The thought of Marcus with someone else makes all my demons surge to the surface.
“Catch me if you can, Pressie!” Miley’s voice snags my attention as she skates between some people, her wingsflying about.
She’s racing around like a reckless little shit, zigzagging between the other skaters.
“Mimi, slow down!” I skate toward her, and she giggles as she picks up her pace.
All of a sudden, she crashes into a tall person’s legs.
The prickling sensation that seems to be a constant lately spreads across my back and pours into my bloodstream, flowing like lava.
Either I’ve picked up hallucinating in addition to all the other fucked-up symptoms my brain has come up with, or I’m looking at Marcus.
I blink and he’s still there.
So he’s real? He better be. I really don’t want to deal with hallucinations on top of everything else.
Or maybe he’s a dream.
He looks a bit softer than usual, dressed in jeans that outline his long, muscular legs that go for damn miles. A thick navy-blue sweater stretches over his broad shoulders, hugging his frame like a second skin.
And his hair…what the fuck did he do to his hair? It’s not styled per se and is still as untamed as usual, but there’s a sort of side part. Some haphazard strands fall on either side of his forehead, making him look like skating porn.
Doesn’t help that he sort of towers over almost everyone here, so it’s hard to miss the motherfucker.
Though his gaze is entirely on me—those metal eyes unreadable like a stormy day that keeps grumbling in the distance but doesn’t get close.
“I’m sorry,” Miley whispers, staring up at him, and her little eyes widen.
I know the feeling, Miles of Trouble.
“Don’t worry about it.” He smiles down at her as helowers himself to his haunches and offers his hand. “I’m Marcus. What’s your name?”
She peeks at me, as she should, but then when she finds me too busy looking at him, she shakes his hand. “Miley. This is my brother, Preston. He’s so cool and famous. You can be friends.”
“Friends,” he repeats the word in a drawl as his gaze flits up to me. His eyes are still unreadable, the gray dark gloomy like that fucking static in my head.
“Yup!” Miley pulls at my hand. “You can, Pressie, right? Right?”
A twitch lifts his lips before he sighs dramatically. “I don’t think your brother and I can be friends.”
Miley frowns. “Why not?”
He smiles at me, but it’s dark and almost…what?As if he’s holding a grudge against me?
It should be the other way around.
I basically apologized. Just how far does this lunatic expect me to lower myself? Does he even knowwhoI am?
“I tried, Miley,” he says to my sister. “It didn’t work.”
She throws her hand in the air. “You can just try again! Pressie is really nice.”
“Is he now?” He stands up as I pull Miley to my side. “Are you nice, Preston?”
“Whatever do you mean? I’m the nicest person you’ll ever meet.” I lift my sister with one arm, balancing her on my hip. “Isn’t that right, Mimi?”
“So nice!” She drops a kiss on my cheek. “And so cool.”
