Free Spring Tide by K. Dicke Page B

that I’d volunteered information to Jericho that was private. “I’m telling you stuff I don’t want to tell you.” Kris, shut up now.
    He laughed. “Good, ’cause any day now I’ll be telling you stuff I don’t wanna tell you, stuff you probably don’t wanna know. Fair?”
    “Deal.”
    Thunder shook the deck. A storm was coming up fast, very fast, thick clouds driving from the east over the water. As I came up the steps of the pool he wrapped a thick, blue towel around me and gently pulled my hair from underneath it. I thanked him and perched on the deck wall to scout for lightning.
    “You’ve got goose bumps.” He sat close to me, put his arm around my shoulder and rubbed my upper arm.
    “I’m like a lizard. It takes my body a while to adjust to temperature change.” I glanced at him.
    Water ran from his hair in thin veins, following the curve of his temple to his cheekbones and dripping away. His eyes glistened, turquoise against azure, sparkles resuming with every blink. He slowly inclined his head, stopping for a second midway, and kissed me softly. His cheek brushed mine and when he sat back his irises were glowing with pale, blue light. My eyes widened, staring into the radiance of his. His lids closed and his eyes were normal again. I was taken aback by the sweetness of the kiss, but his eyes …
    Lightning ruptured the sky. Multiple hits rearranged the horizon, brightening the beach and our faces for one hot second.
    “I’ve never seen that before, lightning over the ocean,” I said. “Whenever there’s been a storm, I always look the wrong way and miss it. Where does the electricity go?”
    There were several intense streaks and more claps of thunder. Rain poured from the sky, sweeping the ocean like fire and hammering the deck. We ran inside and stood at the French doors off the living room, his body behind mine, one arm draped across my shoulders. Flashes of silver connected to a sea of ink, the waves pounded the shore, and his kiss stayed with me.
    “I loved thunderstorms when I was a kid.” I pulled the towel down and around my waist.
    “Me too.”
    “A negative charge seeks a positive charge to make the bolt and the expansion creates the shockwave of thunder. The bolt can strike several times in a fraction of a second, too fast for the eye to see.”
    “I didn’t know that.” His arm muscle flexed. “I associate lightning with transference.”
    “Of energy.”
    “Of existence.”
    Existence? That’s deep.
    As quickly as the storm came up it died down to a sprinkle. I excused myself to get dressed. A minute later, I came out of the bathroom, the comb in my hand fighting knots of wet hair. He motioned to a chair and removed the torture device from the bramble.
    I sat. “It’s useless. It tangles if you look at it the wrong way.”
    He ran his palms over my hair a couple of times and the comb slid down the length with no resistance. “You have pretty hair. I hate to see you hacking at it like that.”
    How’d he? Who cares? It was the first pain-free combing I’d ever experienced.
    “Thanks.” I took the comb from him. “I should get going. Sarah’s waiting on me at Nick’s.”
    “I’ll walk you back. The blacktop’s full of potholes and half the streetlights are out.” He put my backpack over his shoulder. “If you sprained your ankle, how would you go surfing with me?”
    “No surfing. I’m about ten thousand years behind on the learning curve.”
    “Just five, but I bet I could have you surfing better than Nick by the end of summer.”
    It would really get under Nick’s skin if I could surf better than he could. “I’ll think about it.”
    He guided me around the breaches in the pavement until we got to Nick’s drive.
    “I’m going out of town for a short while so I’m really glad you came over tonight.” He ran his hand through my hair and kissed me lightly. “Goodnight, Kris.”
    “Night.” I watched his retreat before going up three steps and