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So it isn’t a question of whether or not Trevor is right. The question is,will she do that to Billie?
6
It could be night or evening, and Billie wouldn’t know.
Those thick blackout blinds would block any speck of sunlight from invading the room. But it’s the velvet shades pulled around the canopy bed that really darkens their snug den.
Only the faint green glow of Preston’s cellphone screen offers any illumination. It’s on the edge of the mattress, a charging cord stuck into it, and to anyone’s eyes but Billie’s, it would look as though he just tossed the cellphone there. But he placed it there for her—screen lit, on its back, and charging to keep the green glow of the screen on. Something of a nightlight.
She’s always hated how thick the dark feels in here.
And now, she’s not drowning in the dark—
But she is crushed under the weight of blood. She closes her eyes and sees blood. Opens her eyes and sees the abyss.
The faint light from the cell’s screen helps some.
She turns on her side, cheek smooshing against the pillow, and watches Preston sleep, as if it’ll distract her mind from death.
Preston is the ultimate distraction.
Jokes run around town about him.
Not the tasteful sort of jokes, more like a rumor dressed up with a laugh or an under-the-breath guffaw.
Preston always seems immune to the talk about his skin color, as though he’s heard no whispers of anything, or—frankly—couldn’t give a fuck about any of it.
Billie always believed the rumor.
It’s something she’s never mentioned to Preston, just like she’s never told him about the other guys she’s fucked when they were broken up and he wasn’t in town.
She probably shouldn’t believe the rumor, but…come on.The proof is in the olive tone of his smooth, impeccable complexion. A skin-tone not usually found at the country club.
Looks nothing like his parents, and he’s got no siblings to compare him to.
Yeah, Billie believes the rumor, sure—his mom had an affair and Preston is the result of that—but it don’t matter to her.
So, she never feels the urge to say anything about it.
That doesn’t mean she never thinks about it, though.
Billie has to admit… that sunkissed complexion; those dark brown eyes that turn black in the right light or with a foul mood; the perfect curls of his thick black hair; the perfect pinch of the bow of his lips; long, thick lashes she would kill to have… All that wrapped up in one tall, dark and handsome package… Makes it so damn difficult to stay away from him.
Sure, she loves him. But fuck, is sheintohim.
Preston has always been the most perfectly fucked up distractioninher life andfromher life.
Something she craves right now as she lies awake in his bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest under the sheets.
He sleeps.
And she’s just trying not to think about Carmine.
Billie reaches out and smacks him on the cheek.
His brow furrows.
She smacks him again, this time hard, this time with acrack!
