The Weight of Rain
His Series
One night changed my life—one that I barely remember.
When I close my eyes, my mind paints a picture of his smile and shades the contours of his hands, the deep scar around his bicep.
I’m an artist, yet my hands are unsteady. With his presence, he has unknowingly broken that something inside of me that makes me who I am.
Being around him is like standing in a rainstorm. First the drops tickle my skin, and then they coat me, refusing to be ignored. Finally, they soak into me, reaching parts of me I don’t think anyone has ever touched.
When dreams turn into reality, will the picture in my mind transfer to paper?
For Lisa Greenwood, my strength, my confidence, my humor, and such a large and essential part of my life.
And for my boys. I will always love you too.
Dream big, my loves.
“B
EN
, B
RIAN
, Benny, Brent, Bailey?”
“Isn’t Bailey a girl’s name?” My eyebrows draw down in question, though I’m tired of playing this game.
“No, I’ve known guys named Bailey. It’s one of
those
names.” Charleigh twists in the driver’s seat, eyebrows arching knowingly. I catch her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose and her hand brushing blonde hair from her face before I turn to watch the road.
“One of
those
names?” My voice is surprisingly even as we dangerously near the median.
“Yes. One of
those
names. You know, where a boy
or
a girl could have it. Like Charleigh.”
“It wasn’t Bailey. I would have remembered that name for sure.”
“You were pissed! You can’t even recall how you got home!”
“Drunk,” I reply automatically. “I was drunk.”
“Drunk, pissed, same difference.”
“Only you Brits think pissed means drunk. Here in America, we all think it means angry. We’ve gone over this.”
“Yeah, yeah, stop changing the subject. Brandon, Brad, Bobby, Benedict?”
“Benedict?” My neck snaps to face her.
“Yes, Benedict.”
“Who names their kid Benedict?”
“Plenty of people!”
Raising my eyebrows, I look at her with disbelief, which she returns with a glare.
“Did he tell you where he lives?” Charleigh asks, undeterred by my attempt to change subjects.
My index finger slams against my chest. “Drunk. Remember?”
“At least you remember what counts, I suppose.”
“I don’t remember
his name
, Charleigh!”
“But you remember that he made you see stars!”
“Stop! You make me sound like a floozy.”
“You were a floozy. You got pissed and slept with a complete stranger with good teeth.”
“He did have great teeth,” I agree.
“At least we know he has good hygiene. That’s a plus.” I groan, slapping a hand across my eyes to hide from my own embarrassment. “I’m just teasing. I’m proud of you, Crosby. You finally got a piece! It’s been over a year since the last time someone dusted your hallway.”
“Stop!” My objection is met with laughter, which has my eyes rolling.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m just teasing you. I’m glad you found someone you’re interested in.” Her focus moves back to the windshield for a moment and then turns to me, her lips pressed tightly into a hopeful smile. “We could try changing the last two digits and dial the number, see if we get anything.”
I look down at the palm of my left hand that’s been scrubbed clean. Two weeks ago I woke up with a pounding headache, a hazy recollection of events that involved meeting a guy with auburn hair, warm amber eyes, and some of the straightest, whitest, most even teeth I’ve ever seen—along with a phone number that was half smeared/half worn off my palm. I vaguely recall mentioning to him that it was hard to read at the time and him smiling at me, offering me more water. My memories contain blurbs including people dancing and me laughing, but the bright smile, and eyes that held so many unspoken words—that I vaguely recall trying to pull out of him—are the most potent.
Images became clearer and clearer as the night went on, including one where I definitely remember convincing him I was sober enough to have sex.
I, Lauren Crosby, convinced a complete stranger to sleep with me at a house party.
On someone else’s bed.
He was quite possibly the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. There’s no way that, had I not been drinking, I would have spoken to him. Liquid courage alone led me to trace my tongue along the python snake tattoo that wrapped around his bicep and over his shoulder. I know we exchanged numbers in such an outdated fashion because I’d been wearing a dress and left my phone with my roommate, Kenzie.
“I doubt he even remembers me,” I mumble.
“Lauren, I swear to God, if I hear you say that again, I’m going to kick you in your loaf of bread.”
“Your cockney threats don’t scare me, they just confuse me.”
“I’ll kick you in your head! Make that brain of yours start working!”
“I’m sure I gave him my number too. He hasn’t called,” I object, meeting her hard stare. “It wasn’t like I was the only person interested in him. Trust me.”
“I think we should ask around some more.”
“Ask what?” My tone expresses my exasperation.
“Someone had to have seen you both at the party!”
“Charleigh, I’m giving up. It would be so weird to find him now, anyway. I mean, what am I going to say? ‘Hey, remember me? I’m the girl you gave water to because I was too drunk to take care of myself. Then I talked you into sleeping with me.’”
“You could tell him you’re pregnant.”
My hand flies out, connecting with her shoulder. “That is seriously the worst joke ever. Plus, Aunt Flo arrived this morning, thank you very much.”
“I know. You’re grumpy as all hell, and you ate a Snickers for breakfast.”
“Stalker.”
Charleigh laughs, shaking her head. “Did you try describing him better to Kenzington? She knows loads of people.” Only Charleigh insists on calling Kenzie by her full name—Kenzington.
“Like five times.”
“What about the others?”
“I’ve asked everyone I know. I’m beginning to look pathetic.”
“Stop being such a stubborn arse,” Charleigh orders, but the lilt in her voice makes it hard for me to take it as more than a suggestion.