Praying for Rain (Praying for Rain Trilogy, #1)(25)

“Yeah, and the Burger Palace CEO is in on it,” Lamar chimes in.

His voice sounds deeper than I remember. I don’t know if it’s because of puberty or because he’s trying to sound tough in front of Wes. Either way, it’s kinda funny.

Wes snorts in agreement. “That motherfucker is making a killing.”

I laugh. “For real! They tried to charge me, like, eighty-seven dollars to Apocasize my meal yesterday!”

“See?” Lamar raises his hand in my direction. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

Quint pushes Lamar’s arm back down. “So, what brings y’all to Buck’s Hardware on this fine day?” he asks, eyeing us a little more suspiciously.

Wes tilts his head in the direction of the front door. “My bike got a flat.”

“And we need a metal detector,” I blurt out, earning me a glare and a shoulder squeeze from Wes.

Oops.

“A metal detector?” Quint repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Y’all lookin’ for buried treasure?” Lamar chuckles and cups his swelling jaw with a wince.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure my dad’s got all kinds of stuff buried in the backyard. Y’all know him.”

Quint and Lamar smirk and give each other a knowing look. Everybody in this town thinks Phil Williams is a crazy, old, drunken hermit who doesn’t leave the house. They’re not exactly wrong.

“What about you?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from the subject of my dad as quickly as possible.

“Just came in to grab some motor oil.” Quint gives Lamar the same look that Wes just gave me, but Lamar ignores him. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”

“Really? How?” I ask. “The roads are so bad; we couldn’t even get from Burger Palace to here without a flat.”

Lamar grins. “Oh, we ain’t worried ’bout flats.”

Quint glares at his brother, who isn’t getting the hint, and then turns his attention toward me. “Well, we best be goin’.” His dark eyes flick from me to Wes and back again. “You good?”

There’s something in his tone that tells me he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in this white boy if I asked him to. I love him for that.

I glance over my shoulder at Wes and smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Wes doesn’t let me go until the door shuts behind Quint and Lamar. Then, he spins me around and grips my shoulders so hard I feel like he’s going to crush them in his bare hands. I wince and brace myself for the lecture that I know is coming about blah, blah, blah, you never listen, blah, blah, blah, I told you whatever, but instead, I hear Wes suck a deep breath in through his nose and exhale it just as hard. I open one eye and peek at him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are narrowed, but he’s not yelling. Not yet anyway.

I lift my other eyelid and give him a tiny cringe of a smile. “Don’t be mad. I know you said—”

But before I can finish my apology, Wes pulls my body flush against his and smashes his lips even harder against mine. My body goes rigid for a second, completely caught off guard, but when he grabs the back of my head and slides his warm tongue into my gasping mouth, an atom bomb of desperation goes off inside of me. I press up onto my tiptoes and kiss him back, sparklers and bottle rockets going off behind my eyes. Wes tears the backpack off my shoulders and tosses it to the ground before slamming me up against the shelves of weed killer behind me. I can feel him everywhere. His hands are clutching the back of my neck, cupping my face, gripping my waist, grabbing my ass. His chest is pressed against my chest. His thigh is shoved between my legs, and when he rocks his hips forward, I feel another part of him—full and hard—against the side of my belly.

“Wes.” My plea is barely audible as it disappears into his relentless mouth.

Wes responds by gripping my hips and grinding against me harder. I feel my core coil and tighten as the entire world, both inside my mind and outside this store, disappears.

“You never … fucking … listen,” he growls between kisses.

“I know,” I pant, hooking my knee over his hip and shifting so that his hardness is now between my legs. “I’m sorry.”

Wes’s pace becomes even more punishing. I cling to his shoulders and suck on his swirling tongue and hold my breath as tiny earthquakes begin to rock my body. My legs tremble as the pressure builds.

“Wes …”

I tilt my hips forward, taking the full brunt of his force. Feeling him there—right there—separated by only a few layers of fabric and knowing he’s just as desperate for me as I am for him, does me in. I whimper against his lips and pulsate around nothing as the earth shifts beneath me, and I’m suddenly falling.

But I don’t hit the ground.

The shelf does.

Along with about two hundred plastic jugs of weed killer.

I open my eyes at the sound of the crash to find Wes smirking down at me, lips swollen and eyes hooded. He has a death grip on one of my arms, which he releases slowly as I turn and look behind us at the damage.

My cheeks burn white-hot when I realize what just happened. How pathetic I am. Wes is a sex god, and I just came in my panties and knocked over a shelf of weed killer from a kiss. I can’t even face him.

Thunder booms outside—for real this time—and I feel his stubble graze my cheek.