Page 171 of Trouble from Abroad
“You alright, man?” Liam joins her, concerned, interrupting my line of thought.
“I’m fine,” Preston mutters, rubbing at his elbow.
I hurry to check too, but he refuses to look at me, so I allow my grin to stretch a bit wider, once I see with my own eyes that he’s okay.
“Oh no,” I coo. “That must’ve hurt…” His head whips toward me, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and I mouth, “…yourego.”
Karma’s really working overtime today, and I’m living for it. For a beat, we just stare. Preston’s gaze sharpens, looking both mortified and… murderous?
“You sure you’re okay?” April asks again, kneeling beside him. “You’re a bit red. Did you hit your head?”
“I said I’m fine.” The reply comes clipped, but he forces a tight, painfully polite smile.
I can’t help myself. I lean closer to Liam and whisper, not nearly quietly enough. “Is this an age thing? He was bumping into things earlier; now he’s falling.”
“Mia,” Liam warns, nudging my head away playfully. “Stop trying to get yourself killed.”
Preston’s stare nails me to the spot. A sniper taking aim. Way too focused for a man who might’ve hit his head on a fall down the stairs.
I imagine he’s mentally flipping a coin. Heads, he ignores me; tails, he strangles me with his bare hands, witnesses be damned.
He finally hauls himself up, dusts off his blazer, and stalks past me without a word.
“Fine, I’ll stop,” I whine for his ears only.
* * *
His head snaps back at me, but his shoulders soften a little when our eyes meet. The brat in me does too.Even though he’s probably stewing with rage, Preston opens the passenger door for me. He circles the hood and climbs intothe car before taking the wheel, hands at ten and two. It’s just us, and the first few minutes of the drive to the restaurant are silent. Uncomfortably so. Only the engine hums and the air-con whispers.
I start wondering if I’ve always breathed this loud. My knee bounces. I twist my bracelet, fingers fidgeting faster with each passing second. I’m one heartbeat away from chewing off an acrylic fingernail.
I need a distraction before my brain convinces me this man’s plotting my murder and mentally rehearsing his alibi.
When I can’t take it anymore, I reach for the radio, but his hand lands on my wrist, warm and firm.
“Mia,” he says, all serious. “Should we talk about what happened befo?—”
“Noooo.” I cut him off, way too loud, saving us both from eternal humiliation and my spontaneous combustion. “Dr. Preston Jett, the only way to save this arrangement is to never,ever”—I pause and over-enunciate the words—“refer to that mishap again. Let’s file it under ‘things we don’t speak about.’”
I turn to check if he’s on board with this. “We’re going to move on and pretend it never happened. Deal?”
He’s still focused on the road, but his sideways glance is so intense, it almost pins me to the window.
“You got yourself a deal, Miss Thorne.” He doesn’t release my wrist, not until he’s guided it to the fancy sound system in his Jeep.
“Okay, a quick one-time exception, and we’ll never, ever speak of it.” I can’t resist it. Curiosity killed the cat and itwould’ve killed me. “That tattoo in the middle of your chest—was that a sun?”
His smug grin is back, and I let him have it. Fine. I did grab an eyeful of him.
“I call LilySunshine. So yeah, I tattooed a sun for her, well, for me, the day she first spoke ‘sunfine.’ Did you catch the rays of light too, Miss Thorne?”
“Okay, time’s up! Poof.” I mime the explosion with my hands. “Never happened. Gone from our memories.”
I blow out a breath, easing back into my seat. Pretty sure I’m back to my original height now that my spine’s not locked in fight-or-flight mode.
I connect my Spotify and cue up my favorite playlist, already bracing for him to groan, reprimand my musical choices or turn the radio off entirely.
But to my surprise, Dr. Preston doesn’t complain. Not a word. Not until I’m halfway through an off-key duet with Harry Styles.
