Page 248 of Darling Venom
“God help me, we really are teenagers, aren’t we?” He groaned.
I tossed my hair behind my back. “Race you to the park’s gate.”
Hopping off the jungle gym, I flushed as I brushed down Tate’s body. His arm looped around my waist and deposited me on solid ground.
“Hi, Charlie.”
“Hi, Tate.”
I edged back and claimed his hand.
Like always, Tate walked me to the apartment, stopping just shy of the top step to the third floor. I pushed past that invisible barrier he never broke, but he spun me and pressed his mouth to mine.
He pulled away. “Now, you can go.”
“Such a tease.”
I made my way to my place, unable to wipe the stupid grin off my face. I pushed the door open, moved through the threshold, and poked my head out to look at Tate one last time.
He was still staring at me.
“Oh, and Tate? I love you.”
I fled before I could see his reaction, closing the door behind me and not looking back.
There were a million and one reasons not to ride the subway.
The smells. The grime. The inability to find a goddamn seat.
And on the wild stroke of luck that you did, the 99.99% chance of someone’s ass landing on your face.
But today’s reason came in the form of a digital billboard with Kellan’s name on it. It smacked me in the face on my way out of the station.
Not literally, but might as well have.
There were twelve of them. They stretched the wall from where I stood at the service booth all the way to the staircase I needed to climb to escape this hellscape. Lit up like a wildfire. Taking up just as much oxygen, too.
Fuck, it was getting hard to breathe.
Not like I didn’t put in an effort to ignore it. The universe made it impossible. Every time I tried to veer left to place some distance between the boards and me, half of Manhattan jostled me back like a human pinball.
I found myself staring.
At the cover.
At his name.
At the praises that littered each poster from people who sounded important.
“A celebration of two lost souls finding each other. Peppered with social commentary on love, loss, and the state of society, Marchetti’s words present a convincing case for making bad choices and enjoying them.”
The New York Examiner
“Kellan Marchetti is Holden Caulfield, if Caulfield were to fall in wild, unrestrained love. This book became my lover, one I never wanted to be without again. Each page left me desperate for more.”
L.T. Moon, New York Times Bestselling Author
“Darling Venom reminds me why I read.”
