Unexpected Storm
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R. S. Aria
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3,4M
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46
Chapter 1
MIA
Andrea
Don’t combust when you see him, okay?
Mia
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Andrea
Uh-huh. Sure. You just imagining Storm shirtless for scientific purposes?
Mia
That was ONE TIME when I was like… fourteen.
Andrea
You made me pause a movie because “his arms looked suspiciously strong.” FOURTEEN, my ass.
Mia
You’re dramatic.
Andrea
You’re in denial. Just don’t be weird. Or horny. Or both. He’s my brother.
Andrea
He just isn’t the one for you. He is a red flag with abs, remember that.
Mia
I told you. I don’t have a crush on him anymore, relax.
Andrea
Sorry, just a little bit of brother-baggage over here. My friends get a thing for him, then he breaks their hearts, then they’re not my friend anymore…
Mia
You know NOTHING could ever break us apart. And definitely not your annoying-ass-douche-bag-brother. He doesn’t see me that way, I don’t see him that way, and you don’t have anything to worry about.
Andrea
I know! Love you!
I roll my eyes and shove my phone deep into my tote bag.
Okay. So maybe I used to have a thing for Storm. Maybe I dreamed about him teaching me how to drive or kiss or…breathe.
But I was a kid. A chubby, clingy, awkward little shadow that trailed after Andrea and clung to her hot older brother like he was my personal movie star.
Now? I’m grown. Cool. Normal…
Okay, semi-normal. I did redo my lip gloss twice in the plane bathroom because what if he was actually hotter now?
I grab my suitcase from the carousel and do a mental pep talk. Head high. Shoulders back.
Walk like you don’t remember the exact curve of his smile.
Besides, this summer is about having fun with Andrea and letting the past go, so there’s no point in getting my head in a frenzy again over Storm.
I step outside and there he is, leaning against his SUV, sporting sunglasses and a slightly unbuttoned shirt, and looking like a model (which he is).
With his tattoos, tan, and muscles that should come with a warning label. I nearly lose the entire act.
Of course, he’s got some flight attendant right by him, leaning in, and he’s throwing her that stupid, smug smirk.
Yeah. Still the same Storm, a shameless flirt. It makes my heart skip a beat.
I hover for a second, watching him flirt with this woman, and something tightens in my chest. It’s not jealousy. Okay, maybe it is a little.
But also it’s a reminder: He wants women like the ones he’s talking to—older, more experienced, more forward. Not me.
And besides, that’s good, isn’t it? He is Andrea’s brother, and she will kill me, after killing him, of course.
He turns, in the middle of some line, and sees me. He looks stunned, but I don’t think he recognizes me.
I guess I have changed a lot.
I march right up and say, “Oh, I see you’re still the same playboy you were last time I saw you.”
He blinks. Blinks again.
Something is going off in his head, but he can’t figure out what.
I nod at the flight attendant, who’s eyeing me. “What’s the protocol—do you offer both of us a ride, or is it more of a one-at-a-time situation?”
His jaw unhinges. “I—wait. What? Who are you?”
I fold my arms and tilt my head. “C’mon, Pretty Boy. You’re not that old. Or blind.”
“Mia?” he finally asks, his voice dropping as if his IQ just took a hit.
“There he is,” I say with a smirk.
STORM
AN HOUR EARLIER
I step outside. My sister Andrea is half inside the trunk of my car, buried beneath what looks like a glitter bomb of shopping bags, pillows, disco lights, and—could those be LED shot glasses?
“Mia’s staying for the summer, not the apocalypse,” I say, watching her with mild amusement.
“Shut up,” she grunts, wrestling a hot pink beanbag into submission.
She slides into the passenger seat, arms crossed like she’s trying not to smile.
I envy what Andrea and Mia have. Hell, I’ve got fans, followers, people who scream my name when I walk into a club. But none of it touches what they have.
That ride-or-die, years-apart-but-nothing-changes kind of bond.
When Mia left four years ago, Andrea was wrecked. I’d never seen her like that—quiet, hollow-eyed, the kind of sad that lingers in the corners of a room long after she’s gone.
It wasn’t just because her best friend was moving away. It was because Mia was going alone.
Andrea still had me. Annoying, overprotective, pain-in-the-ass brother, but I was here.
Mia had no one. Only her parents, and we know how teens are with those.
“She’s the same, right?” I ask. “Still talks too fast, laughs at her own jokes, snorts when she laughs hard? In my head, she’s still that kid who cried when she lost at Mario Kart.”
Andrea narrows her eyes.
“Well, update the file in your brain because Mia’s not a kid anymore.”
I shrug like it doesn’t matter.
“And just so we’re clear,” Andrea adds, pointing a finger in my face with a glare that could ignite a forest fire, “keep your hands to yourself. You’ve already slept your way through half my contact list.”
“Tsk. As if…”
“I swear on everything I love… You already ruined three of my friendships, and I’m not losing Mia to your commitment-phobic dick. I’m not letting you ruin the one person who actually means something to me.”
I hold up a hand.
“Relax. I’ve known the girl since birth. She’s like a second little sister.”
“Right…,” Andrea mumbles, unconvinced.
I start to respond, but she cuts me off with a grin I don’t trust.
“You’re picking her up from the airport.”
I nearly stall the car.
“What?!”
“I’ve got a hundred things to do. You’re free. You drive. You pick up. I already told her you’d be there.”
***
I’ve been at the airport for twenty minutes and have already witnessed three dramatic reunions, two crying toddlers, and one guy who looked like he was going to propose, then changed his mind mid-hug.
So, yes, I might be on the verge of losing my mind. I find myself wondering if Mia has changed since the last time I saw her.
Luckily, the sun is hitting just right, catching the sheen on the hood and the gold in my hair. A pretty brunette dragging a carry-on walks past and glances up.
A flight attendant with killer legs and deep red lipstick that probably violates some uniform code. I give her a slow, lazy smirk. Bingo. Finally, some action.
She tosses her hair and smiles back.
“Rough flight?” I ask as she slows near the curb, scanning me like a barcode.
She laughs.
“You offering a better experience?”
“Only the best. Five-star charm. One-star morals.”
She giggles, her cheeks turning pink.
“Waiting on someone?” she asks.
“Apparently,” I reply with a shrug. “But I wouldn’t mind changing plans.”
The flight attendant gives me a big smile. It’s on.
But then I spot another woman. She’s wearing tight jeans and a fitted top that clings in all the right ways.
Her wavy dark blonde hair is pulled half-up, half-messy, as if she didn’t try and still looks better than everyone else here. Her skin is tanned.
Okay, changing plans again, this is the woman I want. Screw picking up Mia. She can take an Uber, because I’m taking this woman home.
Wait… Why is she walking toward me?
She walks right up to me and says, “Oh, I see you’re still the same playboy you were last time I saw you.”
She’s talking like she knows me, but there’s no way I would forget this woman. She’s even more beautiful up close.
“What’s the protocol—do you offer both of us a ride or is it more of a one-at-a-time situation?” she says.
“I—wait. What? Who are you?”
“C’mon, Pretty Boy. You’re not that old. Or blind.”
“Mia?”
“There he is.”
I stare. For a second too long. Maybe three.
The kid I remember does not exist in this woman. Her confidence and curves and sarcasm have her moving like a goddamn power move come to life.
And those eyes. Bright turquoise, sharp and amused. One of them holds a tiny black freckle that feels like a punch to the chest. The one she used to call her “witch mark” when she was eight.
No. No way. Promise me, Storm. Keep your hands away.
“Shit,” I mutter. “You look…different.”
Before I can think of something appropriately non-awkward to add, she steps closer and hugs me—arms tight around my neck like we didn’t just skip four years of growing up.
I stand there, my hands automatically wrapping around her waist, and—
Boom.
She smells like vanilla and trouble, and I am suddenly very aware of my breathing and the tingling in my southern part of the body.
Jesus Christ.
“You look predictable,” she shoots back, pulling away to look at me. “Still living on abs and bad decisions?”
I blink. “I—I guess?”
She turns, walking backward toward the SUV, her finger tapping her lip as if she’s deep in mock thought. “Nice to see some things haven’t changed.”
“You, uh…want help with your bag?”
She raises a brow. “Sure.”
I grab her suitcase and toss it in the back while she slides into the passenger seat without another word. She leaves me standing there for half a second, stunned.
The flight attendant wanders off, seeing she no longer has a chance.
I get into the car.
She fastens her seatbelt, glances at me, and smirks. “Long time no see, huh?” she says.
And when she smiles, her full lips curving like she knows exactly the chaos she’s dropped me into, my cock twitches again like a traitor.
I force a grin and start the car.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Long time…”
“Gonna keep staring, or are we heading home?”
I grip the wheel a little tighter than necessary before shaking my head not so subtly.
These next few months just got very complicated.
