Arizona Heat Read Online Free PDF Page B

my legs crossed. I gaze out at the canyon ridges and admire the lines in the rocks, telling stories of the past. The afternoon light shines on Reagan’s tan skin and I watch as his brain works in overtime as he surveys the view. It occurs to me that there are thousands of people who would kill to be in my shoes right now. For a second, I feel lucky.

Chapter Eight
 
    Francesca: So you big fat liar. Bet you didn't even get ice cream last night.
     
    Crap. I told her I would take a picture of Reagan to prove to her that I was really with him. That’s okay, he’s right next to me. Now, how do I get a picture as inconspicuously as possible? I hold my phone in front of my face, like I’m taking a selfie, and position it just right so the profile of his face is in view. I click the button and it makes a loud snap. Rookie mistake. Reagan looks at me like I’m some crazy psycho and I hold my hands up in defense.
    “It’s not what it looks like, ” I say with wide eyes.
    “If you wanted a picture you could have just asked, ” he smirks.
    “No, I mean, yes, I was trying to take a picture. ” Dear lord I sound like a creep. “Francesca doesn't believe that I’m with you and I will not be called a liar. ” He throws his head back to laugh and I’ve never heard a more wonderful sound. He gestures for me to come closer so I scoot next to him until our hips touch. I am momentarily distracted by the smell of his cologne before I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. My hands miraculously figure out what to do while my brain refuses to focus on one task. I hold the phone up in front of our faces and snap a picture.
    “Okay now make a different face, ” I say.
    “Why? ” he asks with a curious smirk.
    “She’ll think I edited your face next to mine if I don’t get two different ones, ” I explain, reviewing the images. In the first one, Reagan is making a neutral face while staring up at the camera. My blonde curls are pointing in every direction, including covering his face. I slide to the next one and my heart stops. My mouth is open, mid-sentence, and I smile as I look at the camera. Reagan is in the middle of a laugh with his perfect smile on full display. His head is turned toward me, deep eyes full of curiosity. I shoot the picture off to Francesca with a stupid grin. She’s going to lose her freaking mind.
    After setting my phone on the rock, I glance up to find Reagan staring at me. Our faces are inches away from each other and I hear my breath hitch. I want to look away. I can’t look away. His eyes bore into mine like they are searching for something. Just as I sense our faces are inching closer, a gust of wind throws me off balance and I feel my hand slip off the side of the rock. A loud yelp escapes my lips as a strong arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back to stable ground. I don’t realize I’ve done it until it’s over but I wrap my arms around his neck and glance backward at what was almost my impending death. As I swing my head around another gust of wind pushes us together and I laugh.
    Rain comes out nowhere and I laugh even harder. Reagan swings his guitar around and tries to slide it back in the case so it doesn't get wet but it’s far too late. In seconds we are drenched and Reagan grabs my hand to help me to my feet. We take off in a sprint toward the car, barely finding it through the sheets of blinding rain. I tumble into the driver’s seat and listen as the water sounds like gunshots on the car. Reagan throws his guitar case into the back seat and settles into the passenger seat with a sigh.
    “It’s too early for a monsoon, ” I laugh.
    “Global warming, ” he shrugs with a sideways smile.
    The rain eases slightly and I start to pull out of the parking lot.
    “What are you doing? ” he asks.
    “Going home, ” I answer, confused.
    “You’re going to attempt to drive through this?”
    I scoff and turn to him. “I’ve driven through western New York in the dead of