Page 180 of Tempting Venom
Wait.
Rain hits the pavement in thin silver threads, catching the beam of my headlight as it illuminates the shadow of a body I know so well. A body I’ve learned by heart. A body I’ve been commemorating to memory despite myself.
Preston.
My lips tremble, and for a second, it looks like the whole night is falling sideways. I kill the engine, the sudden silence sharp enough to breathe beneath my skin as I stare at the mythical being standing dead center in the glow, soaked to the bone.
Preston looks ethereal.
So beautiful and afar and…wronglyfragilein a way that snaps something inside me.
A feeling so foreign, it makes me tighten my grip on the handlebars.
His cashmere coat hangs off his shoulders, the fabric plastered to his defined muscles, dripping steadily. His shirt beneath is soaked through, clinging to his chest, almost transparent. The faint fracture tattoo on his sternum glints each time the rain hits it. His hair is darkened and stuck to his forehead in wet strands, water dripping down his face in rivulets.
But his eyes—those fairy-like green eyes—are bright in the light,toobright. Intense in a way I can’t read.
Too still.
Too quiet.
I pull off my helmet, water running down the leather of my jacket, and he doesn’t move or blink. Just stands there in the beam as if he’s almost not here.
As if I’m staring at a man made of smoke. I’m apprehensive that if I touch him suddenly, he’ll disappear.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my steady voice loud in the silence.
Nothing.
Not a word.
For a second, I think it’s the ghost Preston. The one who slips to somewhere I can’t reach.
“Isn’t this where you wanted me?” he whispers, his voice small and raw.
I inhale once, slowly. “I never wanted you in the damn rain.”
“Well. That’s where you got me.”
The wind cuts through, and he shivers so hard, I can hear his teeth click. My throat tightens as something hot spikes in my chest.
“How long have you been standing out here, Preston?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug that looks more like surrender. “I went to the arena first, but your team was there, so I figured waiting here was better.”
“You’ve been here for fuckinghours?” The words tear out of me sharper than I intended. Because why the fuck would he freeze himself out here like a reckless fucking idiot? He has a game tomorrow, for fuck’s sake.
He glares at me. The freaking minx actually glares. “You’re the one who wouldn’t text me back. It’s your fault.”
“Myfault?”
“Yeah, so you need to make it up to me.”
“What?”
