounts. The front desk told me my company credit card was declined earlier today, and now they won’t allow me to charge to my account.”

Not expecting anything like that, I offered, “I have some money if you need it.”

His laugh was dry. “I’ll take care of it. I might have to move to my pop’s until I can talk to my grandfather, but trust me, I’ve got enough not to worry about paying this bill.”

Logan was out of the room before I could respond.

Why is iteverything in life comes with a price? I thought.

Logan didn’t need me to point out which one was Lizzy.

Her red hair gave her away.

While we were eating, he had filled me in about what the day had brought. Like him, I was certain the woman Declan had mentioned had to be my sister. I just wished I knew more.

“It was the only picture I could find,” I told him. I was on my phone searching for other photos of my sister on Michael’s Facebook page—Lizzy didn’t seem to have one—and as far back as I went, I still found only that one picture of her in some group shot with a bunch of people. I had no idea who they were. I found it really odd and it was bothering me.

“The one you sent me was fine—don’t worry about finding another. If Declan finds anything out, he can just point to her in the group photo.”

I didn’t like it. I wanted a picture of just her. I zoomed in on her face and cropped the picture and then texted it to Logan. “There. Just her.”

It made me feel better to be reassured Declan would be able to show Lizzy’s picture. It made her more identifiable.

Satisfied, I swallowed one last bite of deliciousness before I pushed my plate away and watched Logan across the table.

“What?” he asked, catching my gaze.

“So help me out—you did or you did not grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth?”

His laugh sounded anything but genuine. “Hell, no. I did not. The Ryan name has so many strings attached to it. Even my mother avoided it for as long as she could.”

“What do you mean?”

“My old man says she was different when they were younger. She didn’t care about what her father thought or the money or the differences in lifestyle.”

“What changed her?”

“Life, I guess. Growing up. Marriage. Having to pick what mattered more. Who knows? Don’t get me wrong: as a child I never wanted for anything, but between my gramps and my father, they made sure I understood money—and Ryan money in particular—wasn’t all there was.”

“I guess that means I can’t call you Richie Rich?” I joked.

Logan rose and prowled over to me. He put a finger to my chin and lifted it. “You can call me anything you want—when you’re naked.”

My body jerked when his skin came into direct contact with mine and my heart leapt at the desire in his eyes.

We’d both come so far in such a short period of time—I didn’t cringe or shut down when he talked to me in that sensual tone of his, and he was now able to look at me during sex. I didn’t know what that meant; all I knew was that I wanted to find out.

My gaze swallowed him whole. He was wearing a pair of nylon track pants and a beat-up old T-shirt, and to me he looked just as yummy as he had in his suit.

I wanted to eat him up, and this time I planned to.

Goal clear in my head, I stood up.

Without thought, we automatically drew closer. His hands slid beneath my arms to rest at my waist and his fingers splayed around my slight curves. His cock pressed hard against my belly.

Heat that had nothing to do with the fire roaring beside us flamed within me.

“Take me to bed,” I told him.

He didn’t hesitate. In one fell swoop he scooped me off my feet and tossed me over his shoulder.

My laughter was loud as he strode across the room. “Not like that.”

He was laughing too as he kicked the door shut behind him. “This was faster than carrying you any other way.”

No doubt about that. I was already on the mattress and lying on my back.

He positioned himself on top of me, propped up on his arms.

I reached up and tangled my fingers in his hair. “But not very romantic,” I whispered.

Lowering himself slightly, he just barely covered me with his body so he could kiss me on the mouth. “I’ll work on that,” he murmured, his voice sounding so damn sexy he could have said anything and I would have been fine with his answer.

It wasn’t like I was really looking for romance—I was only kidding.

Moments passed, seconds, maybe minutes, I wasn’t sure. I felt like I could have kissed him forever. My hands were running along his body. Searching. Exploring. My fingers traced the edges of his shoulder blades, felt the way his muscles flexed under my touch, cupped his ass.

In a way I didn’t understand, we just fit together so well. He was hard where I was soft. Tough where I was weak. Straight where I was curved.

My hands still on his ass, I urged him to sink farther between my legs. He gasped out a curse and the sound didn’t bother me in the least. If I thought about it, I rather liked it. His muttered curses told me just how much he liked what was happening between us. This was consensual. We both wanted to feel the pleasure that was only just starting to take root. The electricity that was sparking in small fissures and promised to turn into bolts.

When he obliged, I could feel his hard cock throbbing even through the fabric of our clothing. Seeking more, my hips tilted upward, and that’s when he practically tore my clothes off.

I attacked his clothing with the same energy.

We were both naked within minutes.

Skin to skin.

And his was smooth.

So smooth.

His body was beautiful. Maybe even perfect. If I could have spoken, I would have told him so. I tried a few times to say something as his mouth began to slide down my body, but I couldn’t.

When he took my nipple between his lips, I gave up. I let myself go. He was what I needed. When we were like this, we were in a bubble, and all the troubles of the outside world faded away.

The thought struck and I couldn’t push it aside. Was I a distraction for Logan? If I was, did it matter? Or maybe, just maybe, it was the reverse and he was a distraction for me. Again, it didn’t really matter. We’d agreed to take the ride, but neither of us had agreed to stay on and neither had agreed to get off.

I should have told him the rest of my secrets, but I’d told him enough for now.

I inhaled sharply as a tingling radiated from my core.

Soft, velvety smooth strokes lapped around my clit.

Oh God, that mouth.

That tongue.

The feeling was so intense, my fists clenched the sheets and I moaned from the sheer pleasure that was slowly sweeping through my body.

Wanting to see him, I glanced down. The dark fringe of his lashes brushed his skin just before his eyes lifted to mine.

They were so dark in the light of this room, the rims of brown so much more noticeable. It was as if his eyes were dilated with passion. I’d never seen eyes like his, ever changing based on his mood. They were a dead giveaway to his feelings, a weakness I wondered if he even realized.

I let go of the fistful of sheets in my hands. We all had our weaknesses after all, and he was slowly becoming another one of mine. I slid my fingers into his hair to tangle them around his locks. His hair was the perfect length to thread my fingers through.

Lowering his head, he parted my legs and dove inside me with thrusts of his tongue that made me feel like he couldn’t get deep enough.

The sound he made when my hands gripped his hair even tighter was almost primal. He slid a finger inside me, then another, and worked his tongue in conjunction with his fingers.

My body tensed as tiny flames of pleasure flickered from my core. My senses intensified.

His touch was hot.

His breathing sounded ragged.

And his lips were deliciously wet.

I started to pulsate everywhere.

Wait. I wanted to be the one doing this to him. That was my plan. How had he taken the lead? Remembering one of the positions from my computer screen earlier, I rose on my elbows. “Logan,” I said, my voice hoarse, uncertain. “I want you in my mouth when I come.”

Simple words to describe the act, but still they felt like they weighed a thousand pounds as they expelled from my mouth.

He looked up at me with the same uncertainty that had bled through in my words.

But I was certain. Telling him was the difficult part. I gave him a reassuring nod that let him know—yes, I wanted this.

Without hesitation, he shifted his body.

His warm breath was gone and I mourned the loss on my flesh, but soon enough his knees were at my ears. He took his cock in his hand and I gasped at the eroticism of it. I craned my neck up to catch it with my mouth, but he lifted higher.

“Just watch me.”

“I want to taste you.”

“No, I want you to come,” he said. His voice was so hoarse I could tell he must have been fighting against his own release.

I stared up at him in awe as his fist closed around his cock and he started pumping it. I was fixated on the movement. Spellbound at the simple beauty of his cock as he glided his hand up and down it. But then his tongue was inside me again and from a different angle, it was so much more intense. Probing and searching for my pleasure was what I felt he was doing. And he was doing it so well. It felt so good and even though I wanted to, I couldn’t hold on any longer. I had to let myself go. My head tipped and I arched my back as I started to ride the wave of my orgasm.

Logan didn’t stop, though—he pumped his cock while he continued to lick, suck, and kiss all of me until another orgasm hit immediately after the first. This time, my toes curled as an exquisite sensation overcame me, rocking me unlike anything I’d ever felt before. And in that single moment of ecstasy, my body trembled as it came alive under his touch and I cried out louder than I ever had with what could only be described as pure, undiluted pleasure.

Logan had let go of his cock to use both of his hands and I took the opportunity to reach up with the tip of my tongue and lick him.

“Oh, fuck.” The sound roared through the room.

In a roll that I’m not sure if he initiated or I did, I was on top looking down at him.

He grabbed my hips and tried to pull me toward his mouth.

That wasn’t what I had in mind.

My head fell and I started slow, swirling my tongue around his tip before sucking on it. At the taste, I realized how hungry I was for him. I licked every inch of him. When I sealed my mouth over him, he groaned and bucked up. Sure, I’d done this before, but never in this position. Always the guy’s hands were on my head to guide me.

I didn’t need that with Logan.

His body’s response was enough to guide me.

Each time I moved, I took him as deep as I could and each time he hit the back of my throat, he groaned. My mouth sucked, my fingers stroked, and my lips moved in all the ways I could tell he liked.

“Oh fuck. Just like that. Just like that,” he muttered and it didn’t scare me, it thrilled me to hear the pleasure in his voice. His muscles started to shake when my tongue revisited his tip. As I traced a path around the moistness already beaded there, he shuddered and tugged on my hips, quickly rearranging my body and pulling me up to him.

He was back on top of me, his eyes searching mine.

I was okay. I swallowed, my throat tight, my heart still beating madly. He was silently telling me that he wanted to be inside me. I could see it in his eyes.

I wanted that too.

Logan didn’t say anything, though. He just reached between us and brought the tip of his cock to my entrance. We wanted each other so much. We were insatiable, and each time seemed to be better than the last.

Oh, God.

My fingers curled around his biceps and as he slid farther inside me, the blunt tips of my nails dug into his skin.

He thrust into me without resistance.

I looked at him as he looked at me, and he slammed inside me so hard, I cried out in ecstasy.

We fucked like that more than once in the next few hours. I had a fleeting thought that he was marking me, claiming me, making me his. This was something new. No one had ever wanted me like he did. The intensity of the gestures themselves gave me butterflies. And I knew they were butterflies.

With that thought in mind, I was equal parts scared and thrilled.

I was scared because I knew things were happening too fast. Too much was going on in our lives for us to get wrapped up in each other. Yet, at the same time, I was thrilled because I had never felt so worshipped.

It had to be close to midnight before we were lying on the bed facing each other.

“You okay?” he asked with a grin.

I swear I blushed. “I think you know I am.”

I’d cried out in pleasure so many times, there was no way he didn’t know how sated I felt right now.

“You’ve only ever had one boyfriend?” he asked.

The question caught me off guard but didn’t throw me. “Yes. Just the one. Charlie.”

His body stiffened and I wondered if he was jealous. He had no reason to be.

“Charlie and I were best friends. We talked about everything. Liked the same things. Did everything together. But sex wasn’t what our relationship was about. It was a passing act and that’s why, at the time, I thought he was perfect for me.”

Logan seemed to be thinking.

“And you, how many girlfriends have you had?”

Still lost in his thoughts, he mindlessly answered, “Just the two. But I’m not sure you could call them that. I never put a label on either relationship. I preferred not to.”

Interesting. Relationships were never his thing either.

I ran my finger up the scar that marred the inside of his thigh and then over the one under his eye. “These are from him. Both of them, aren’t they?”

He nodded.

Neither scar stole away from the beauty I saw in Logan, but I knew they must have been constant reminders to him. My fingers found his and I squeezed them tightly. “Logan, nothing is going to happen to me.”

He drew in a sharp breath as if he wasn’t so certain.

“Why can’t the police take care of Tommy? You could go to them and tell them what happened to you years ago. Couldn’t they use that for Peyton’s case and maybe arrest him?”

He bristled. “It doesn’t work like that. Not in our world. There is too much corruption in the BPD, and too many bad guys on the streets. Too often, innocent people end up getting hurt.”

It was all a little surreal.

Logan’s real world was like a TV drama.

The thought saddened me. I kissed the scar under his eye. It was a part of him. Who he was. And no matter the healing, the scar left behind, the depth of the wound was deep. I knew that now.

It was late when his phone rang. Without hesitation he reached for it. “Yeah,” he answered.

Silence.

“I’ll leave now.”

Logan tossed his phone aside and kissed me sweetly. “I have to go out for a bit.”

I grabbed for his wrist before he was fully out of bed. “Who was that?”

Opening a drawer, he pulled out a pair of jeans and answered while slipping them on. “Declan. He has a possible lead on your sister.”

I hopped out of bed and started to dress too.

Logan eyed me carefully as he pulled a long-sleeved shirt over his head. “What are you doing?”

Fastening my bra, I told him, “Getting dressed.”

Sitting on the bed, he shoved on a pair of Converse sneakers that had seen better days and asked, “Why?”

“I’m coming with you.”

Tying his second sneaker, he stood up.

I had my white shirt on now and was looking for my panties.

“Elle.” He was right in front of me, crouching down to meet my eyes. “No, you’re not.”

“She’s my sister.” My voice pulsed with anger.

“And I’ll tell you what I find out as soon as I know anything. This is a fishing expedition. I have no idea if the girl Tommy was seen with was even your sister. And I have no idea who is hanging around waiting for her. I don’t want anyone to suspect you are even looking for her. As far as the world knows, you believe she’s in rehab. Leave it that way.”

Not that he didn’t have a point, because he did. I just didn’t like it. “You’ll call me as soon as you know anything.”

He kissed me in that sweet way he had a few times now. “Yes,” he whispered, and then he tugged me toward him by the front seam of my shirt. “And keep this on. You look sexy as hell in it.”

My blood ran warm like a shot of tequila going down after the third one.

Opening a drawer, he pulled some money out, then grabbed his phone and started for the doorway. I followed him into the suite and watched as he checked his gun before tucking it behind him.

Logan looked at me one last time and then he was out the door.

I glanced around at the vanilla-colored walls and heard a pelting of sorts. When I turned my head toward the massive bank of windows, I noticed the doors were still open and I could see hail as it hit the terrace. My sister always said when it hailed that God was shooting bullets from the sky.

I hoped that wasn’t a sign.