Page 84 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

And there’s Professor Hansen himself, with his gradebook and a readiness to fail everyone who crosses the threshold.

“Sorry, I just…I just want this to go well,” I say, shuffling through my notecards for the dozenth time.

Storm leans against the wall with his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed. He looks like a Calvin Klein model—except he’s wearing too many clothes, which truly is a shame. And goddamn, he smells so good.

Focus, Shae!

“We’re going to do more than well. We’re gonna win, Shae,” he says, his tone oh-so-easy.

I’m not as sure as he is. Despite all my schooling, volunteer hours with mPOWER, and the civic duty I’ve completed with my father, I’ve never had to pitch anything to anyone.

Storm probably has seen or participated in at least a hundred things like this.

“Hey,” Storm says, stopping my pacing with a firm hand on my wrist. Immediately, my body responds to the action, and I freeze, looking at his fingers curling around my hand.

“What happened to your knuckles?”

Fresh cuts span the tops of his fists, like he scraped them against concrete.

Storm pulls his hand away and inspects the wounds. After a second, he shrugs and says, “Comes with the territory.”

Huh?

“Get over here,” he murmurs, and fuck, now I have another issue. I’m turned on.

“Y-yes?” I ask, stuttering a bit when he pulls me into his body. Then, I melt as his arms wrap around me.

It’s a hug. A simple hug that shouldn’t affect me as much as it does. But with his energy wrapped around me and his arms bracing me close to him, I do the only thing I can do.

I relax.

I breathe.

I borrow some of his strength.

“Repeat after me,” Storm says. “Everything I touch turns to gold.”

I draw back, studying him. “What?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You gonna do what I told you or nah?”

I grin when he smirks, and I repeat the statement.

“Great. Now say, ‘I have everything I need to be successful in this moment.’”

“I have everything I need to be successful in this moment,” I repeat. He breathes in and out to a slow cadence, and he doesn’t have to instruct me to follow his lead.

We take deep breaths, still holding each other, for minutes, long minutes, until he disrupts the stillness.

“Feeling stronger?”

Stronger. I like that. It’s like he knows that “better” isn’t the goal, but accessing strength is.

And it seems like he’s given me some of his.

This is so damn dangerous.

“Yes,” I say. “We’re ready. Let’s rock this.”

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