Praying for Rain (Praying for Rain Trilogy, #1)(30)

I snort a laugh through my nose. “I had a buddy who wouldn’t let his tattoo artist go near his elbow because he heard it was the most painful place to get inked, so while he was getting some work done on his bicep, I got another artist at the shop to do a bull’s-eye right on my elbow, just to be a dick.”

Rain laughs, the smile finally reaching her eyes. “Did it hurt?”

“Like a bitch.”

Water from the clothes on the floor trickles over to my bare feet as Rain’s eyes devour the stories etched in my skin. I wanted to use my body to taunt her, punish her, but instead, she’s reading it like an open book. When her gaze slides over to the wilted lily tattoo on my ribs, I’ve never felt more exposed.

“Did that one hurt?” She touches it with a cold fingertip, tracing the stem down my side.

“Yeah.” I swallow. “Every fucking day of my life.”

Her eyebrows pull together as she searches my skin for signs of injury. Gentle fingers skate over the drooping pink petals—one for every month of her short life.

“Lily was my sister.” I don’t even know why I’m telling her. Maybe so that she’ll stop fucking touching me like that.

Rain lifts her head but not her fingers. Those she splays over my ribs, covering the ink like a bandage.

“I’m sorry.” The sincerity in her big blue eyes is so genuine, the hurt in her voice so raw, I get the sense that Rain isn’t sympathizing with me. She’s commiserating.

The microwave dings a reminder, and I couldn’t be more thankful for the interruption.

“Show’s over,” I call over my shoulder as I walk toward the beeping machine.

A cloud of steam hits me in the face when I open the door. Setting the bag of cooked broccoli on the counter, I spin around to grab the rest of our dinner out of the freezer.

“You wanted a corn dog, right?”

I grab a box of corn dogs and a few individually wrapped sausage, egg, and cheese biscuits. Then, I turn toward Rain. Her mouth is open in a way that makes me want to put something inside of it. Food will do. My tongue would do better. My dick would be a fucking miracle.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I smirk.

Rain blinks the emotion off her face and scoops the bundle of clothes off the floor, inadvertently flashing me again in the process. I snicker as I watch her scamper into the laundry room on the far side of the kitchen.

I return my attention to the glowing microwave and try not to think about the tingling sensation left on my skin where Rain’s cold hand just was. A hollow, metallic clang and repetitive swishing sounds from the washing machine signal her return. Rain says nothing as she stands beside me, our stomachs growling in unison as we watch our processed meat products twirl under the halogen lights.

Then, one wall-rattling clap of thunder brings it all to a standstill. With a flash and a rumble, the house goes dark. The dance stops. And those once-blinking numbers on the microwave disappear for good.

“Shit.” I open the door and pull out our food. It’s still cold to the touch, but it seems thawed at least.

A gust of wind whips through the broken back door, causing Rain to shiver and cross her arms over her chest.

“Does …” I’m about to say your boyfriend but stop myself at the last minute. “Does this house have a fireplace?”

Rain nods, staring at her corn dog like it’s a beloved family member on life support.

“It’s gonna pull through,” I tease, squeezing her shoulder. Which earns me a smack on the arm.

Fuck, that hurt. I make a mental note to ask Rain to patch me up again tonight. My bullet wound is starting to throb like a motherfucker.

I grab my lighter, the broccoli, and the bottle of vodka and follow Rain out of the kitchen, focusing on her round ass instead of the name above it. The living room has a vaulted ceiling and has been decorated with plaid furniture and the heads of decapitated animals. Not exactly my taste, but the fireplace is nice. It’s big and stone and filled with actual logs. Not those fake-ass gas-burning things.

I place everything on the hearth and grab a Field & Stream magazine off the coffee table. Ripping out a few pages, I twist them into a stick and light the end on fire. Rain sits cross-legged on the carpet beside me, careful to keep the jersey tucked between her legs. She’s holding the corn dog in one hand and the biscuits in the other.

“Just so you know …” I say, holding the makeshift torch against the smallest piece of wood until it catches. “Mine’s bigger.”

Rain furrows her thin eyebrows at me and then bursts out laughing when my eyes shift from her face to the breaded wiener in her hand.

Fuck, I love that sound.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” She smiles as I take the food from her and lay it on the hearth to warm up.

“Because I’m about to eat the shit out of these biscuits.”

And because nobody’s trying to kill me at the moment.

And because I might get to sleep in an actual bed tonight.

And because I got to see your tits … twice.

“This whole time, I thought you were a jerk, and it turns out, you were just hangry?”

“Oh, I’m still a jerk.” I grab the bottle of vodka off the hearth and press the ice-cold glass against her outer thigh just to make my point.

“Ahh! Okay, okay! You’re still a jerk!” she screams, swatting it away.