Page 206 of Darling Venom
Guess I was never taking Rowling to the playground again. I couldn’t even bring myself to feel bad.
We walked there in silence, passing looming brick buildings and quirky shops along the way. The magic I loved about the city could be summed up through this path, and I was sharing it with Tate Marchetti.
Surreal.
My pinky brushed his. I stuck it out, letting it drag along his skin before retreating. His bumped mine.
Was it sad that I considered this foreplay?
By the time we reached the fenced playground ten minutes later, I was panting in anticipation.
Tate hopped over the gate first, catching my messenger bag when I tossed it over. I climbed the iron bars, hyperaware of his eyes on my body like a hawk. The metal was cold and damp under my palms.
Tate’s hands met my waist at the last stretch, picking me up with ease and lowering me onto leveled ground. The streetlight lent us its orangey glow. I disconnected from him, bending to grab my bag.
Giant concrete spheres littered the park, each painted a different bold color and labeled with their namesake planet. I passed Jupiter, Saturn, and Venus, setting my belongings against the jungle gym slide and plopping onto a swing.
I tensed when Tate positioned himself behind me. His hands wrapped around both chains, drawing me closer to him. My back molded to his front.
His chin rested on top of my head.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered into my hair.
“It’s easy. You push, and I fly.”
“I meant with you.”
“So did I.”
“Cute,” he drawled, but his palms met my waist, and soon enough, wind lapped at my cheeks.
It didn’t seem real.
Us here.
Him pushing me on the swings.
The domestic type of scene women swooned over in viral young-adult novels with guaranteed happily ever afters.
“I’m out of my comfort zone, Charlie.”
Me, too.
Since when did we talk about us in a way that demanded answers? I wasn’t ready for this. For risk.
“You’re doing fine. But if you’re that unsure, maybe we should switch.” I hopped off the swing set, gesturing to the now-empty seat. “I’ve been skimping on arms day. It’s time I worked out something other than my legs.”
His eyes dipped to said legs, scanning their entire length. He took his sweet time. His throat bobbed.
When he spoke, it came out husky. “Don’t change a thing.”
I’d been joking, but his tone said he wasn’t.
Looking at him overwhelmed me, so I reclaimed the swing. He picked up where we’d left off, sending me gliding through the air.
“I go here when I need to clear my head.”
When the guilt gets to be too much.
